She led Molly along a gravel path to the front of the house and her car. It was not until she had reached the pub, and was waiting for a mail bus to drop its passengers and turn in the small carpark, that Molly remembered that Simon Barton too had been at the Solway at the weekend. The fact seemed to take on a new significance.

Eve Theobald had a disturbing day. There was a case conference about a child of whom she was especially fond, who was being moved at the parents’ request to a private residential home. She argued against the decision as strongly as she could but her opinion had no weight. She was only a teacher and the family had the right to send the child wherever they thought fit.

Then there was the phone call, which came at break time, just as she was sitting down in the staff room with her coffee, so she thought the caller must have taken the trouble to find out when she would be free. The voice was undemanding but persistent. He did not want to frighten her but he was determined to get his own way.

‘My name’s Palmer-Jones,’ he said, after he had apologised for disturbing her. ‘I’m staying at Back Rigg. My wife was Ursula Ottway’s niece.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t understand how I can help you.’ She thought he was a crank and was about to replace the phone.

‘Ursula was murdered,’ he said. ‘ Poisoned. The police haven’t been yet to take a statement? They want to interview everyone who was at the Cadver on Friday night.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘No one’s been here.’

‘I’m working for Marcus Grenville,’ he said, so she distrusted him immediately. ‘I’d like to talk to you. Perhaps I can buy you lunch.’

‘I’ll tell the police the truth about what happened on Friday night!’ she said. ‘I’m not the sort Marcus Grenville can bribe to keep quiet.’

‘Of course not,’ he said, genuinely shocked. ‘There was no question of that.’

Then she thought she had offended him and agreed to meet him in a pub in Appleworth. She would get a free lunch out of it and, besides, she was curious.

The policeman arrived just as she had returned to her class. He was in plain clothes and at first she thought he was a parent. He was quite untroubled by the children and usually strangers were frightened by the noise, the uncoordinated limbs, the dribbling.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I can’t leave my class. You’ll have to come back later.’

‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘It won’t take long. If you don’t mind we can talk here.’