‘Thanks.’ That could only be Hanna. I excused myself to Jill and followed John to the telephone. He was learning fast: he hadn’t brought along a portable to be plugged in.

He handed me the receiver and went away, stiff-backed. One thing he hadn’t learned was to like me. ‘Kemp here.’

‘This is McKittrick. I’d like to see you, Mr Kemp.’

I was surprised. ‘How did you know where to find me?’

‘Does it matter? It’s important that I see you.’

‘When?’

‘As soon as possible.’

‘Where?’

There was a pause for thought before he said, ‘Remember the field I was planting with corn? I’ll see you there. It’s close to my home.’

‘I’d still like to know how you found me.’

‘You haven’t exactly been hiding,’ he said.

Neither had I been broadcasting my movements to all and sundry. Only Hanna and the copper on the motorcycle knew where I was. And Lord Hosmer. And Jill Salton. And … ‘All right,’ I said. ‘Give me an hour.’

I put down the telephone and went in search of John, who was polishing silver in a pantry next to the kitchen. He rose to his feet as soon as he saw me. ‘Sir?’

‘Do you listen to every telephone call in this house?’ I asked bluntly.

Not a muscle in his seamed face moved but there was an almost imperceptible widening of the eyes. ‘Sir?’ he said, apparently in surprise.

‘The last time I was here I had a private telephone call during which I discussed certain theoretical matters with a Mr Ogilvie. The next day rumours of that discussion were all over this bloody island and Ogilvie was dead.’

John’s face turned an unhealthy grey and he swayed on his feet. The polishing cloth dropped from his fingers. ‘Dead?’

‘Dead. And I was nearly dead, but I was lucky. Did you just tell McKittrick I was here?’

He leaned on the table. ‘Excuse me, sir.’ He eased himself shakily into the chair, looked uncomprehendingly at the fork he was holding, and then dropped it with a clatter.

I raised my voice. ‘Did you tell McKittrick?’

He was stricken. He lifted his head and his lower lip trembled. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it, sir. I was just passing on a message.’

‘Was it to McKittrick?’

‘Yes, sir.’

I took a deep breath. ‘Right, let me get this straight. You told Dr McKittrick the details of my telephone call with Mr Ogilvie? Is that right?’ He nodded tremulously. ‘There were riots in San Martin the next day,’ I said. ‘People were hurt because of that. All because of your meddling.’

‘I didn’t mean that to happen.’

‘What I don’t understand is why you did it. Why tell McKittrick?’

‘He’s my grandson,’ said John simply.

IV