“No. There is a mistake. I never run down a person. Never in my life.”

“If you’re indeed innocent I’m sure it will all be sorted out quite easily, sir.” He steered Paolo toward the waiting car and opened the back door for him. “In you go, sir.”

“Belinda, don’t let them take me away!” Paolo shot Belinda a frightened look as the car door closed on him.

Belinda looked utterly stunned. “Oh, God, Georgie. This is awful. I should do something. You know about things like this. What can I do?”

“Belinda, you’ve seen the way he drives. Don’t you think it’s possible that he’s guilty? Remember he almost ran me down at your mews.”

“But he didn’t run you down, did he? That’s the point. He drives fast but he has a racing driver’s reflexes. And I’m sure he’d never hit somebody and then drive off without stopping. He’s not like that. He’s a gentleman.” I could see she was fighting back tears. It was the first time I had ever seen Belinda not composed and in control of herself.

“Come up to the castle and have some tea,” I said gently. She shook her head.

“No, I have to get back to the house so I can be there in case he telephones for me.”

“Come on, I’ll take you back to where you’re staying,” Ronny said. “I have my car here. I’m sure Digby can put the covers on the boat, can’t you, old thing?” She smiled at the young American, who was standing beside her, staring openmouthed with shock.

“Do you want me to come with you?” I asked.

Before she could answer we heard the sound of running footsteps and a figure could be seen racing up the road toward us. As it neared it revealed itself to be a figure not cut out for such activity: round, short, stubby little legs. It was Godfrey Beverley.

“My dears, such excitement,” he said. “Was that really a police motorcar? I thought I could spot policemen a mile away. They call it plainclothes but they all wear identical macks, don’t they? And that was never that handsome Italian count they were dragging away, was it? I presume it was to do with the shooting accident.”

“Shooting, what shooting?” Ronny asked sharply.

“My dears, haven’t you heard? Someone was accidentally shot at Balmoral today. I was up there, tramping around a little myself, and now the place is absolutely crawling with police.”

“Who was shot?” Ronny snapped.

“Some young man, I gather. Nobody I had heard of before. Rumor has it that he was staying with you at Castle Rannoch, Lady Georgiana. Hugo something?”

“Oh no.” Ronny put her hand to her mouth. “Not Hugo. How awful. I was so horrid to him and he was so potty about me. Now I feel like a rat.”