His wrist watch said ten to four, and Jimmy thought of his throat and a pot of tea taken in accordance with the orders of that damned Bonaparte. He paused once to look at a display of new novels and finally entered Favalora’s Cafe. The place was not crowded, and he chose a table against the wall. A waitress took his order for tea and toasted raisin bread, and Bony sat opposite him.

“Nice day,” Bony said.

“Yes. Bit warm, though, for the time of the year. Might bring up rain. Does rain here sometimes, I heard.”

The waitress brought Jimmy’s tea and toast and Bony ordered the same. When she had gone, Bony asked casually:

“Are you aware that you are occupying the seat in which a man drank poisoned tea?”

“Yes. Are you aware that you occupy the chair taken that afternoon by the person who tossed a fistful of cyanide into the tea?”

“We’re well placed. How was it done, Jimmy?”

“Simple. The victim was reading a magazine, remember? He wouldn’t see.”

“Why was it done?”

“Why? Just to watch the old bloke drink it up and throw a fit. Lots of peculiar types walking around, you know.”

“If you wanted cyanide, d’you think you would have much difficulty in obtaining it?”

“Certainly not,” replied Jimmy. “There’s nothing I wanted I couldn’t get-providin’ I had the cash.”

“Have you spotted the waitress who served Parsons that day?”

Jimmy sighed and looked at Bony with hurt-dog eyes. He waved his cup towards a girl waiting at one of the central tables.

“That’s her,” he said. “I’m taking her to the pictures tonight.”

Covertly Bony examined the girl.

“My congratulations,” he murmured, and Jimmy became really angry.

“Wasted,” he snapped. “Youth to youth. I’m thirty-eight. My type wears genuine pearls round her fat neck and blue diamonds on her fat fingers. There’s a burglar alarm to the front door, and no doubt other alarms are fixed to all the back windows. But what are burglar alarms to Love?”