As Craddock’s car stopped before the front door, Sergeant Fletcher came round the side of the house. Sergeant Fletcher looked like a guardsman, with an erect military bearing, and was able to impart several different meanings to the one monosyllable: “Sir.”

“So there you are, Fletcher.”

“Sir,” said Sergeant Fletcher.

“Anything to report?”

“We’ve finished going over the house, sir. Scherz doesn’t seem to have left any fingerprints anywhere. He wore gloves, of course. No signs of any of the doors or windows being forced to effect an entrance. He seems to have come out from Medenham on the bus, arriving here at six o’clock. Side door of the house was locked at 5:30, I understand. Looks as though he must have walked in through the front door. Miss Blacklock states that that door isn’t usually locked until the house is shut up for the night. The maid, on the other hand, states that the front door was locked all the afternoon—but she’d say anything. Very temperamental you’ll find her. Mittel Europa refugee of some kind.”

“Difficult, is she?”

“Sir!” said Sergeant Fletcher, with intense feeling.

Craddock smiled.

Fletcher resumed his report.

“Lighting system is quite in order everywhere. We haven’t spotted yet how he operated the lights. It was just the one circuit went. Drawing room and hall. Of course, nowadays the wall brackets and lamps wouldn’t all be on one fuse—but this is an old-fashioned installation and wiring. Don’t see how he could have tampered with the fusebox because it’s out by the scullery and he’d have had to go through the kitchen, so the maid would have seen him.”

“Unless she was in it with him?”

“That’s very possible. Both foreigners—and I wouldn’t trust her a yard—not a yard.”

Craddock noticed two enormous frightened black eyes peering out of a window by the front door. The face, flattened against the pane, was hardly visible.

“That her there?”

“That’s right, sir.”

The face disappeared.

Craddock rang the front doorbell.

After a long wait the door was opened by a good-looking young woman with chestnut hair and a bored expression.

“Detective-Inspector Craddock,” said Craddock.

The young woman gave him a cool stare out of very attractive hazel eyes and said:

“Come in. Miss Blacklock is expecting you.”

The hall, Craddock noted, was long and narrow and seemed almost incredibly full of doors.

The young woman threw open a door on the left, and said: “Inspector Craddock, Aunt Letty. Mitzi wouldn’t go to the door. She’s shut herself up in the kitchen and she’s making the most marvellous moaning noises. I shouldn’t think we’ll get any lunch.”

She added in an explanatory manner to Craddock: “She doesn’t like the police,” and withdrew, shutting the door behind her.

Craddock advanced to meet the owner of Little Paddocks.

He saw a tall active-looking woman of about sixty. Her grey hair had a slight natural wave and made a distinguished setting for an intelligent, resolute face. She had keen grey eyes and a square determined chin. There was a surgical dressing on her left ear. She wore no makeup and was plainly dressed in a well-cut tweed coat and skirt and pullover. Round the neck of the latter she wore, rather unexpectedly, a set of old-fashioned cameos—a Victorian touch which seemed to hint at a sentimental streak not otherwise apparent.