He drove into Gillicombe and parked his car on the sea front. It was just nine o’clock. Jasmine Carson saw him through her kitchen window, and thought for a while that he was coming to visit her. She was disappointed, and suddenly lonely, when he walked past the flats towards the High Street. What was he doing in Gillicombe anyway? she thought. There was a light wind, it had been a clear night, so it should be a perfect ringing day. He should be on Gillibry, helping John. Yet, despite her disappointment and her censure she watched him with affection. Just by being there he had brought the island closer to her.

Before climbing the hill into the town, George hesitated. He had planned to visit Todd Leisure Enterprises first, to talk to Charles Todd’s brothers, but he turned now towards the police station. He had been devising a theory which might explain Charlie’s visit to the mainland on that Friday and the comment that the Todds were an immoral lot. Savage might help him to confirm it. He walked through the glass doors, gave his name to the duty sergeant and asked to speak to Savage. He sat on an orange plastic chair and waited. He waited for ten minutes, then Connibear appeared. The policeman looked slightly embarrassed, but he spoke easily enough. His skill at deception would, George thought, improve with experience.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” he said. “Superintendent Savage has asked me to see you. He’s tied up all morning. Some administrative meeting, I believe. Can I help you? Do you want to see Nicholas Mardle?”

Do I? George thought. No. He has told me all he can. It would only be a distraction. He felt no anger at Savage’s refusal to see him. How pathetic he must seem to the superintendent, an interfering old buffer who could not accept that he might be wrong.

“I’d be grateful for half an hour of your time,” he said. Connibear sensed no irony in Palmer-Jones’s apparent humility.

“Of course, sir. I’d be glad to help in any way. Superintendent Savage has told me all about you. But look, this isn’t a very comfortable place to talk. I generally go out for a coffee in the morning. There’s a little place round the corner. It’s better than the canteen. It’ll be quiet now. We can talk there.”

So, George thought, Savage has told him to get me off the premises. But he smiled and said that he would be glad of a coffee after his walk from the island.

The café was run by Italians, who served them then took no notice of them. A trickle of workmen came in for bacon sandwiches to take away, but no one else sat at the stained tables. The coffee was hot and very strong.

“I wanted to talk to you about the Todds,” George said. He had dropped his pose of subservience. “ The business. Todd Leisure Enterprises. You’ve never had any dealings with them?”