‘But this idea of yours that the anonymous letter-writer will suggest that Tiny Fullalove murdered Bill is fascinating,’ said Jonathan. ‘It’s just the sort of thing to be meat and drink to one of these cowardly sadists, a man dying suddenly, for no apparent reason, like that. Still, it can be so easily disproved that it wouldn’t make more than a nine-days’ wonder, I imagine. The village is fairly stolid.’

‘I suppose it ought to be disproved?’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘Oh, I’ve nothing to go on,’ she added, laughing at her nephew’s startled expression, ‘but I should like to talk to Mr Emming, all the same. It would be very instructive to know how much truth there is in this second letter, and whether he has any idea of which woman is meant.’

‘You don’t really think there was anything fishy about Bill’s death, do you?’ demanded Jonathan, continuing the line of thought which interested him most.

‘On the face of it, yes, I do, and there are points which require explanation, apart from the typewritten note, which, except for the death itself, is the most mysterious feature of the affair.’

‘Tiny explained quite a bit in the statement that was read at the inquest. He says he slipped while he was walking and crashed on to his knee on a boulder hidden by snow. He managed to drag himself back to the bungalow, but knows nothing of the note that was sent to Anstey. He is positive that he wrote nothing; he is equally positive that he does not possess a typewriter; and he can’t explain how anybody knew he was injured.’

‘One feels reasonably certain that he must know more than he says.’

‘But what on earth would induce a man to go to all the trouble of typing the two notes if he was as badly injured as we know that he is? That knee of his is no joke.’

‘I absolutely agree. Yet self-inflicted injuries have been known before this. I wonder what made Will North mention the pile of snow on that platform? And I wonder whether the choirmaster, Emming, has received an anonymous letter? He certainly seems to be affected. He is named as an illegitimate child. That ought to give us a clue to the letter-writer, you know. After all, Emming came from London. There is only one person in the village who might know the secrets of his youth.’

‘Oh, you mean Mrs Dalby Whittier! But they may not have come from the same part of London, surely! It’s quite a big city!’

‘True,’ said Mrs Bradley thoughtfully. ‘But if they did not know each other in London, why should the vicar have received the anonymous letter about one of his parishioners? You see, the letter did not concern itself so much with Emming’s illegitimacy as with his mother’s character and misfortunes.’