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“Maybe he seduced the wrong woman,” Jonny suggested. “Chapman’s wife or daughter or sister or cousin. Carstone didn’t recognise the connection and the name only emerged when he was briefing them on his situation.”

“That’s possible,” Toby said. “Alternatively, perhaps he arrived early for one of the out-of-hours sessions and overheard something through the door. Something incriminating about whatever Chapman and his pals are planning to do. They didn’t trust Carstone to keep his trap shut or perhaps he even threatened to go to the police about what he’d heard unless Chapman did the decent thing and went to them and confessed all first.”

Alasdair nodded. “The latter sounds more likely. Although they may have turned the tables on him as we’re speculating they did with Alexandra. ‘Tell the police and we’ll say you’re involved and how will that look in the publicity for Naughty Nelly ?’”

“Do you know,” Jonny said, “that also gives another motive for Carstone to take his own life. Yes, I know I argued against his suicide, but it may have been the last straw.”

Toby rapped the table. “We need to turn some of this speculation into fact, which means talking to Alexandra. A note via the lovely Enid, perhaps?”

Jonny grinned. “Already done. Although as this conversation has gone on, I’m less and less sure of getting a response.”

“We’ll catch her somehow.” Alasdair wasn’t sure he felt as confident as he tried to sound. “Did you tell this to Matthew, Toby?”

“Yes. After I’d mentioned the vague ‘Wouldn’t like to be them come June, when it blows up’ thing.”

“What was his response?” Alasdair asked.

Toby frowned. “He made some joke about maybe it was going to be a bomb attached to a dart, which made no sense.”

“It will in a moment,” Alasdair promised. “What about the Carstone business?”

“Well, put it like this. When I told him we have a murder for him to look into once he had five minutes, he replied that he would be happy to oblige and that 1956 looked pretty clear in his diary. He’s clearly worn to a frazzle with other priorities, poor lamb.”

“Perhaps we can give him a nice case, neatly tied up with plenty of decent evidence, as a nice present for when he’s successfully kept Her Majesty and all her guests safe.” Alasdair passed the cheese board round again. “Anyone for coffee?”

Jonny shook his head, while Toby said, “No thank you. What I want is to make sense of the dart quip. Clearly you told Matthew something about it.”

“I did. Along with the fact that Billy Chapman believes that he possesses the power to influence the weather—I suspect Lloyd gees him up on that one—and his proven talent with darts. Someone in the Herbert and Chapman office had possibly been using a picture of Queen Salote for target practice and the money is on Billy Chapman himself.”

Toby raised his hand. “Hold your horses, young man. Where did you get this weather and darts stuff from?”

“From my over-lunch conversation with Moira, who’s been nosing about in wastebins. It was quite an illuminating discussion, one way or another. I’ll flesh out the tale.” Alasdair gave his guests a summary of what Moira had said to him over their meal, from the double-barrelled Munsey-Cummings surname to Chapman’s claim regarding the weather. “Remember how the heavens opened beforehand? I’ve heard we were damn close to deferring the whole operation. If Chapman was trying to muck the weather up then—or on other occasions—he could well have thought he’d influenced things when it was mere coincidence.”

“Do you think he’ll be dancing naked around Avebury ring, every night between now and June, waving his hands and trying to summon lightning to strike Westminster Abbey and set it ablaze on the big day?” Toby gestured expansively, as though conducting the clouds like an orchestra.

“Possibly he might be doing that as a sideshow, but I had his ability with darts more in mind, which I was about to expand on but couldn’t, owing to your theatrical interruption.” Alasdair snorted, then recounted the tale of Moira and her poking about in the contents of the kitchenette bin. “If Chapman’s got such an accurate arm, it raises the possibility of him standing on a balcony somewhere lobbing things into the parade with deadly precision. And if you think that’s a flight of fancy, I wasn’t the only one to have that idea. Matthew suggested something similar when I told him about it. However, chucking darts at a picture of Queen Salote isn’t enough to arrest Chapman on, nor is anything else we have at present, unfortunately.”

“Can’t they pick him up forty eight hours before the event on some trumped up charge?” Suggested Jonny. “Then let simply him go—sorry guv, a witness misidentified you—when it’s safe to do so because all the ceremony is over and done with.”

“I suppose they could,” Toby said, “but if it was a last minute arrest you wouldn’t have time to try to interrogate him, or whatever Matthew does to get at the truth. In which case, you couldn’t be certain Chapman didn’t have a substitute lined up to do the deed in case of anything going awry.”

“You’re thinking that he might expect to be arrested?” Jonny asked.

“Not necessarily.” Toby shrugged. “It’s simply that if I was serious about causing a disruption, I’d have a back-up plan in place in case of, say, having a car accident in the run up. I know there’s value in acting alone, because the more folk involved the more chance of someone blabbing, but it has its own risks.”

“He’s clearly not working entirely alone, if he had that conversation Alexandra overheard,” Alasdair pointed out. “While we’re discussing Matthew, I didn’t mention to him anything on the Carstone business, given that he has bigger and more urgent fish to fry, but Moira did have some stuff to say that backs up what you were suggesting earlier, Toby. Alexandra told her she’d had enough of film stars and that she didn’t like Carstone because she’d met him and thought him a letch. She also had a funny turn when she and Moira were heading down onto the platform at Holborn one day. I wondered if that was more evidence of Alexandra being in the family way, but it may have been memories resurfacing of being used to lure Carstone to his death. Various strands are starting to weave together.”

Jonny stuck out his lower lip. “If I can’t have a diagram of when and what, can I at least have an assessment of where we are because I still feel a touch befuddled. You’re much more experienced in this sort of stuff than I am. Do you often find that for every loose end you appear to tie up another couple work themselves loose?”

“Frequently,” Alasdair assured him. “It’s sometimes the small threads that prove most annoying because you can’t always weave them into the whole and you feel guilty about wasting time on them.”

“I think it’s high time we took stock.” Toby rose from the table. “Let’s clear up these bits and pieces—meaning the plates and glasses—before we try to clear up any mysteries.”

Once the domestic duties had been discharged and they were all comfy in Alasdair’s sitting room once more, Jonny said, “To me, we have a hotchpotch of knowns, unknowns and partially knowns and some of the things we think we’re sure about are still a touch dodgy. For example, and starting with one of Alasdair’s small threads, the Munsey-Cummings name now seems a blindingly obvious explanation for what had seemed a mystery. I’ve discussed the two names thing with Roger. I hope it’s acceptable to chat things over with him, because he won’t go blabbing and he’s got a useful brain that squirrels away useful bits of information he’s overheard or picked up.”

“Men like us are used to employing discretion, so if you trust him then we will too,” Alasdair said.

“Thank you. Anyway, we came up with every answer under the sun apart for the Munsey versus Cummings business, from that one. Although I confess I’m still not entirely satisfied it’s the truth.”

Toby nodded. “You have my sympathy. I’ve become horribly cynical about anything that members of Lloyd’s club tell us, Moira not excepted. Still, we can only work with what we have.”

“As I see it,” Alasdair said, “assuming Alexandra is indeed pregnant, that part of the story is almost a red herring. A convenient if unusual excuse for cutting off ties, that she could use if challenged, rather than admit she no longer attends our fan clubs because she’s had enough of film stars after her encounters with Carstone. Or have to confess that she doesn’t go to Lloyd’s meetings anymore because she doesn’t want to be in the Herbert and Chapman offices or is sick of Jeff mooning over her.”

“She could have stopped attending because of that funny turn she had in front of Moira, which she doesn’t want gone into too deeply,” Toby suggested. “Irrespective of what her motivation was for upping sticks, we’re getting closer to signing off on our original commission, which was purely to locate Alexandra and confirm that she’s safe. We’re not obliged to tell Moira and company why she’s done a flit, even if we knew that for a fact.”

“Agreed,” Alasdair said. “The motivation only becomes relevant for us in relation to either Carstone’s death or whatever Chapman’s up to. So, starting with the former. Apart from what was reported at the inquest, which is also to be taken with a pinch of Salt—excuse pun—if the evidence comes from the two would-be rescuers, everything else related to what happened to him at Chancery Lane is circumstantial.”

“And our only hope of making it more solid is to get a statement from the girl herself.” Jonny shrugged. “Circumstantial or not, it’s all adding up to something damn suspicious.”

“Which could also apply to the second part, the coronation threat. Again, what we have is hearsay and indirect evidence but as you so eloquently put it, Jonny, it also amounts to something damn suspicious, albeit not a thing we’re supposed to be poking our noses into.” Alasdair steepled his fingers to his chin. “Which brings me to one of the other ends that still need tying up. Why did Bruce change his mind midway through our conversation about whether we should pursue the Chapman angle? I can only think that’s tied up with Carstone, because the volte face appeared to happen after I mentioned him.”

“The name might have jogged his memory,” Jonny said. “If Bruce also suspects the actor was killed, he needed to warn us against getting too close and perhaps ending up being disposed of. If we’re talking loose ends, I want to know who Alexandra was arguing with in the street and whether that was, for example, James Salt who was trying to get her to do something. Which could suggest that the argument was related to the Chancery Lane lure scheme.”

“I hadn’t thought of that possibility.” Toby nodded in clear approval of such an excellent idea. “ I’d like to know how much Lloyd is involved in all this, given that Fred told me he visits the Clanfield House offices out of hours and not just on meeting nights. Maybe the mention of him—and recollection of his wartime eccentricities—put Bruce on guard.”

“Quite possibly,” Alasdair said. “We’ve mooted going to interview him, but I’m increasingly reluctant to do so, as more of the story emerges. Quite possibly he’d report back to Chapman and any gains we make would be offset. I wonder if his extra-curricular visits could be anything to do with Chapman’s power-over-the-weather nonsense? Which is strangely close to Alexandra’s alleged weather-related gifts, of course.”

“Although his claims of what he can do are unlikely to be a bit of bravado on Chapman’s part, as distinct from why the others say they can do what they can’t. What a tangled web.” Toby sighed, then blew out his cheeks. “One other thing I’d like to know, among many, and it’s something I should get a definite answer for, is what you reported to Matthew Firestone, young Jonny. It couldn’t have simply been Enid’s stuff about a supposed brother, although if it was, no wonder you got sent away with a flea in your ear.”

“I’m not that daft. I should have told you earlier, but we kept going off on tangents and it’s nothing definite, which is why Firestone was a touch lukewarm about it, so don’t get over-excited. Nothing to do with my pal Enid, either, because this time my informant is the person with whom I’d really love to have my banns read, but alas never will.” Jonny smiled ruefully. “Roger has an old pal from schooldays called Neil, who lives outside of Manchester, so when he’s down here on business they tend to meet for a drink, a meal and a catch up. He rang yesterday evening to say he’s about to spend some time in London and to arrange their chinwag, which is likely to be either tomorrow or Saturday.”

Alasdair couldn’t help mentally consulting his diary, because despite Jonny’s warning about not getting excited, his thumbs were pricking.

Jonny continued. “Neil works in the armament business. Newly manufactured and ex-services surplus. He’s part of his company’s high level sales team, so gets to deal with foreign governments and representatives of the same, which is a job that requires a lot of discretion and a huge dollop of common sense. The ability to smell a rat, as well, because not every potential sales contract apparently leads back to someone you’d like getting their paws on your weaponry.”

“I can imagine,” Toby said. “What’s the ‘nothing definite’ regarding which we have to restrain our enthusiasm?”

“It involves one of Neil’s clients. Roger says his friend is mainly coming to London for a meeting at one of the embassies—we’re not allowed to know which—but there’s also a more informal chat planned either for tomorrow or Saturday with a private individual. This chap says he’s working for an important party in an unnamed yet friendly minor nation who’s interested in smaller and less expensive weaponry. Perhaps items that have already seen service and are no longer needed in a time of peace.”

Alasdair sniffed. “That private individual sounds rather dodgy to me.”

“To Neil, as well. It’s not unknown for his company to be approached in this way, for good or ill, which is why he’s been sent to scope out this prospective customer while he’s in London on more important business. If he isn’t convinced by the individual in question, then all deals will be off and maybe a word dropped in the appropriate authorities’ shell-like.” Jonny grinned. “This is where Roger thinks we come into it.”

“Doing the scoping?” Toby asked, markedly puzzled at why they should be asked.

“Not exactly. You see, while Neil didn’t mention this possible client’s name—that being unprofessional, even when chatting to an old pal—there were some things he said which made Roger’s ears prick. Meeting person unnamed at a place on Chancery Lane, because that’s near his office. Said person wanting the order filled by the end of May, as his original supplier has let him down and if the goods can’t be delivered by then, he’s not interested. Suggestive of our man Chapman, eh?”

“It certainly is,” Alasdair said, “although let’s temper our enthusiasm with remembering that it is only suggestive. Unless you’ve something else to add, Jonny, knowing your capacity for keeping the best for last.”

“Guilty as charged. This mysterious customer apparently offered as character reference a couple of the great and good, including a peer of the realm. While no names were mentioned, Neil told Roger that he’d heard what the son of said peer got up to with minors and that rather tarnished the gilt on any reference. Does that remind you of anything?”

“What Morgan told me about Herbert and Chapman’s clients.” Alasdair nodded slowly. Three links could still be coincidental, but the potential connection was becoming stronger.

“So, Jonny continued, what this all adds up to is whether you’re free on Friday evening or sometime on Saturday to talk to Neil, assuming Roger can get such a meeting set up?”

“My diary’s as clear as a nun’s,” Alasdair said. “What about you, Toby?”

“I’m free tomorrow but booked on Saturday afternoon.” Now frustration had replaced puzzlement on Toby’s handsome face. “Although as soon as I get the chance tomorrow, I will try to unbook myself, because I wouldn’t miss this for worlds. Do we need to involve Matthew or the dreaded Bruce in such a meeting?”

Alasdair pursed his lips. “I’d say not, at present. We know that the former is run off his feet and I’m sure that applies to the latter, as well. As Jonny says, the details are suggestive of Chapman, but it could be a damp squib and our reputation with the authorities could go plummeting if we distract them with nonsense at a time they don’t need distracting.”

Jonny’s eyes were twinkling, in evident delight at restricting involvement to themselves. “I agree. We can always ring them if matters take an unexpectedly dangerous turn.”

“Exactly. Well done Jonny, and well done your Roger. I think there’s nothing we can do or say to trump that, this evening.” Toby yawned and stretched all four limbs, like a large cat. “It’s hard work, this detecting lark.”

“It’s also getting late and while I’ve a cold bed awaiting me until Roger returns, you two no doubt will have one to be warmed up in the best way possible.” Jonny eased himself out of his chair. “I’ll keep you appraised of any communication from Alexandra.”

As they reached the hall, with a leave-taking set of handshakes and shoulder pats all round, the sound of a key in the lock heralded the front door bursting open and the entrance of Morgan. He appeared uncharacteristically red about the cheeks, a colour that didn’t seem entirely to be due to the temperature of the outside air.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said sheepishly, “I fear I have been led slightly astray.”

“You’re allowed to be sometimes.” Alasdair replied, slapping Morgan’s shoulder. “Been celebrating something?”

“Some excellent news for my friend Dennis. He’s going to be a grandfather.” Morgan beamed, watery eyed. “And if it’s a boy they’ll name it after Dennis’s father, Nicholas, which was my father’s name, so it’s rather taken me aback.”

Alasdair affectionately cuffed his manservant’s shoulder, feeling a touch of Lord Peter Wimsey’s surprise at hearing that Bunter was possessed of a parent. “You had every reason to celebrate, then. And you can’t imagine how pleased we are to hear about the name.”

It might all be a huge coincidence, of events and family names, but it could equally be one of the nice juicy facts their investigation so badly needed.