Despite a promise to Ricky and Morris to let them know when I was next going to the shop so they could keep me company, I slipped in at the end of my day’s work, just for an hour. The ceiling was not going to paint itself and I needed some quiet time when I could concentrate. I didn’t get it. I hadn’t even levered the lid off the paint before a light tap on the shop door made me squawk like a startled chicken.

The figure grinning through the glass at me was Paul.

‘C’mon, open up! It’s starting to rain out here.’

‘I didn’t know you were back,’ I cried, letting him in. ‘What a nice surprise!’

I let myself be kissed on the cheek.

‘How are you?’ he asked cheerfully. ‘I hear you had a bit of bother yesterday.’

‘You could call it that. God, news travels fast in this place! Mind you, I suppose the ambulance and police car parked outside were a dead giveaway.’

‘The girls in the bazaar were buzzing with it all. But you weren’t hurt?’ he asked, more seriously.

‘Only my pride.’

He looked about him at the newly painted shelves, the sparkling white walls. ‘You’re making progress.’

I gazed up at the splodged ceiling. ‘Not enough.’

‘Leave it! I’ve come to take you away from all this. The choice of pub is yours.’

My resolve to get the ceiling painted held sway for an entire moment. Ten minutes later we were cosily ensconced in a hostelry that is a bit spit-and-sawdust but has the advantage of a roaring fire, spring temperatures not being quite what they could be. It also sold real ale, which was another advantage, according to Paul. I stuck to cider, refusing his tempting offer of a pint of Badger’s Bum.

‘So, when did you get down here?’ I asked.

‘Last night, I just missed the excitement. Tell me all.’

I did. When I finished, Paul was looking askance at me, his hands linked behind his head, his brows drawn together in a frown. ‘You haven’t been doing any more sleuthing, have you?’

‘No, I swear to God!’ I assured him, holding up both hands. ‘Well, if you don’t count my going to see Verbena.’

‘You haven’t irritated any dangerous thugs lately?’

‘Not knowingly.’

He took a pull of his pint thoughtfully and licked a smear of foam from his top lip. ‘Well, I’m sure your police inspector is right. It was probably an opportunist thief yesterday, just snooping around. You were lucky you didn’t come off worse, though.’

I nodded gloomily.

‘As a matter of fact,’ he added, ‘someone has been snooping around my place while I’ve been away, they tried to break in to the caravan.’

‘Really?’