‘I liked her. She wasn’t always easy. She was used to being on her own. She didn’t trust anyone and who could blame her? Grenville’s been trying to get her out of Back Rigg since Fred died. He wants to do up the house and let it to people who come to shoot on the hill. We all knew that. Ursula was an embarrassment to him.’

‘Well,’ George said. ‘She can’t embarrass him now. When did you see her last?’

‘Friday night,’ Marie said. ‘ She called in here after making that scene at the Cadver. Vic was at the pub and I’d put Cassie to bed. We had a drink and a chat.’

‘How did she seem then? Did she complain of being ill?’

‘No,’ Marie said. ‘ She’d had a fair amount to drink but she seemed well enough. She was upset, of course. We talked about her cats. She was very fond of them.’

‘Did she say anything else?’

Marie shook her head. ‘I talked about Cassie. Our girl. She’s handicapped, brain damaged. It’s always a worry. Ursula seemed to understand.’

‘Yes,’ George said. ‘I see.’

Vic Liddle got to his feet. ‘Is that it, then?’ he said. ‘ We’ve told you all we know. I’ve things to be getting on with.’

‘Just one more question,’ George said. ‘If Craven, or anyone else, had been using poison on the hill, where would he get hold of it?’

Liddle turned away impatiently and again Marie answered for him, knowing that to this man it was no use lying.

‘From our shed,’ she said. ‘It’s never locked and there’s all sorts in there.’

‘Perhaps we could look,’ George suggested. ‘Clear the matter up …’

‘Come on, Vic,’ Marie said gently. ‘It would get Grenville off your back and you’ve nothing to hide.’

Liddle muttered under his breath but he stood up. He trusted Marie’s judgement in this as in most things. ‘It won’t do you any good. As the wife says, there’s all sorts in there and not much of it labelled.’

‘All the same, if you wouldn’t mind.’ George got to his feet and waited for Vic to lead the way. They trooped out into the sunshine.

George felt strangely at home in the yard. He had been brought up in rural Herefordshire and the pile of tools, the saw horse and the logs, the big dog half asleep, waiting for exercise, brought back memories of an uncle’s house.

Vic opened the door of the shed to let in the light.

‘Most of all this is from before my time,’ he said, defensively. ‘It’s illegal to use these pole traps now.’

‘Yes,’ George said. ‘I know.’

‘I never liked them,’ Vic said. ‘It always seemed to me a cruel way to carry on.’

‘What about phosdrin?’ George said. ‘ Have you ever used that? Or alpha-chlorose?’