‘Fascist – anti-nig-nog.’ Matilda could just reach and take the licence without seeming to snatch. ‘Thank you so much, Mr Hicks. Lovely day.’ She left the shop regretting her anger, for he would know, as he always knew everything, that she was angry and he would wonder why. Very likely he would set about finding out.

She took the licence from her purse and stuck it on a hook on the dresser. If the murderer had taken Folly with him it would be more money wasted. She perused the papers.

Nothing in the Sun. She turned to the Express. Ah, here was something. Matricide’s car found at Harwich. Search for him intensified in Scandinavia. Fru Sonja Andersson from Copenhagen had identified the killer on the ship. Why had she not reported her suspicions to the Captain? She had not been sure at first, but now she was asked, as were some of her fellow-passengers, she was sure and so was the friend travelling with her.

Bully for you, Sonja Andersson. The Mirror had in its inner page Matricide in Porn Capital. Goody! Matilda, hearing a step, looked up.

‘I thought you’d gone.’

‘I thought you’d have a Panda car waiting.’

Folly greeted Matilda enthusiastically.

‘I bought her a licence,’ she said shamefacedly.

‘She trusts us.’

‘Mm, puts us to shame.’

‘Anything in the papers?’

‘Yes, your car’s been found at Harwich and you were seen by passengers on the boat to Denmark. How’s that?’

‘My car? Where?’

‘If you left the keys in it somebody’s pinched it.’

‘That’s very helpful.’

‘Look, Matricide in Porn Capital. That’s helpful. Nothing in any paper except the Express and Mirror. Your story is stale; they’ve run it into the ground.’

‘Maybe, but the police –’

‘They never give up but other things take their time. Look, here’s a story of a wife’s disappearance. Naked. Just her footmarks in the sand leading inland, uphill away from her clothes and her honeymoon husband.’

‘Aahh.’

‘And this one. Man ate dog for bet. Mr Hooper of Saxon Lane, Hertford, killed his wife’s spaniel dog, skinned it, roasted it in butter and ate it with caper sauce. Says it tasted rather strong.’

‘The British public won’t like that.’

‘Interviewed last night Mrs Hooper said, in tears, I shall divorce him. Of course she must.’

‘You’re making it up.’

‘I’m not.’ Matilda handed Hugh the paper. ‘Could you manage some bread and cheese and salad? I don’t usually eat much lunch.’

‘When I’ve recovered from the roast dog story.’

‘No worse than Matricide. I’ll pick a lettuce.’ She paused in the doorway, her face in shadow. ‘Incidentally, why did you do it?’

Hugh blushed. ‘I’ll tell you some time, not now.’ He bent down, embarrassed, stroking Folly’s ears.

‘Please yourself.’

‘And you can tell me why you really planned your picnic.’

‘Easy – but not now either.’