“What the hell do you make of that?”

“Extremely unpleasant,” said Alleyn.

“Unpleasant! Listen to him, will you!”

“My poor Alfie,” said his wife. “You shall have quantities of brandy. Pour it out, Hailey. There are glasses there, too. We shall all have brandy while Mr. Alleyn tells us who tried to assassinate my poor Pooh. Don’t spill it, Hailey. There! Now, Mr. Alleyn?”

She looked up with an air of encouragement at the chief inspector. “Is she being deliberately funny?” Alleyn wondered. “She’s not really one of those vague women who sound like fools and are as deep as you make them. Or is she? No, no, she’s making a little ‘cameo-part’ of herself, for us to look at. Perhaps she has done it for so long that she can’t stop.”

“What I want to know is, what do I do?“ Meyer was saying.

“Stop the train and tell the guard?” suggested Carolyn, sipping her brandy. “You pull the communication cord and pay five pounds and then some woman comes forward and says you attempted to—”

“Carolyn, do be quiet,” begged Hambledon, smiling at her. “What do you think, Alleyn?”

“You are quite sure that you were deliberately kicked?” asked Alleyn. “It wasn’t someone staggering along the train who lost his balance and then his head, when he thought he’d sent you overboard?”

“I tell you I was kicked. I bet you anything you like I’ve got a black and blue behind.”

“Darling! We must put you in a cage and take you on tour.”

“What ought I to do, Alleyn?”

“My dear Mr. Meyer, I — really I don’t quite know. I suppose I ought to tell you to inform the guard, and telegraph the police from the next station. There are some very tight footballers farther along the train. I wonder—”