‘We’ll need a patrol,’ Alleyn said, ‘along The River from Tollard Lock to where she was found and we’ll have to make a complete and no doubt fruitless search of the tow-path and surroundings. You’d better get on to that, Fox. Take the Sergeant with you. Particular attention to the moorings at Crossdyke and the area round Ramsdyke weir.’

‘Right, I’ll be off, then.’

He started up the hill towards Troy looking, as always, exactly what he was. An incongruous figure was Mr Fox in that still medieval landscape. They met and spoke and Fox moved on to the gate.

Alleyn watched Troy come down the hill and went out of the wapentake to meet her.

‘They’ve all gone ashore,’ she said, ‘I think to talk about me. Except Dr Natouche who’s putting finishing touches to his map. They’re sitting in a huddle in the middle-distance of the view that inspired my original remark about Constables. I expect you must push on with routine mustn’t you? What haven’t I told you that you ought to know? Should I fill you in, as Miss Hewson would say, on some of the details?’

‘Yes, darling, fill me in, do. I’ll ask questions, shall I? It might be quickest. And you add anything—anything at all—that you think might be, however remotely, to the point. Shall we go?’

‘Fire ahead,’ said Troy.

During this process Troy’s answers became more and more staccato and her face grew progressively whiter. Alleyn watched her with an attentiveness that she wondered if she dreaded and knew that she loved. She answered his final question and said in a voice that sounded shrilly in her own ears: ‘There. Now you know as much as I do. See.’

‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Tell me.’

‘She scratched on my door,’ Troy said. ‘And when I opened it she’d gone away. She wanted to tell me something and I let Mr Lazenby rescue me because I had a migraine and because she was such a bore. She was unhappy and who can tell what might have been the outcome if I’d let her confide? Who can tell that?’

‘I think I can. I don’t believe—and I promise you this—I don’t believe it would have made the smallest difference to what happened to her. And I’ll promise you as well, that if it turns out otherwise I shall say so.’

‘I can’t forgive myself.’

‘Yes, you can. Is one never to run away from a bore for fear she’ll be murdered?’

‘Oh Rory.’

‘All right, darling. I know. And I tell you what—I’m glad you had your migraine and I’m bloody glad she didn’t talk to you. Now, then. Better?’

‘A bit.’

‘Good. One more question. That junk shop in Tollardwark where you encountered the Hewsons. Did you notice the name of the street?’