The two women walked in and closed the door behind them. Cordelia wandered round slowly, uncertain of what she was looking for. After a moment, she joined Lindsay, who was examining the windows. Below was a drop of about eighteen feet to the ground. There was no down-pipe within ten feet. The three windows were ordinary casements with pivotting catches. Lindsay took a Swiss Army knife from her handbag and selected the thinnest blade. She fiddled idly with one of the catches. It rose smoothly and fell back, allowing the window to swing open.

“Perfectly smooth. Not in the least stiff,” she remarked. “Pity the murderer couldn’t have got in that way. And a ladder’s out of the question. It would have to be smack bang in the middle of the drive, which would have been more than slightly noticeable.” She turned back to the room. “Lorna was sitting over there in front of the dais, facing the door, back to the windows. There was a music stand in front of her, overturned. Sheet music all over the floor. Her cello under her. Not a pretty sight.” She pushed the window shut smartly and the latch promptly fell back into place. “Have you seen enough? It rather gives me the creeps, being here. I can still remember all too vividly how Lorna looked.”

Cordelia gave her hand a squeeze and nodded. “Yes, I’ve seen quite enough. Let’s go over to Paddy’s room. We’ve got nearly an hour to kill before we can see Margaret Macdonald, and we can use the phone in Paddy’s room to see if we can set up a meeting with Andrew Christie.”

Paddy’s sitting-room looked as if she had only slipped out to take a class. The Sunday papers were still strewn around. On the table was a half-drunk cup of coffee, and there was still a record sitting on the silent turntable. Lindsay went through to the kitchen to brew up while Cordelia struggled with the television company switchboard.

She was replacing the receiver and sighing with relief when Lindsay returned with the coffee. “Will he see us, then?” Cordelia nodded. “You smooth-talking bastard! I could use your gifts of persuasion on the doorstep next time I’ve got a sticky one,” Lindsay enthused. “What time, and where?”

“It was touch and go, but he’ll see us at eight at his place in Camden Town. For God’s sake, don’t tell him you’re a journalist! He was very twitchy about it all, and no wonder. He’s had the police and half your lot in the last few days, and as far as he’s concerned, it all ended with the arrest.”