‘You didn’t tell him I’d seen the letter?’

Desirée looked fixedly at him. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I didn’t but I felt like a housemaid who’s broken a cup. Poor P.P. What can it all be about? He is so fussed, you can’t imagine.’

‘Never mind,’ Alleyn said, ‘I dare say it’s only his over-developed social sense.’

‘Well, I know. All the same –’ She put her hand on his arm. ‘Rory,’ she said, ‘if you don’t awfully mind, don’t tell him I gave you the letter. He’d think me such a sweep.’

At that moment Alleyn liked her very much. ‘I won’t tell him,’ he said carefully, ‘unless I have to. And, for your part, I’ll be obliged if you don’t tell him, either.’

‘I’m not likely to am I? And, anyway, I don’t quite see why the promises about this letter should all be on my side.’

‘It may be important.’

‘All right, but I can’t think how. You’ve got it. Are you going to use it in some way?’

‘Not if it’s irrelevant.’

‘I suppose it’s no good asking you to give it back to me. No, I can see it’s not.’

‘It isn’t, really, Desirée,’ Alleyn said, using her name for the first time. ‘Not till I make quite sure it’s of no account. I’m sorry.’

‘What a common sort of job you’ve got. I can’t think how you do it.’ She gave one of her harsh barks of laughter.

He looked at her for a moment. ‘I expect that was a very clever thing to say,’ he said. ‘But I’m afraid it makes no difference. Goodbye. Thank you again for my lunch.’

When he was in the car he said: ‘To Ribblethorpe. It’s about five miles, I think. I want to go to the parish church.’

It was a pleasant drive through burgeoning lanes. There were snowdrops in the hedgerows and a general air of freshness and simplicity. Desirée’s final observation stuck in his gullet.

Ribblethorpe was a tiny village. They drove past a row of cottages and a shop-post-office and came to a pleasant if not distinguished church with a big shabby parsonage beyond it.