He glowered at her. ‘You don’t say that as a rule. Everyone says “darling” but you don’t.’

‘That’s right. I’m saying it now for a change. Darling.’

He covered her hand with his. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I am really sorry. Darling Jenny.’

From his bedroom window Alleyn watched and thought: ‘He’ll lose his oar.’

It slipped through the rowlock. Patrick became active with the other oar. The dinghy bobbed and turned about. They both reached dangerously overboard. Through the open window Alleyn faintly caught the sound of their laughter.

‘That’s done the trick,’ he thought. The telephone rang and he answered it.

‘Fox here, sir,’ said a familiar placid voice. ‘Speaking from Portcarrow station.’

‘You sound like the breath of spring.’

‘I didn’t quite catch what you said.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Have you brought my homicide kit?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then come, Birdie, come.’

Mr Fox replaced the receiver and said to Superintendent Coombe and the Yard party: ‘We’re to go over. He’s worried.’

‘He sounded as if he was acting the goat or something,’ said Coombe.

‘That’s right,’ said Fox. ‘Worried. Come on, you chaps.’

Detective-Sergeants Bailey and Thompson, carrying their kit, accompanied him to the Island. Coombe showed them the way, saw them off and returned to his office.

They walked in single file over the causeway. Alleyn saw them from his window, picked up his raincoat and went down the steps to meet them. They had attracted a considerable amount of attention.

‘Quite a picturesque spot,’ said Mr Fox. ‘Popular, too, by the looks of it. What’s the story, Mr Alleyn?’

‘I’ll tell you on the way, Br’er Fox.’

They had their suitcases with them. Alleyn gave a likely-looking boy five shillings to take them up to the hotel. Numbers of small boys had collected and were shaping up to accompany them. ‘Move along,’ said Mr Fox majestically. ‘Shove along, now. Right away. Clear out of it.’

They backed off.

‘You’m Yard men, be’ant you, mister?’said the largest of the boys.

‘That’s right,’ Alleyn said. ‘Push off or we’ll be after you.’

They broke into peals of derisive but gratified laughter and scattered. One of them started a sort of chant but the others told him to shut up.

Alleyn took his own kit from Fox and suggested that they all walked round the arm of Fisherman’s Bay and up by Wally’s route to the enclosure. On the way he gave them a résumé of the case.

‘Complicated,’ Mr Fox remarked when Alleyn had finished. ‘Quite a puzzle.’

‘And that’s throwing roses at it.’

‘Which do you favour, Mr Alleyn? Mistaken identity or dead on the target?’