‘Certainly. Come in here. Deb, look after Sally. You do know one another slightly and you both know me a lot, so …’

‘I’m sorry to intrude, sir, on top of visitors,’ said the sergeant. ‘Well, yes, I will, sir, if it’s all the same. Many thanks.’

Jonathan poured out a couple of beers, asked the maid to find Mrs Bradley, and produced a pipe for himself and cigarettes for the Law.

‘Stop me if I’m wrong,’ he said, when Mrs Bradley had been found, and the sergeant had taken a long, refreshing draught and had lighted a cigarette, ‘but I take it that you’ve come about those wretched anonymous letters that some of us have been receiving.’

‘In a sort of a way, yes, sir. A Mr Baird, down in the village, has complained, and, previous to that, we heard from a Mrs Dalby Whittier, who was housekeeper to the two Mr Fullaloves.’

‘Oh? What did Mrs Whittier have to say?’

‘Something which got us rather … shall I say interested, sir? The fact is – you’ll please to keep this to yourself, sir – she gave us a piece of news which made us look twice at Mr Bill Fullalove’s death. Of course, the inquest went straightforward enough, and the doctors both gave the only evidence they could give, medically speaking, which, as you remember, was heart failure due to cold and exposure. Anyway, sir, when this letter from Mrs Dalby Whittier turned up, we naturally took steps to verify her information.’

‘I thought you always proceeded,’ said Jonathan.

‘Beg pardon, sir?’

‘Oh, nothing. Sorry. Have some more beer.’

‘Well, thank you, I don’t mind if I do. Well, sir – lovely drop of stuff, this. I always say you can’t beat the West Country for beers – it turns out that Mrs Dalby Whittier’s yarn is true. No longer ago than last September, Mr Bill Fullalove got himself medically examined for a life insurance policy. It seems he thought to get married at some time or other. Now comes the interesting part, sir. Mr Tiny, according to the doctor what has been attending him in that nursing home he’s gone to, is no great shakes as a life. Not terrible bad, you know, but long years in India haven’t done his constitution much good. Mr Bill, on the other hand, was a remarkably good life. The insurance company’s doctor – we’ve been in personal touch with him – states he has never seen a healthier man or tested a heart in better condition than when he examined Mr William Fullalove, address as we all know it.’

‘Oho!’ said Jonathan, obviously and greatly interested.