That is really the question. With no servants in the house."

"Life is really hell for elderly people," said Susan. "They live in a kind of Georgian Manor house, don't they?"

Mr Entwhistle nodded.

They came rather warily out of the King's Arms, but the Press seemed to have dispersed.

A couple of reporters were lying in wait for Susan by the cottage door. Shepherded by Mr Entwhistle she said a few necessary and non- committal words. Then she and Miss Gilchrist went into the cottage and Mr Entwhistle returned to the King's Arms where he had booked a room. The funeral was to be on the following day.

"My car's still in the quarry," said Susan. "I'd forgotten about it. I'll drive it along to the village later."

Miss Gilchrist said anxiously:

"Not too late. You won't go out after dark, will you?"

Susan looked at her and laughed.

"You don't think there's a murderer still hanging about, do you?"

"No - no, I suppose not." Miss Gilchrist looked embarrassed.

"But it's exactly what she does think," thought Susan. "How amazing!"

Miss Gilchrist had vanished towards the kitchen.

"I'm sure you'd like tea early. In about half an hour, do you think, Mrs Banks?"

Susan thought that tea at half-past three was overdoing it, but she was charitable enough to realise that "a nice cup of tea" was Miss Gilchrist's idea of restoration for the nerves and she had her own reasons for wishing to please Miss Gilchrist, so she said:

"Whenever yon like, Miss Gilchrist."

A happy clatter of kitchen implements began and Susan went into the sitting-room. She had only been there a few minutes when the bell sounded and was succeeded by a very precise little rat-tat-tat.

Susan came out into the hall and Miss Gilchrist appeared at the kitchen door wearing an apron and wiping floury hands on it.

"Oh dear, who do you think that can be?"

"More reporters, I expect," said Susan.

"Oh dear, how annoying for you, Mrs Banks."

"Oh well, never mind, I'll attend to it."

"I was just going to make a few scones for tea."

Susan went towards the front door and Miss Gilchrist hovered uncertainly. Susan wondered whether she thought a man with a hatchet was waiting outside.

The visitor, however proved to be an elderly gentleman who raised his hat when Susan opened the door and said, beaming at her in avuncular style.

"Mrs Banks, I think?"

"Yes."

"My name is Guthrie - Alexander Guthrie. I was a friend - a very old friend, of Mrs Lansquenet's. You, I think, are her niece, formerly Miss Susan Abernethie?"

"That's quite right."

"Then since we know who we are, I may come in?"

"Of course."

Mr Guthrie wiped his feet carefully on the mat, stepped inside, divested himself of his overcoat, laid it down with his hat on a small oak chest and followed Susan into the sitting-room

"This is a melancholy occasion," said Mr Guthrie, to whom melancholy did not seem to come naturally, his own inclination being to beam.