He had rented his cottage from a middle-aged woman who lived and worked in London, and who used Rushy as a refuge for herself and her cats. The extreme simplicity of the decoration and furnishing seemed to indicate a need for an antidote to London. It suited Peter’s mood. He liked the secretive aspect of the cottage, the way it was hidden behind a jumbled screen of red roofs and flint. The entrance was from a cobbled lane through an arched door in a high wall into a flagged yard. From the lane the house was invisible. The door from the yard led straight into a large kitchen, stone floored, cold, with an enamel sink, a tap and a Calor Gas stove. The small living room was carpeted. There was one easy chair and cupboards on each side of the fireplace which were filled with books and maps. Upstairs there was one large bedroom.

Peter washed at the sink in the kitchen and dressed. He fried bacon and eggs in a large, heavy pan. The day seemed damp and miserable and he was in no hurry to go out. As he ate his breakfast he planned his day meticulously. Tonight he would dress up and go to the film show and Ella’s party. But first, in the afternoon, he had an appointment.

In the cottage next door, Mrs. Black was tense and tired. She seemed not to have slept for two nights. Terry had not come home for two nights. He had stayed out before, occasionally, and it always worried her. She had become so fond of him. Once he had gone to a dance at the hospital in Skeffingham where he had lived for so many years. The hospital invited him back quite often for socials and parties and always arranged transport for him. On that occasion, however, he had decided that he wanted to walk, had become tired on the way and slept rough in a ditch. She had phoned the police then, and felt so foolish when he turned up the next morning, hungry and affectionate, not realizing at all that she might be concerned. She reminded herself of this incident as she waited for him and worried.

On Sunday evening she had expected him home for tea, but was not surprised when he did not turn up. It was not unusual for him to work overtime. At eleven she had phoned the White Lodge, preparing to be angry on Terry’s behalf because he had been kept so late. A rude receptionist told her that Terry had left work before lunch without telling anyone that he was going. That too had happened occasionally before.

On Monday, throughout the day, she tried to find him. She phoned the hospital and asked carefully and discreetly in the village if anyone had seen him. She did it so well, she was so cheerful and casual, that no one seemed to realize that Terry was missing or to sense that she was worried. All evening she set herself deadlines which passed. If he’s not here by nine o’clock, she thought, I’ll phone the police. Then it was ten o’clock, then eleven. Still she did nothing. It was not a fear of looking foolish which prevented her from telephoning the police now. She was frightened that they would think that Terry had run away because he had killed Tom French. She had known that they suspected Terry when they had questioned him. They had confused him with their complicated questions. This would be the excuse which they needed to arrest him. She felt helpless, very frightened. At midnight she went to bed. She had not phoned the police.