This was the most they could win from her—even when Stebbins insisted on a turn of the screw. She became stony and expressionless under pressure and they dared not urge her for the time being, though they felt she was decidedly withholding something of real importance.

“You had better go and try once more for a little sleep, Miss Lacey,” Berry said. “We all need it,” he added with a weary sigh. “What do you say we call it a day, boys? Can I have a word with you, Belknap? What a fog!”

Belknap had been unable to guess which way the cat was jumping as far as Berry was concerned. He had not shown his hand in the least; and as for his face it was the perfect detective face, charming but expressionless, bland and open, but with as much depth as a plaster cast. It was only, as Julian remarked to Joel outside, when you took the trouble to meet his eyes squarely that you positively jumped, as if you had caught the eyes of your ancestral great-great-great somebody-or-other rolling at you from the wall. A secret chamber, and holes where the canvas should be! In Berry’s case that must mean something—if nothing more than that he was seeing more than he let on. It was certainly one of the first reasons why Julian was intending to take matters up with him alone.

Berry had so far only shown an interest in funny little irrelevant, or seemingly irrelevant, details. His total contribution to the afternoon’s entertainment had been sudden pesky interruptions, at inopportune moments, when he insisted upon shelving the important point at issue for the sake of what was a minor matter to Belknap and a very, very minor one to Stebbins. Stebbins saw things in black and white. Belknap was more willing to consider the shadings, but he had had to admit that a great many of Berry’s nuances escaped him. Berry’s “pardon-me” was a vague murmur about an Achilles heel—that one never knew in what out of the way spot the weakness might turn up. Best to probe them all with your spear thrust.

For instance, there was the sprinkling of the few dried carnation petals fallen across Romany’s rumpled hair and pillow—Stebbins had them now in a cup at his elbow, somehow pathetic, as if they had been her ashes. Romany, as she was discovered by Lily, and later examined by Berry and Stebbins, was a little heap of pink maribou dressing gown on her bed—her face ivory white under her amber hair—theatrical and unreal: “Call it La Mort du Cygne, or, better still, She Who Gets Slapped,” Julian had said, standing in the doorway of her room that morning. She had apparently been unexpectedly seized and held firmly, there was little sign of struggle, by two hands, with the thumbs pressing deeply at the base of the throat where there was a faint congestion and discoloration. There was only the one material clue: the carnation petals. And that seemed immaterial, since there was a bowl of carnations on the bedside table, which made it more than likely she had been holding one for its scent. Or was it possible the murderer had his sentimental moments!

But Berry made harpstrings of those petals and played on them in and out of season. Had anyone worn a lapel flower the evening before? Everyone was agreed that Dorn was wearing one—but they were equally agreed it was a gardenia. Belknap himself was positive on this point, although some of the others lost their certainty. Belknap also said he might have been wearing one himself; he exchanged glances with Nadia.

“Next time you offer me a flower for my buttonhole, Miss Mdevani,” he said in a gently bantering tone, “don’t let anyone’s presence deter you. I should be charmed to have one from your fair hand.”

“It will be freshly plucked,” she answered him, her eyes very bright, high color on her face.

“No innuendoes!” Berry had cried. “You two need a moor and a moon. Remember this is a court of law.”

“I am not likely to forget it,” she said. “But, dangerous as it is to me, the moor and the moon would be more so,” and she tilted her chin at Belknap.

This had been a temporary fade-out of Berry’s interest in the carnation. But he had returned to it often, as he had to other apparently illogical and tiresomely remote incidents. It had the effect, however, of whetting Belknap’s appetite for enlightenment: had Berry a theory, or no theory; was he throwing dust to cover what he considered the crux of the whole business, or was he merely floundering in a waste of motives, unable to take the bull by the horns? Certainly it was time the two of them went into a huddle and exchanged views, even if the views were limited.