Troy changed into a linen suit, consulted Mr Tillottson’s map and found her way to the Longminster central police station and Superintendent Bonney.

Afterwards she was unable to make up her mind whether or not she had been surprised to find Mr Tillottson there.

He explained that he happened to be in Longminster on a routine call. He did not suggest that he had timed his visit to coincide with Troy’s. He merely shook hands again with his customary geniality and introduced her to Superintendent Bonney.

Mr Bonney was another large man but in his case seniority would have seemed to have run to bone rather than flesh. His bones were enormous. They were excessive behind his ears, under and above his eyes and at his wrists. His jaws were cadaverous and when he smiled, even his gums were knobbly. Troy would not have fallen in with Mr Tillottson’s description of his colleague as a lovely chap.

They were both very pleasant. Troy’s first question was as to her husband’s return. Was there any chance, did they think, that it might be earlier because if so—

They said, almost in unison, that Alleyn had rung through last evening: that he would have liked to talk to her this morning but would have missed his connection to New York. And that he hoped he might be home early next week but that depended upon a final conference. He sent his love, they said, beaming at her, and if she was still uneasy she was to abandon ship. ‘Perhaps a telegram from a sick friend—’ Mr Tillottson here suggested and Troy felt a strong inclination to laugh in his face and ask him if it should be signed ‘Mavis’.

She told them about Miss Rickerby-Carrick.

They listened with great attention saying: ‘Yerse. Yerse.’ and ‘Is that a fact?’ and ‘Fancy that, now.’ When she had finished Mr Bonney glanced at his desk pad where he had jotted down a note or two.

‘The Longminster Car Hire and Taxi Service, eh?’ he said. ‘Now, which would that be, I wonder, Bert? There’s Ackroyd’s and there’s Rutherford’s.’

‘We might make a wee check, Bob,’ Mr Tillottson ventured.

‘Yerse,’ Mr Bonney agreed. ‘We might at that.’

He made his calls while Troy, at their request, waited.

‘Ackroyd’s Car Hire Service? Just a little item about a telephone call. Eighty-thirty or thereabouts to Crossdyke Lockhouse. Message from a fare phoned by you to the Lock for Tretheway, Skipper, M.V. Zodiac. Could you check for us? Much obliged.’ A pause while Mr Bonney stared without interest at Mr Tillottson and Mr Tillottson stared without interest at nothing in particular.

‘I see. No note of it? Much obliged. Just before you go: Fare from Crossdyke Lock, picked up sometime during the night. Lady. Yerse. Well, any trips to Crossdyke? Could you check?’ Another pause. ‘Much obliged. Ta,’ said Mr Bonney and replaced the receiver.