‘Then he can’t,’ said Jonathan decisively. ‘I’m not giving up my chop to anybody, and you’re not to, and Aunt Adela is our guest and therefore can hardly be mulcted of hers, because that would bring shame on the household. He’ll have to trot back to his bit of corned beef, or gaucho horse, or whatever it is. I can give him a drink, and that’s all.’

‘I don’t suppose he’ll accept one,’ said Deborah, ‘if he’s got another round this afternoon.’

‘He can’t possibly have another round this afternoon. There’s nobody to go round to, unless he goes and looks up Tiny Fullalove in that nursing home. Anyhow, you’d better put lunch off until two. He’s got something important to say, and it may take some time.’

‘All right. Was your parcel this morning what you wanted?’

‘No, it wasn’t. It was simply a lot of tripe about the geology of the Pitcairn Islands, and as I can’t work if I can’t get the materials I want, I’m going to smoke a pipe and read the new Nicholas Blake.’

‘You can’t. I’ve got it.’

‘Then,’ said Jonathan, ‘you can jolly well hand it over.’

Doctor Fielding came at ten minutes past twelve, accepted gin and tonic, and came at once to the point.

‘It’s your aunt I want, not you. At least, I may want you later as a witness. I’m getting anonymous letters.’

‘Been accused of poisoning the patients?’

‘Much worse. I could disprove that easily. This would mean an exhumation job if the writer’s serious and chooses to follow up the matter.’

‘Oho! Don’t tell me. I can guess. Bill Fullalove.’

‘Who told you? Have you had one too?’

‘Yes. So has young Emming, the choir bloke. So has the vicar. But they’re not all about the same thing.’

‘I say, we don’t want a public pest in the village! That sort of round-robin stuff can have serious consequences. How many letters have you had?’

‘One. Emming’s had two, and the vicar’s had one about Emming.’

‘So have I, dash it! Two letters, I mean. The first one suggested that Bill Fullalove had been murdered, and the second one accused me of being aware of the fact and of conspiring to hush it up.’

‘Good Lord! The idiot must be crazy!’

‘That’s just the trouble,’ said Doctor Fielding. ‘She probably is, but there’s just the chance she might not be. That’s why I want to talk to your aunt. She’s better qualified than I am and she’s seen plenty of corpses, murdered, suicided and just plain. I’d like her professional observations on Fullalove’s death. She saw the body when I did.’

‘I’ll fetch her. Help yourself to another drink.’