‘It was where that bank with a bit of scrub on it overhangs the track. I was coming back from the annexe. There’s always water or ice lying about on the far side so I walked close into the bank. Whoever it was must have been lying up there, waiting. But why? Why me?’

Alleyn dropped the lint over the wound and took up a length of strapping. ‘You were wearing my coat,’ he said.

‘Stay me with flagons!’ Fabian whispered. ‘So I was.’ And he was silent while Alleyn finished his dressing. He was comfortable enough lying on his side with a thick pad of cotton-wool under his head. Alleyn tidied his room and when he turned back to the bed Fabian was already dozing. He slipped out.

Before going downstairs he visited the other bedrooms. There were no damp shoes in any of them. Douglas’s and Fabian’s working boots were evidently kept downstairs. ‘But it was something quieter than working boots,’ Alleyn muttered, and returned to the drawing-room.

He found the two Johns on the point of departure and Markins about to remove the tray. Douglas, lying back in an armchair with his feet in the hearth and a pipe in his mouth, glanced up with evident relief. Terence Lynne had unearthed her inevitable knitting and, erect on the sofa, her feet to the fire, flashed her needles composedly. Ursula, who was speaking to Tommy Johns, went quickly to Alleyn.

‘Is he all right? May I go up?’

‘He’s comfortably asleep. I think it will be best to leave him. You may listen at his door presently.’

‘We’ll be going,’ said Tommy Johns. ‘Goodnight, all.’

‘Just a moment,’ said Alleyn.

‘Hallo!’ Douglas looked up quickly. ‘What’s up now?’ And before Alleyn could answer, he added sharply, ‘He is all right, isn’t he? I mean, shall I go down-country for a doctor? I could get back inside four hours if I stepped on it. We don’t want to take any risks with an injury to the head.’

‘No,’ Alleyn agreed, ‘we don’t. If you feel you want to do something of the sort, of course you may, but I fancy he’ll do very well. I’m sure his skull is not injured. It seems to have been a glancing blow.’

‘A blow?’ Terence Lynne’s voice struck harshly. Her mouth was open. The muscle of the upper lip was contracted, showing her teeth in the parody of a smile.

‘But didn’t he fall on his head?’ Douglas shouted.

‘He fell on his face because he’d been struck on the back of the skull.’

‘D’you mean someone attacked him?’

‘I do.’

‘Good God,’ Douglas whispered.

Ursula stood before Alleyn, her hands jammed down in the pockets of her dressing-gown. Her voice shook, but she held her chin up and looked squarely at him. ‘Does that mean somebody wanted to kill Fabian?’ she said.