Never give two excuses when one will do, thought Lindsay. The mark of the lie. “The program or the soloist?” she coolly asked. “I know a certain amount about your relationship with Lorna, you see.”

“If you know anything about it at all, you will also know that it finished a long time ago,” he replied, anger giving his voice a sharp edge.

“Caroline has spoken very freely to me about the affair and your reactions to it,” said Lindsay, keeping calm.

“How dare you question my daughter about a family matter!” he exploded, “I’m damned certain Pamela Overton gave you no brief to subject her pupils to such disgusting prying.”

“Caroline volunteered most of the information. She seemed to think that uncovering a murderer’s identity was rather more important than personal feelings. Don’t think it gives me any pleasure to rake up the sordid details of people’s private lives.

“And I have to tell you, I think your daughter is a damn sight more honest than you are. You’ve given me a version of events that I know isn’t strictly true. You were seen in your car at Derbyshire House at about twenty past seven. Now, you weren’t at the concert and your car was gone fifteen minutes later. The police don’t know this yet, but it’s made me wonder what you were up to—and I’m sure they’ll wonder too. While you claim to have been listening to Bartok, you could have been killing Lorna. You may find this outrageous, but it seems to me that there’s a stronger case against you than ever there was against Paddy Callaghan—and they arrested her.”

Throughout this speech, Anthony Barrington had looked profoundly astonished. In any other circumstances, his expression would have provoked laughter, with his open mouth, his bewildered expression, and his raised eyebrows. The silence was almost tangible, but before it could become oppressive, he found his tongue.

“How dare you!” he roared. “My God, you’ve a nerve. First you interrogate my daughter—and you haven’t heard the last of that, I can assure you. Then you walk into my house as bold as brass and accuse me of murder, with no evidence whatsoever to support some crack-brained theory. Do you think the police are fools? If they’re satisfied, maybe it’s because they’ve got evidence. Evidence! Do you know what the word means? It means something more substantial than accusing a man of murder just because he changed his mind about going to a concert.