“It’s like this sometimes,” Jonathan said, “then the wind goes south-east and something unusual turns up. Of course I miss a lot.”

“It must be difficult to get an accurate record when you’re on your own here.”

“Impossible. I’ve tried to get Sylvia involved, but she doesn’t seem interested. Then the big falls of birds always seem to happen during the week while I’m at school.”

“When does term start again?”

“It’s already started. The older ones were supposed to go out on the boat two weeks ago, but they were allowed to stay on becaue of the party. The crew are doing a special run to Baltasay tomorrow to take Will Stennet and the others out. That will make covering the island more difficult, too. Will is quite keen on natural history. He’s more of a botanist than an ornithologist but he knows all the regular migrants and he’s improving all the time. He helped a lot with seabird ringing earlier this season. He’s very handy to have on the cliffs—an excellent climber.”

They were back at the school house in time for lunch. Sylvia was spreading a floral print cloth over the dining-room table. The house smelled of English Sundays. She was wearing a soft white wool dress. She had done her hair differently—it was piled on to her head and fastened with combs—and she was wearing make-up. She offered them sherry.

“This is very civilized,” George said.

“We don’t entertain very often. I like to make the most of it when we do. It isn’t worth making the effort for Jon. He only cares about auks.”

“What did you say?” Jonathan had gone straight to his bookshelf and had taken down a copy of Birds of the Western Palearctic. He and George had been discussing snowy owls and there was something he wanted to check. He had not been listening to his wife.

Sylvia laughed, went over to her husband, and kissed him lightly on the forehead.

“You see? He’s incorrigible. What can I do with him?”

The food was good and Palmer-Jones enjoyed talking about birds with Jonathan and the island with Sylvia. She could capture the individuals of Kinness with one witty phrase—cruel, but amusing.

After the meal they sat by the fire, drank coffee, and read. It was very peaceful. I’m an old man, George thought. This is how I should be spending my time. After all, it’s not my problem. But he could not leave it alone. There were two questions—had Mary been murdered? And if so, what should he do about it?