‘There’s no sign of forced entry, so presumably he just walked in, as you did yourselves.’ The inspector looked at me more kindly. ‘You really must remember to lock your shop door when you leave it, Miss Browne.’

‘I thought I had,’ I responded miserably, ‘but I was so pissed off about the paint.’

‘Most likely, someone saw you go out and decided to snoop around. He found himself trapped upstairs when you returned and took desperate action. If he was in the living room, then the cloth and the ether were conveniently to hand.’

‘So you don’t believe that this is anything to do with Nick’s murder?’ Ricky demanded.

‘If Miss Browne had been a target in any way, then I fear she would not have escaped so lightly.’ He smiled at me again. ‘I’m sorry. I know this has been a horrible experience for you, but unfortunate coincidences do happen. However, if anything else should occur, Miss Browne, you won’t be tempted to keep it to yourself, will you?’

‘Cross my heart, Inspector,’ I promised devoutly. ‘You’ll be the first to know.’

As soon as the inspector and Cruella DeVille had gone, we put on the kettle for a cup of tea. Morris suggested going to a cafe but Ricky wanted to stay where we were so he could smoke a fag.

‘Just be careful where you light up,’ Morris advised him, looking around.

‘Watch out for hazardous chemicals.’

Ricky ignored him and flicked his lighter. ‘We were going to drop in for a cuppa anyway, weren’t we Morris,’ he said, drawing deeply, ‘before we found her ladyship here laid out in a swoon.’

It seems they’d brought fresh milk with them, because they didn’t think I’d have any, and three new mugs, because they didn’t fancy using Old Nick’s. I was prepared to swallow my indignation because they’d also brought three Danish pastries. Their shopping had been dropped and forgotten when they’d found me on the floor, but turned out to be only slightly squashed.

‘But first things first,’ I said, as I busied myself with the kettle, ‘tell me who you’ve been talking to. Who have you been discussing me with who thinks I murdered Nick?’

But this time they already had their minds on something else.

‘He’s nice, isn’t he, your inspector?’ Ricky opened the window so he could blow his smoke outside.

‘I think he likes you,’ Morris smiled coyly.

‘He’s not my inspector!’ I said firmly. I knew immediately where this was leading.

Morris wagged a finger. ‘I reckon he’s got a soft spot for you.’

‘Pity he’s wearing a wedding ring,’ Ricky sniffed and flicked ash over the windowsill.

‘Oh, eff off,’ I advised them affably. I wasn’t going to let them wind me up.