She looked at Inspector Kelsey.

‘That’s up to you,’ she said. ‘Clear these murders up—catch whoever is responsible for them—and we’ll be all right.’

Inspector Kelsey looked unhappy. He said: ‘We’re doing our best.’

Ann Shapland went out.

‘Competent girl,’ said Miss Bulstrode. ‘And loyal.’

This was in the nature of a parenthesis. She pressed her attack.

‘Have you absolutely no idea of who killed two of my mistresses in the Sports Pavilion? You ought to, by this time. And this kidnapping on top of everything else. I blame myself there. The girl talked about someone wanting to kidnap her. I thought, God forgive me, she was making herself important. I see now that there must have been something behind it. Someone must have hinted, or warned—one doesn’t know which—’ She broke off, resuming: ‘You’ve no news of any kind?’

‘Not yet. But I don’t think you need worry too much about that. It’s been passed to the C.I.D. The Special Branch is on to it, too. They ought to find her within twenty-four hours, thirty-six at most. There are advantages in this being an island. All the ports, airports, etc., are alerted. And the police in every district are keeping a lookout. It’s actually easy enough to kidnap anyone—it’s keeping them hidden that’s the problem. Oh, we’ll find her.’

‘I hope you’ll find her alive,’ said Miss Bulstrode grimly. ‘We seem to be up against someone who isn’t too scrupulous about human life.’

‘They wouldn’t have troubled to kidnap her if they’d meant to do away with her,’ said Adam. ‘They could have done that here easily enough.’

He felt that the last words were unfortunate. Miss Bulstrode gave him a look.

‘So it seems,’ she said dryly.

The telephone rang. Miss Bulstrode took up the receiver.

‘Yes?’

She motioned to Inspector Kelsey.

‘It’s for you.’

Adam and Miss Bulstrode watched him as he took the call. He grunted, jotted down a note or two, said finally: ‘I see. Alderton Priors. That’s Wallshire. Yes, we’ll cooperate. Yes, Super. I’ll carry on here, then.’

He put down the receiver and stayed a moment lost in thought. Then he looked up.

‘His Excellency got a ransom note this morning. Typed on a new Corona. Postmark Portsmouth. Bet that’s a blind.’

‘Where and how?’ asked Adam.

‘Crossroads two miles north of Alderton Priors. That’s a bit of bare moorland. Envelope containing money to be put under stone behind A.A. box there at 2 a.m. tomorrow morning.’

‘How much?’

‘Twenty thousand.’ He shook his head. ‘Sounds amateurish to me.’

‘What are you going to do?’ asked Miss Bulstrode.

Inspector Kelsey looked at her. He was a different man. Official reticence hung about him like a cloak.

‘The responsibility isn’t mine, madam,’ he said. ‘We have our methods.’

‘I hope they’re successful,’ said Miss Bulstrode.

‘Ought to be easy,’ said Adam.

‘Amateurish?’ said Miss Bulstrode, catching at a word they had used. ‘I wonder…’

Then she said sharply:

‘What about my staff? What remains of it, that is to say? Do I trust them, or don’t I?’