He said: “ Is there anything else you think I should know about Tom?”

“He’d been in court,” Adam answered quickly. “But I expect you’ll have found out about that. He’s been in court for smoking dope.”

“So you know about that? Did Tom tell you?”

“Only because he had to. I was at Sally’s cottage with him one afternoon when his probation officer turned up. They were all really embarrassed. It was awful. He just told me that he’d been done for possession of cannabis. That’s all.”

“Did you tell anyone about it?”

“Of course not.” But he was blushing, and there was the nervous twitch to flick the hair from his eyes.

“Someone gave Bernard Cranshaw the idea that Tom was a drug addict. That was mentioned in the letter which he wrote to the parents of the children Tom was taking birdwatching. You don’t know anything about it?”

Adam shook his head to emphasize his denial.

“Do you use cannabis yourself?” There was real interest and no judgement in the question.

“Only occasionally.” He paused. “ You won’t tell my father.” It was a statement not a question, and no response was necessary.

“What sort of ’scope do you use?” asked George, acknowledging nothing odd in the sudden change of topic.

“One of the new Optylons.”

“That’s one of the short, stocky models?”

Adam agreed.

“The description of the murder weapon could fit a telescope. Have any of the twitchers changed their ‘scope recently? Or have you noticed one that’s out of alignment, damaged in any way?”

“No.”

“Do you have one of the old, heavy, brass telescopes?”

Adam answered without hesitation. “ Yes, it was my first ’scope. I don’t use it now.”

“Where is it?”

“In my room at home.”

George gave no other explanation for the series of questions. He got up to go to the kitchen to fetch the bottle of sloe gin. As if by magic, Molly woke. Adam suspected that perhaps she had not been so deeply asleep after all. To finish the evening they talked about pleasant things, favourite birds, and birds which they most wanted to see, and favourite places.

“St. Agnes,” Adam said, “ and not just because of the birds. I like going in the spring when there aren’t too many birdwatchers and the islanders are more friendly. Everything’s on a small scale—little fields and pretty cottages. It’s safe there. I love the Scillies.”

“Fair Isle,” said George. “Magnificent cliffs, all the seabird colonies, and a comfortable bird observatory with a licence. And a good many ticks.”

“Bardsey,” said Molly. “Because it’s totally remote. No telephone, no newspapers, no television. And because the mountain is so dramatic, and because of the choughs.”

“Isn’t it strange,” said Adam, pleased that they had something in common, “ that we all like islands?”

He left then. Despite the alcohol and the warmth, he felt strangely clear-headed. He concentrated on leaving slowly, politely, on giving no impression of panic. George walked with him down the garden path to the gate. As with his father, Adam felt the impulse to ask for protection. But when, at the gate, George waited as if he expected some confidence, fear overcame the boy. It was too late for confidence. He walked away.