With the memory of Miss Cost’s face, as Alleyn had seen it that morning made hideous by death, this unlovely story took on a grotesque and appalling character. Mr Nankivell himself seemed to sense something of this reaction: he became uneasy and Alleyn had to assure him, all over again, that it was most unlikely that the matter would turn out to be relevant and that supposing it was, Mr Nankivell’s name would not appear as everything he had said came under the heading of hearsay and would be inadmissible as evidence. This comforted him and he took his leave with the air of a man who, however, distasteful the task, has done his duty.

When he had gone, Alleyn got his notes out again and added a fairly lengthy paragraph. He then lit his pipe and walked over to the window.

It looked down on the causeway, the landing jetty and the roof of Miss Cost’s shop. Across the channel, in the village, trippers still dappled the foreshore. There were several boats out in the calm waters and among them, pulling towards the Island, he saw Patrick’s dinghy with Jenny Williams in the stern. She sat bolt upright and seemed to be looking anywhere but at her companion. He was rowing with exaggerated vigour, head down and shoulders hunched. Even at that distance, he looked as if he was in a temper. As they approached the jetty, Jenny turned towards him and evidently spoke. He lifted his head, seemed to stare at her and then back-paddled into a clear patch of water and half-shipped his oars. The tide was going out and carried them very slowly towards the point of Fisherman’s Bay. They were talking now. Jenny made a quick repressed gesture and shook her head.

‘Lovers’ quarrel,’ Alleyn thought. ‘Damned awkward in a boat. He won’t get anywhere, I daresay.’

‘You won’t get anywhere,’ Jenny was saying in a grand voice, ‘by sulking.’

‘I am not sulking.’

‘Then you’re giving a superb imitation of it. As the day’s been such a failure why don’t we pull in and bring it to an inglorious conclusion?’

‘All right,’ he said but made no effort to do so.

‘Patrick.’

‘What?’

‘Couldn’t you just mention what’s upset your applecart? It’d be better than huffing and puffing behind a thundercloud.’

‘You’re not so marvellously forthcoming yourself.’

‘Well, what am I meant to do? Crash down on my knees in the bilge water and apologize for I don’t know what?’

‘You do know what.’

‘O lord!’ Jenny pushed her fingers through her dazzling hair, looked at him and began to giggle. ‘Isn’t this silly?’ she said.

The shadow of a grin lurked about Patrick’s mouth and was suppressed. ‘Extremely silly,’ he said. ‘I apologize for being a figure of fun.’