‘I’m almost certain of it … Oh, I don’t mean that Tiny murdered Bill. He may have done, of course. But I firmly believe that there is something very strange about that five thousand pounds’ insurance money. Consider the facts. A man with an excellent constitution gets his life insured for what is, to one in his position, a considerable sum of money. The same man dies of cold and exposure. His will leaves his property to a so-far unidentifiable wife. His cousin, with whom he lives and who might be expected to have knowledge of his affairs, declares that there is no wife. If this can be proved, the money all comes to the said cousin, as next of kin.’

‘I can’t make any sense out of it, except that I can’t see Tiny Fullalove as a murderer.’

‘I know. It is very mysterious in itself, this whole business, and I feel that somewhere behind it there is another mystery. If we could solve this second mystery I believe the first would solve itself.’

‘The first job is to trace the wife,’ said Jonathan, ‘but I imagine that that’s being done. Trouble is that, being a sailor, Bill may have married abroad.’

‘If you will allow me to offer one piece of advice,’ said Mrs Bradley to the Chief Constable, ‘it is that you have the body of Mr Bill Fullalove exhumed as soon as may be.’

‘But – oh, hang it! Why? The thing is, I don’t want to!’

‘Because from the wood beyond the world the world should be visible.’

‘You talk in riddles,’ said the Chief Constable, uneasily.

‘So does the Sphinx, yet it preserves its reputation for wisdom,’ said Jonathan, grinning. ‘Be a man! Ask for the exhumation order and let’s get cracking. It’s a shame to tease him,’ he added, when the Chief Constable had gone. ‘Do you really know anything? If so, I wish you’d tell me.’

‘What I surmise isn’t knowledge. I wonder how Tiny Fullalove’s knee is getting on?’ said Mrs Bradley. Her nephew, regarding this as a change of subject, nodded.

‘I really must go and see him,’ he said. ‘Of course, a nice smack on the kneecap with a hammer … but why should I part with my theories any more than you do with yours?’

‘I daresay we are both being quite unfair,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘Yes, go and see him, by all means. You ought to have gone before, as you suggest. You’ve been most unneighbourly!’

‘You’re perfectly right,’ said Jonathan. ‘I ought to have gone before, but I do hate going into nursing homes and hospitals. Besides, I’ve conceived a dislike of the swine since Christmas.’