Again the inspector stared hard at De Sousa. What, he wondered, was going on behind the mocking, smooth façade? He adopted a more confidential manner.

‘I wonder if you can perhaps tell me a little more about your cousin? Her character, her reactions?’

De Sousa appeared politely surprised.

‘Really – has this anything to do with the murder of the girl in the boathouse, which I understand is the real matter with which you occupy yourself ?’

‘It might have a connection,’ said Inspector Bland.

De Sousa studied him for a moment or two in silence. Then he said with a slight shrug of the shoulders:

‘I never knew my cousin at all well. She was a unit in a large family and not particularly interesting to me. But in answer to your question I would say to you that although mentally weak, she was not, as far as I know, ever possessed by any homicidal tendencies.’

‘Really, Mr De Sousa, I wasn’t suggesting that!’

‘Weren’t you? I wonder. I can see no other reason for your question. No, unless Hattie has changed very much, she is not homicidal!’ He rose. ‘I am sure that you cannot want to ask me anything further, Inspector. I can only wish you every possible success in tracking down the murderer.’

‘You are not thinking of leaving Helmmouth for a day or two, I hope, Mr De Sousa?’

‘You speak very politely, Inspector. Is that an order?’

‘Just a request, sir.’

‘Thank you. I propose to stay in Helmmouth for two days. Sir George has very kindly asked me to come and stay in the house, but I prefer to remain on the Espérance. If you should want to ask me any further questions, that is where you will find me.’

He bowed politely. P.C. Hoskins opened the door for him, and he went out.

‘Smarmy sort of fellow,’ muttered the inspector to himself.

‘Aah,’ said P.C. Hoskins in complete agreement.

‘Say she is homicidal if you like,’ went on the inspector, to himself. ‘Why should she attack a nondescript girl? There’d be no sense in it.’

‘You never know with the barmy ones,’ said Hoskins.

‘The question really is, how barmy is she?’

Hoskins shook his head sapiently.

‘Got a low I.Q., I reckon,’ he said.

The inspector looked at him with annoyance.

‘Don’t bring out these new-fangled terms like a parrot. I don’t care if she’s got a high I.Q. or a low I.Q. All I care about is, is she the sort of woman who’d think it funny, or desirable, or necessary, to put a cord round a girl’s neck and strangle her? And where the devil is the woman, anyway? Go out and see how Frank’s getting on.’