When I arrived back at Belinda’s place that night, with more than a modicum of regret, I found a note from Binky, instructing me to meet him at our solicitors’ office at ten o’clock. This could prove to be awkward if it went on too long, as I had arranged to meet my grandfather at lunchtime. To be on the safe side, I went into Rannoch House early in the morning to pick up the maid’s uniform. This was a wise move as there was no sign of either police or journalists outside at that hour. The house felt very strange and horribly cold, although all traces of the body had been removed from the bath. But I found myself tiptoeing past the bathroom door under the watchful eye of that avenging statue.

As I took the maid’s uniform out of my wardrobe, I heard something chink. I put my hand into the apron pocket and there was the figurine I had broken at the Featherstonehaughs’. So much had happened since, that I had completely forgotten about it. Oh, dear. Now I’d have to think of a way to have it mended and sneak it back. I just hoped they hadn’t noticed it was missing among all those swords and gods and whatnots. I shoved it into the top drawer of my dressing table and put the maid’s uniform into a carrier bag. I’d have to find a loo to change in somewhere along the way.

I was just leaving the house when the telephone rang.

“Georgie?” a male voice asked.

For a second I thought it was Binky, but before I could answer he went on to say, “It’s Tristram. Sorry to ring you at this hour. Did I wake you?”

“Wake me? Tristram, I’ve been up for hours. Actually I’m staying with a friend and I just stopped at Rannoch House to pick up some things before I have to meet my brother at the solicitors’. You’ve heard the news presumably?”

“I saw it in the papers. I couldn’t believe my eyes. What a rum do. Your brother’s not the sort who goes around bumping off people, is he?”

“Absolutely not.”

“So who could it have been? I was talking to Whiffy on the phone last night and we just couldn’t imagine why someone would leave a body at Rannoch House. Do you think it was a poor sort of joke?”

“I’ve no idea, Tristram,” I said.

“Rotten luck on you, anyway.”

“Yes. It has been pretty rotten.”

“And Whiffy tells me that you had a nasty accident yesterday. Fell off a boat and nearly drowned, so he says.”

“Yes, things don’t seem to be going too swimmingly at the moment,” I said, trying to think how I could end this conversation politely.

“And Whiffy said you went off with that O’Mara fellow.”