There were tyre-marks in profusion, illegibly intermingled. Near the box they found several heel-marks of a woman’s shoe, but that was all. The door of the box hung open and the box was empty. They walked up the driveway to the house. Keats neither rang nor knocked. The maid with the tic came hurrying towards them as he closed the door. ‘Mrs. Priam said to come upstairs,’ she whispered. ‘To her room.’ She glanced over her shoulder at the closed door of Roger Priam’s den. ‘And not to make any noise, she said, because he’s got ears like a dog.’ ‘All right,’ said Keats. Muggs fled on tiptoe. The two men stood there until she had disappeared beyond the swinging door at the rear of the hall. Then they went upstairs, hugging the balustrade. As they reached the landing, a door opposite the head of the stairs swung in. Keats and Ellery went into the room. Delia Priam shut the door swiftly and sank back against it. She was in brief tight shorts and a strip of sun halter. Her thighs were long and heavy and swelled to her trunk; her breasts spilled over the halter.
