“But he’s got expensive tastes?”

“Only in girlfriends.”

“Will you tell me now, where you were when Pamela was murdered?”

“Yes,” Mark said. “ I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you yesterday.”

He went to the bar, bought himself and George a drink.

“I was in the common room.”

“What were you doing there?”

Mark seemed sheepish, embarrassed. “ Brooding, I suppose … Grieving.”

George Palmer-Jones marvelled at young people’s interest in their own emotions. Mark was so concerned to describe his feelings accurately.

“Grieving for Charlie?”

“Oh no, not for Charlie.”

He paused.

“It seems ridiculous now.” He looked resolutely at George. “ It was Elizabeth. I always had a thing about her. I kept coming back to the island because of her. There was nothing in it. I never said anything to her. I knew, I suppose, that it was hopeless, but I was always desperately attracted to her. I’ve had girlfriends at college, girls of my own age, but Elizabeth was different, special. I like John very much, but they always seemed to be arguing. I suppose I dreamed that eventually they might separate, and I wanted to be there if they did. Then John told us that she was pregnant, and I realized that I’d been daft to consider anything like that. I saw the whole thing for what it was—just an infatuation.”

He smiled at George, inviting understanding.

“I see,” George said. “ How long were you in the common room … brooding?”

“I don’t know. Half an hour. Not more. It started getting cold and I felt a bit silly and melodramatic.”

“Where were you when you heard Nicholas screaming?”

“On the stairs.”

“Did you hear anyone moving about in the ringing room, while you were in the common room?”

“No. But someone could have been there. I was preoccupied.”

“Did you ever meet Elizabeth on the mainland?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I’m interested.”

“I never did meet her. I wish that I had done.”

“Did Elizabeth have anything to do with Ernest Todd?”

Mark looked disgusted. “I hope not. Ernest has quite a reputation, but I should think that she had better taste than that. Besides, I don’t believe that there’s anyone else. She’s really very fond of John.”

They sat without speaking. It was very quiet in the room. Then they collected the glasses and walked out into the sunshine. As he went through the door the old lady behind the bar gave George a drunken, lopsided wink.

They stood together on the pavement.

George asked: “Do you think that Nicholas killed Pamela?”

Mark hesitated.

“On Saturday I would have said that it was impossible. But I saw him there, in that room, covered in blood, and I just don’t know. I don’t know what to think.”

“He’s a remand prisoner. It should be possible for you to visit him. He’d appreciate that.”

“Yes,” Mark said. “I could do that, couldn’t I? Thank you.” And he hurried away.