I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her, particularly after what had happened that afternoon. I’d been meaning to ask her what she thought about her encounter with Elizabeth Lovell. Surely she was far too sensible to believe that her dead son, William, had somehow communicated with a so-called psychic. She must have known that she had been the victim of a cruel confidence trick. But I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know her well enough and I didn’t want to intrude. ‘Are you coming to the party?’ I asked.

She had dressed for it in a black jersey with silver sequins and a long skirt, and sure enough she nodded. ‘To be honest with you, I don’t really feel like going to any party tonight, but I suppose it would be rude not to and there’s no real point sitting on my own in my hotel room. So, yes, I’ll look in for a short while.’

‘I was going to walk round if you’d like to join me.’

‘No, thank you. I’m waiting for George Elkin. He’s offered me a lift.’

That was when Hawthorne arrived. He’d taken the stairs, not the lift, and came straight over to us. From the look on his face, you’d have thought the argument between us had never happened. ‘You all right, Tony?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m about to walk to the party.’

‘I’ll join you.’

‘I was just talking to Anne,’ I said. ‘She’s lost her pen. She thinks someone may have taken it.’

‘A black Sakura with a silver nib?’

‘You’ve seen it?’ Anne’s face lit up.

‘No. I noticed you using it yesterday when you signed into reception.’

He wasn’t showing off, but that was absolutely typical of Hawthorne. I had no idea how he did it but there wasn’t a single detail that he ever missed and somehow he filed it all away in that remarkable mind of his, to be dredged up whenever it was needed. That was why I would never solve a case before him. I couldn’t even remember what I’d had for lunch.

The two of us set off together.

I had already decided not to say anything more about Derek Abbott and his presence on the island. I didn’t want to spoil the evening. Instead, I walked in silence until we had reached the edge of Braye Beach and then I asked: ‘How do you think she knew?’

‘What?’

‘Elizabeth Lovell knew that William Cleary was a drug addict and that he killed himself with an overdose.’

‘Are you sure that’s what she said?’

‘She was vague. But she seemed to know what she was talking about.’

Hawthorne shrugged. ‘It would have been easy enough to find out.’