Ursula walked round the top of the tennis court, past the front of the house, to her allotted beat between the two lawns. The path was flanked by scrubby borders of parched annuals amongst which she hunted assiduously. Cliff Johns now played noisily but she was farther away and only heard disjointed passages, strident and angry. She thought it was a polonaise. TUM, te-tum. Te-tum-te-tum-te TUM, te-tum. Tiddlytumtum. She didn’t know how he could proclaim himself like that after what had happened. Across the lawn, on her right, Fabian, making for the kitchen garden, whistled sweetly. Between them Terence Lynne hunted along the companion path to Ursula’s. The poplar fences completely hid them from each other but every now and then they would call out: ‘Any luck?’ ‘Not so far.’ It was now almost dark. Ursula had worked her way to the bottom of her beat and turned into the connecting path that ran right along the lower end of the garden. Here she found Terence Lynne. ‘It’s no good looking along here,’ Terence had said. ‘We didn’t come here with Mrs Rubrick. We crossed the lawn to the kitchen garden.’ But Ursula reminded her that earlier in the evening while Douglas and Fabian played an after-dinner singles, the girls had come this way with Florence. ‘But I’m sure she had the clip then,’ Terence objected. ‘We should have noticed if one was missing. And in any case, I’ve looked along here. We’d better not be together. You know what she said.’ They argued in a desultory way and then Ursula returned to her beat. She saw a light flash beyond the fence on the right side of the tennis lawn and heard Douglas call out, ‘Here’s a torch, Uncle Arthur.’ It was not long after this that Arthur Rubrick found the clip in a clump of zinnias along the lavender walk.

‘He said the beam from the torch caught it and it sent out sparks of blue light. They shouted, “Got it. We’ve found it!” and we all met on the tennis lawn. I ran out to a place on the drive where you can see the shearing-shed but there was no light there so we all went indoors.’ As they did this the music in the annexe stopped abruptly.

They had trailed rather wearily into the dining-room just as the nine o’clock bulletin was beginning on the radio. Fabian had turned it off. Arthur Rubrick had sat at the table, breathing short, his face more congested than usual. Terence Lynne, without consulting him, poured out a stiff nip of whisky. This instantly reminded Ursula of Cliff’s performance on the previous night. Arthur thanked Terence in his breathless voice and pushed the diamond clip across the table to Ursula.

‘I’ll just run up with it. Auntie Floss will like to know it’s found.’