“I don’t know about that. We’ve got some hard questions to ask Sarah Cartwright, and now it turns out the jilted divorcee was on the scene too. We’ve got a decent list of possible murderers to present to Paddy’s solicitor. But as I’ve said, I would rather tie the whole thing up than leave loose ends and red herrings haunting the lives of a handful of people. Now, it’s alibi-establishing time. We can incorporate finding food with our examination of James Cartwright’s alleged alibi.”

Cordelia smiled and said, “I can’t help feeling that we are mixing rather too much pleasure with our business.”

“That’s what you get for tying yourself up with a journalist. We’re great believers in looking after the comforts of the flesh while we do the business.”

“Okay, okay. I have heard that the Stonemason’s at Wincle does excellent food . . .”

Once in the car, to Cordelia’s bewilderment, they drove straight to the offices of the local paper. Lindsay left her sitting there and reappeared ten minutes later clutching a photograph of Cartwright. She said, “I managed to persuade one of the local lads to let me borrow this picture. We might need it to identify him. I promised the bloke I’d tip him off if there’s any change in the situation that might lead to fresh arrests. Which of course I probably won’t have the chance to do, but he’s not to know that.”

They drove back to the school gates, where Lindsay turned the car round in a spray of gravel. “Show-off,” muttered Cordelia.

“Thank you. Now, I want to check some timings. Bear in mind that that Mercedes of his is faster than my MG, and that he knows these roads like the back of his hand. I want to see if this alibi can be cracked. We’ll have to check timings as far as possible with the pubs, to see if he could have squeezed in enough time for the killing. I’m not convinced by his injured innocence routine. Done any rally driving, Cordelia?”

Cordelia looked aghast. “Certainly not,” she replied.

“Well, you’ll have to try and navigate for me. I’ve marked what looks like the best routes on the map. You study that and the terrain and tell me what’s coming next. Okay?”

“I’ll try. Have you done much rally driving?”

“Not a bit,” said Lindsay blithely. “But I know the theory.”

They set off back toward Buxton in an atmosphere of intense concentration, then turned down the Macclesfield road. Lindsay tore round the tight ascending bends in third, and as soon as they hit the straight stretch where they turned down the Congleton road, she flipped the switch that took the engine into overdrive. They turned off into a succession of country lanes and, after a hair-raising hurtle, they roared to a halt outside the Stonemason’s Arms.