‘And do you know what it’s like to come out again into a world where nobody wants you?’ He wasn’t asking us for our pity. He was telling us the facts. ‘Nobody would see me any more. All my friends had deserted me, of course. Even my family . . . I have a sister and my mother was still alive then. They say what happened to me killed her. Collateral damage. Nobody ever recognised that I was the victim in all this.

‘I moved to Alderney because I had nowhere else to go. It was an island, small enough and far away enough to let me be anonymous. I bought the most isolated house I could find . . . near to the lighthouse.’ He half smiled. ‘When I first got here, the light used to shine at night, but they shut it down a few weeks after I moved in and now it’s pitch-dark. I prefer it like that.

‘Of course, most of the people here know who I am and what happened to me. But you know the great thing about this island? Live and let live. People aren’t judgemental. When Charles le Mesurier asked me to help him with his finances – particularly the publishing end of his business – it wasn’t just a job. It was a lifeline. He believed in me and because of that a lot of other people on this island were prepared to do the same. To see me for what I am, not for what you made me out to be.’

That hadn’t been my impression. Nobody had so much as looked his way when he came into the theatre and they hadn’t been queuing up to chat to him at the party either. Even the state of his house told me something about him. No Nora Carlisle for him. She wouldn’t have come near.

‘Why don’t you tell me about le Mesurier?’ At last Hawthorne broke his silence.

‘I didn’t kill him.’

‘How long did you work for him?’

‘With him. Not for him. About five years.’

‘But it wasn’t going to be much longer, was it? Things were over between you.’

That surprised Abbott . . . the fact that Hawthorne knew. ‘Who told you that?’

‘It doesn’t matter who told me. The two of you had a falling-out.’

In fact, we had got the information from Anne Cleary. She had heard it from Charles le Mesurier himself at the party. He had told her that he’d argued with his former friend and was about to fire him.

‘He owed me money. That was all it was. Charles never knew what he was saying after he’d had a drink. He would have come to his senses in the morning.’

‘So the two of you argued, then? Did he fire you that night?’