The smell of her terror seemed to linger in the car. It accused him, telling him that he had been too detached, not committed, not strong enough in his search for the killer. Her fear had been wild and irrational. So was murder. He would not find his answers through reason and intellect. This was no crossword to be solved by a gentleman in an armchair. Murder was mad and unreasonable and gentlemen had no part in it.

He parked his car as usual next to the windmill in the car park. It had started to rain, a soft, sea-mist drizzle, but there was no wind. When he first heard the noise he thought that a sudden gust must have caused the wood in the windmill to twist and creak, but there had been no wind. Again there was a faint call like a cat or a gull. He almost ignored it, put it down to his imagination and went on in to join the party, which had become louder since his absence. There was music now and the sound had, perhaps, been part of a record. The lights and the music were very attractive.

But he heard the noise again and it seemed to come from below him. It was a sound of pain. In his car was a torch and, as he shone it around the windmill, he noticed first a mark on the soft, damp wood of one of the uprights, as if it had been cut horizontally, then saw that the rotten planks covering the well had split and shattered. With concentrated panic, he tore the splintered planks away and shone the torch down the well. A long way down he saw a white face, the eyes huge in the sudden light. Adam Anderson was crouched like a hunted animal on a metal grille which only half covered the black, stinking water.

Chapter Nine

As they pulled him out through the wooden supports of the windmill he could have been ten years younger. His fear had shrivelled him, so that he looked smaller. George almost expected him to cry, but he was dry-eyed and white, shivering, as frightened and wary of his rescuers as he was of the well. It had taken little time to get him out of the shaft. Tina had run to the coastguard cottage. The men there were still awake, they had ropes and knew about climbing. George shouted reassurance down to him and explained what was happening, but Adam did not say a word. In the glare of car headlights the coastguards worked efficiently and light-heartedly, including Adam in their jokes. He did not reply.

Ella had tried to clear the place of anyone who could be of no use, but people were reluctant to go until Adam was safely out of the well. They gathered in small groups, watching, wanting to be a part of the rescue. Yet the rain grew more persistent and the coastguards’ attitude dispelled any sense of drama. Common sense overcame curiosity. They had a good story to tell at parties and did not need to be present at the actual outcome. Car engines were started, there were subdued calls of farewell and the place emptied. Ella, Rob and Peter went inside to begin to clear up; Molly was talking on the telephone to Clive Anderson.