Troy opened her thin hand and disclosed a crushed sheet of notepaper. “That?” she murmured. “Oh, yes, there’s that. You never heard anything so dotty. Read it.”
“It’s got cadmium red all over it.”
“I know. I dropped it on my palette. It’s on the back, luckily.”
Miss Bostock spread out the letter on her painting-table, adding several cobalt finger-prints in the process. It was a single sheet of pre-war notepaper, thick, white, with an engraved heading surmounted by a crest — a cross with fluted extremities.
“Crickey!” said Miss Bostock. “Ancreton Manor. That’s the— Crickey!” Being one of those people who invariably read letters aloud she began to mutter:
Miss Agatha Troy (Mrs. Roderick Alleyn)
Tatlers End House
Bossicot, Bucks.
Dear Madam,
My father-in-law, Sir Henry Ancred, asks me to write to you in reference to a portrait of himself in the character of Macbeth, for which he would be pleased to engage your services. The picture is to hang in the entrance hall at Ancreton Manor, and will occupy a space six by four feet in dimension. As he is in poor health, he wishes the painting to be done here, and will be pleased if you can arrange to stay with us from Saturday, November 17th, until such time as the portrait is completed. He presumes this will be in about a week. He will be glad to know, by telegram, whether this arrangement will suit you, and also your fee for such a commission. I am,
Yours faithfully,
MILLAMANT ANCRED.
“Well,” said Miss Bostock, “of all the cheek!”
Troy grinned. “You’ll notice I’m to dodge up a canvas six by four in seven days. I wonder if he expects me to throw in the three witches and the Bloody Child.”