The pub was in a side street that led into the green at Mr Period’s end of it. There was nobody about and their footsteps sounded loud on the paving-stones. Connie Cartell’s Pekinese was yapping somewhere on the far side of the green. Distantly, from the parish schoolroom, came the sound of communal singing.

Only one room in Mr Period’s house was lit and that was the library. Stepping as quietly as the gravelled drive would permit, they moved towards the French windows. Bay trees stood on either side of the glass doors which were almost but not quite shut.

Alleyn looked across the table Nicola had used, past her shrouded typewriter and stacked papers. Beyond, to his right, and against the window in the side wall, was Mr Period’s desk. His shaded lamp, as if it had been switched on by a stage-manager, cast down a pool of light on that restricted area, giving it an immense theatricality. The telephone receiver dangled from the desk and Mr Period’s right arm hung beside it. His body was tipped forward in his chair and his face lay among his papers. The hair was ruffled like a baby’s and from his temple a ribbon of blood had run down the cheekbone to the nostril.

‘Doctor,’ Alleyn said. ‘What’s-his-name. Elekton.’

Fox said: ‘Better use the other phone.’ He replaced the receiver very gingerly and went into the hall.

Mr Period was not dead. When Alleyn bent over him, he could hear his breathing – a faint snoring sound. The pulse was barely perceptible.

Fox came back. ‘On his way,’ he said. ‘Will I search outside?’

‘Right. We’d better not move him. I’ll do the house.’

It was perfectly quiet and empty of living persons. Alleyn went from room to room, opening and shutting doors, receiving the indefinable smells of long-inhabited places, listening, looking and finding nothing. Mrs Mitchell’s room smelt stuffily of hairpins and Alfred Belt’s of boot polish. Mr Period’s bedroom smelt of hair lotion and floor polish and Mr Cartell’s of blankets and soap. Nothing was out of place anywhere in Mr Period’s house. Alleyn returned to the library as Fox came in.

‘Nothing,’ Fox said. ‘Nobody, anywhere.’

‘There’s the instrument,’ Alleyn said.

It was the bronze paper-weight in the form of a fish that Desirée had given Mr Period. It lay on the carpet close to his dangling hand.

‘I’ll get our chaps,’ Fox said. ‘They’re in the pub. Here’s the doctor.’

Dr Elekton came in looking as if his professional manner had been fully extended.

‘What now, for God’s sake?’ he said and went straight to his patient. Alleyn watched him make his examination which did not take long.