‘Suppose another letter named names and made another definite accusation against somebody? I don’t know, at the moment, what I should do about that. There would have to be some sort of evidence. The letters, so far, contain no real facts at all.’

‘But they do, you know! All of them! Every one! Oh, well, let’s forget it,’ said Jonathan, ‘but remember that you’ll be responsible as soon as something blows up!’

But no one was permitted to forget it. The next complaint that an anonymous letter had been received came again from the nursing home where Tiny Fullalove was mending his damaged knee.

‘It’s quite absurd,’ he pointed out, ‘but some damn’ feller has written accusing me of doing in poor old Bill. What do I do about it?’

‘Nothing, apparently,’ said Jonathan. ‘That’s the Chief Constable’s view, at any rate. You grin and bear it, that’s all.’

‘But can’t you do anything? Damn it, you’re a Justice of the Peace.’

‘Yes. That has its humorous aspect,’ replied Jonathan, still angry with Fullalove over Deborah. ‘You’d better ring up the police and leave it to them.’

The Chief Constable visited Jonathan again the next day.

‘Here’s our next definite accusation all right,’ he said triumphantly, ‘and it only bears out what I said. This individual is so anxious to get herself into the papers that she hasn’t even taken the trouble to find out that, even supposing the death wasn’t natural, Tiny Fullalove is the one person who couldn’t have had anything to do with it.’

‘His busted kneecap?’

‘Exactly.’

‘We’ve no clue to when he did it, have we?’

‘Yes, near enough, I think. Anstey met you at about a quarter past four. Bill was not dead when you went up through Groaning Spinney. You found his body propped against the gate on your return journey.’

‘So what?’

‘So Tiny had got his injury before Bill died.’

‘Tiny could have delivered the note himself, and then gone off and killed Bill. We don’t know when that note was pushed under Anstey’s door.’

‘But how could he know he was going to be injured like that? The injury is his alibi.’

‘Some blokes in the Army …’

‘Yes, I know. But – do you think Tiny’s that type? – And a smashed kneecap is so damnably painful that it’s not the kind of injury to be deliberately self-inflicted.

‘I don’t know what I think about that, but it was all a bit odd about that note. There’s something that doesn’t make sense. And I suppose you haven’t found Mrs Whittier yet?’