Alleyn took the tip of his nose between thumb and forefinger. ‘Not me,’ he said. ‘Mr Losse.’

‘It sounded like you, sir. I thought you must have been talking to someone else.’

‘And apparently, on the telephone, I sounded like Mr Losse. Damn it then,’ Alleyn said irritably, ‘where is he? If he ran downhill, why didn’t he come in? And who was he singing out to? Young Cliff?’

‘No, sir. Cliff was home by then. When I got up to the cottage, I asked him if he’d seen you, and he said he hadn’t seen anybody. What was Mr Losse doing, sir?’

Alleyn told him. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I don’t like this. Let’s hunt him out.’

‘There’s half a dozen things he might be doing, Mr Alleyn.’

‘What sort of things? We’ll go through your kitchen, Markins. Lead the way. I’ve got a torch.’

‘Well,’ said Markins, moving off, ‘letting water out of the truck radiator. It’s going to be a hard frost.’

‘Would he run downhill to do that?’

‘Well, no. The garage is up by the sheds.’

‘What was it he called out?’ asked Alleyn, following Markins into a dark warm kitchen that smelt of pine wood and fat.

‘I couldn’t say, really. He just shouted. He sounded surprised. Just a moment, if you please, Mr Alleyn. I’ve bolted the door. Ever since that young Cliff played up with the whisky, I’ve shut up careful.’

‘Cliff didn’t play up. It was the unspeakable Albie.’

‘I caught him with the bottle in his hand!’

‘He was putting it back.’

‘He never was!’ Markins cried out, with almost ladylike incredulity.

‘Albie’s admitted it. The boy was saving his disgusting face for him.’

‘Then why the hell couldn’t he say so?’ Markins demanded in a high voice. ‘I’d better stick to valeting and cut out the special stuff,’ he added disgustedly. ‘I can’t pick petty larceny when it’s under my nose. Come on, sir.’

It was pitch dark outside and bitingly cold. Markins, using Alleyn’s torch, led the way up a steep path. Grass was crisp under their feet and frost scented the air. Ice seemed to move against their faces as they climbed. The sky was clear and full of winking stars.

‘Where are we going, Mr Alleyn?’

‘To the annexe.’

‘This path comes out above the buildings, but we can cut across to the track. It’s not too rough, but it’s steepish.’

Clods of earth broke idly under Alleyn’s shoes. He and Markins skated and slithered. ‘Kick your heels in,’ Markins said. A sense of urgency, illogically insistent, plagued Alleyn. ‘Where’s this cursed track?’ he grunted.