She spoke in sharp, staccato phrases, looked scornfully at Martindale, then continued. “ I’d rather trust you than the police, P.J. If there’s anything I can do I’d be pleased to help.”

George could think of nothing suitable to say. Doctor Derbyshire broke in nervously:

“Of course we all want to help, that goes without saying. But I don’t understand. Do the police really believe that one of us…? Does that mean that they’ll be poking and prying around the place…?” His voice faded. He became flushed and agitated. His reaction was so severe that George wondered for a moment if he had some medical complaint. His hand was shaking. “It’s intolerable.”

“It’s quite logical,” Palmer-Jones said mildly, afraid almost to provoke the elderly man to further hysteria. “It would have been just possible for someone to get here to commit the murder, but I really don’t see how they could have got off the island afterwards. The police searched very thoroughly when they got here.”

“Quite, quite,” the doctor muttered. His indignation had disappeared. He wanted the subject quickly disposed of. “I must apologize. Shock, you know. Shock.”

They finished eating and Elizabeth took the plates to the kitchen. She returned and they all lingered over the glasses of wine, waiting for someone to move from the table first.

John looked at Elizabeth, then said: “ There’s something that we wanted to tell you. We weren’t going to say anything just yet, but I’ve had to tell the police, so of course we want you all to know too. We’re going to have a baby.”

He was nervous and upset, but still managed to sound very proud. Elizabeth was suddenly overwhelmed with affection for him, an easy pleasing affection, as one might feel for a pet, or someone else’s child.

Jerry Packham was speaking. “That’s terrific,” he said. “I am so glad for you both. I’m sure we all are. Thank you for telling us. At a time like this we all need some good news.”

There followed a clamour of congratulation, but George Palmer-Jones, as he looked round the table, noticed that Mark Taylor’s smile was forced, that his voice as he shouted his best wishes across the table to John was unusually harsh and that he avoided looking at Elizabeth who was sitting next to him.

Elizabeth and John went to the kitchen then, to make coffee, and the others moved towards the common room to wait for it. George helped to gather the glasses together and was the last to leave the dining room. Pamela Marshall was waiting for him, just outside the door.

“Can I talk to you later?” she said. “I should have told you earlier. I’ve been thinking about last night.”

“You did go to Charlie’s?”

She nodded.

“Did you see anyone?”

“It’s not what I saw, it’s what I heard.”

Elizabeth caught them up then. She was carrying the pot of coffee. George opened the common-room door for her, and said to Pamela: