“But I wasn’t paying any attention to much of anything, Agatha,” said Miss Sayers. “I certainly didn’t expect an actual murder, and I was discussing the difficulty of realistic characterization most of the evening, and then we went on to talking about plot twists. I don’t believe I would be quite a good witness after all. Still . . . if I had seen anything, of course I would tell the inspector. The first thing he must do is interview all of the suspects—which I should hope he has already done. Then one must determine who is lying, because someone is. Someone always lies.”

“Mrs. Bright has solved a murder,” said Agatha, startling Phyllida so that she nearly splashed a bit of the tea she was pouring for Mr. Max. “Two of them in fact.”

All four of the writers looked at her, and Phyllida saw the flash of a grin on Mr. Max’s face.

“Indeed?” said Miss Sayers, her eyes lighting up. “I did attempt to help solve a murder once—you know, the Edith Thompson case—and I simply couldn’t make any sense of things. It’s far different looking for clues off the page than on it, you know.” She gave Mr. Berkeley a pointed look.

“That’s why I’ve asked her to investigate,” said Agatha. “I’m simply hopeless at divining clues for real murders. I prefer to create the ones I need.”

“Don’t we all,” replied Miss Sayers with a laugh.

“Phyllida’s very clever,” Agatha went on. “And I’ve asked her to solve this one. Do tell us what you’ve learned so far, will you, Phyllida?” In her enthusiasm, Agatha had used her familiar name, but Phyllida didn’t mind. “And do sit down. I can see that your dress is wet from the rain—but how on earth did you keep your shoes dry?”

After taking a seat, Phyllida explained about her extra pair, and although she at first demurred about sitting, Mr. Max took the decision from her when he placed a chair next to the fire and said, “Sit, please, Mrs. Bright. We are all friends here, and of course we want to hear what you’ve learned.”

Phyllida explained about the second bottle of bitters, which was, of course, a prime clue. “But the most startling development happened this morning,” she went on. “When a dead cat was discovered and a table went missing.”

Her audience listened with rapt attention as she told them about poor Saint Aloysius, the presumably poisoned cake, and the missing piecrust table.

“All of this has led me to the conclusion that someone wanted Father Tooley dead before the cocktail party last night,” Phyllida concluded.

“In order to steal a piecrust table during—or after—the party?” said Miss Sayers doubtfully.