‘It’s not what he don’t say, it’s the silly standoffishness of what he do say. Nick Harper! Damme, I was to school with the man, and now he sits behind his desk and looks at me as if I be a fool. “Where’s your facts?” he says. “Don’t worry yourself,” he says, “if there’s anything fishy us’ll fish for it.” Truth of the matter is the man’s too small and ignorant for a murderous matter. Can’t raise himself above the level of motor licences and after-hour trade, and more often than not he makes a muck of them. What’ll come to the Feathers if this talk goes on? Happen us’ll have to give up the trade, after a couple of centuries.’

‘Don’t you believe it,’ said Alleyn. ‘We can’t afford to lose our old pubs, Mr Pomeroy, and it’s going to take more than a week’s village gossip to shake the trade at the Plume of Feathers. It is just a week since the inquest, isn’t it? It’s fresh in Mr George Nark’s memory. Give it time to die down.’

‘If this affair dies down, sir, there’ll be a murderer unhung in the Coombe.’

Alleyn raised his brows.

‘You feel like that about it?’

‘Ess, I do. What’s more, sir, I’ll put a name to the man.’

Alleyn lifted a hand but old Abel went on doggedly.

‘I don’t care who hears me, I’ll put a name to him and that there name’s Robert Legge. Now!’

II

‘A very positive old article,’ said Alleyn when Fox returned from seeing Abel Pomeroy down the corridor.

‘I can’t see why he’s made up his mind this chap Legge is a murderer,’ said Fox. ‘He’d only known deceased twenty-four hours. It sounds silly.’

‘He says Watchman gibed at Legge,’ said Alleyn. ‘I wonder if he did. And why.’

‘I’ve heard him in court often enough,’ said Fox. ‘He was a prime heckler. Perhaps it was a habit.’

‘I don’t think so. He was a bit malicious though. He was a striking sort of fellow. Plenty of charm and a good deal of vanity. He always seemed to me to take unnecessary trouble to be liked. But I didn’t know him well. The cousin’s a damn good actor. Rather like Watchman, in a way. Oh well, it’s not our pidgin, thank the Lord. I’m afraid the old boy’s faith in us wonderful police has been shaken.’

‘D’you know the Super at Illington, Mr Alleyn?’

‘Harper? Yes, I do. He was in on that arson case in South Devon in ‘37. Served his apprenticeship in L Division. You must remember him.’

‘Nick Harper?’

‘That’s the fellow. Devon, born and bred. I think perhaps I’d better write and warn him about Mr Pomeroy’s pilgrimage.’