‘I honestly don’t think we should. It’s probably a completely barren precaution but at this stage –’

‘ “We must not”,’ Coombe said, ‘ “allow ourselves to form a hardand-fast theory to the prejudice of routine investigation.” I know. But I wouldn’t mind taking a bet on it that Miss Cost’s got nothing to do with this case.’

‘Except in so far as she happens to be the body?’

‘You know what I mean. All right: she fixed the earlier jobs. All right: she may have got at that kid and set him on to Miss Pride. In a way, you might say she organized her own murder.’

‘Yes,’ Alleyn said. ‘You might indeed. It may well be that she did.’ He glanced at his colleague. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Pender will be coming back this way any time now, won’t he? I suggest you put him in the shop just to see Miss Cissy Thing doesn’t exceed her duty. He can keep observation in the background and leave you free to lend a hand in developments at Wally’s joint or whatever it’s called. I’ll be damned glad of your company.’

‘All right,’ Coombe said. ‘If you say so.’

This, Alleyn thought, is going to be tricky.

‘Come on,’ he said and put his hand on Coombe’s shoulder. ‘It’s a hell of a bind but, as the gallant Major would say, it is the drill.’

‘That’s right,’ said Superintendent Coombe. ‘I know that. See you later, then.’

Alleyn left him at the shop.

Jenny was waiting down by the seafront. They turned left, walked round the arm of the bay, and arrived at the group of fishermen’s dwellings. Boats pulled up on the foreshore, a ramshackle jetty and the cottages themselves, tucked into the hillside, all fell, predictably, into a conventional arrangement.

‘In a moment,’ said Jenny, ‘you will be confronted by Wally’s Cottage, but not as I remember it. It used to be squalid and dirty and it stank to high heaven. Mrs Trehern is far gone in gin and Trehern, as you may know, is unspeakable. But somehow or another the exhibit has been evolved: very largely through the efforts of Miss Cost egged on – well – ’

‘By whom? By Major Barrimore?’

‘Not entirely,’ Jenny said quickly. ‘By the Mayor, who is called Mr Nankivell, and his councillors and anybody in Portcarrow who is meant to be civic-minded. And principally, I’m afraid, by Mrs Fanny Winterbottom and her financial advisors. Or so Patrick says. So, of course, does your Miss Emily. It’s all kept up by the estate. There’s a guild or something that looks after the garden and supervises the interior. Miss Emily calls the whole thing “complètement en toc”. There you are,’ said Jenny as they came face-to-face with their destination. ‘That’s Wally’s Cottage, that is.’