“I’ll see to dinner,” she said in a matter-of-fact way. “Rather a good arrangement—less embarrassing for you all than having me sit down at table with you. Patrick (since he’s constituted himself your protector, Aunt Letty) had better taste every dish first. I don’t want to be accused of poisoning you on top of everything else.”

So Julia had cooked and served a really excellent meal.

Phillipa had come out to the kitchen with an offer of assistance but Julia had said firmly that she didn’t want any help.

“Julia, there’s something I want to say—”

“This is no time for girlish confidences,” said Julia firmly. “Go on back in the dining room, Phillipa.”

Now dinner was over and they were in the drawing room with coffee on the small table by the fire—and nobody seemed to have anything to say. They were waiting—that was all.

At 8:30 Inspector Craddock rang up.

“I shall be with you in about a quarter of an hour’s time,” he announced. “I’m bringing Colonel and Mrs. Easterbrook and Mrs. Swettenham and her son with me.”

“But really, Inspector … I can’t cope with people tonight—”

Miss Blacklock’s voice sounded as though she were at the end of her tether.

“I know how you feel, Miss Blacklock. I’m sorry. But this is urgent.”

“Have you—found Miss Marple?”

“No,” said the Inspector, and rang off.

Julia took the coffee tray out to the kitchen where, to her surprise, she found Mitzi contemplating the piled-up dishes and plates by the sink.

Mitzi burst into a torrent of words.

“See what you do in my so nice kitchen! That frying pan—only, only for omelettes do I use it! And you, what have you used it for?”

“Frying onions.”

“Ruined—ruined. It will have now to be washed and never—never—do I wash my omelette pan. I rub it carefully over with a greasy newspaper, that is all. And this saucepan here that you have used—that one, I use him only for milk—”

“Well, I don’t know what pans you use for what,” said Julia crossly. “You choose to go to bed and why on earth you’ve chosen to get up again, I can’t imagine. Go away again and leave me to wash up in peace.”

“No, I will not let you use my kitchen.”

“Oh, Mitzi, you are impossible!”

Julia stalked angrily out of the kitchen and at that moment the doorbell rang.

“I do not go to the door,” Mitzi called from the kitchen. Julia muttered an impolite Continental expression under her breath and stalked to the front door.

It was Miss Hinchcliffe.

“’Evening,” she said in her gruff voice. “Sorry to barge in. Inspector’s rung up, I expect?”

“He didn’t tell us you were coming,” said Julia, leading the way to the drawing room.