‘I? … Yes,’ Rose said. ‘I’m sorry. Yes, I did put them in.’

‘Shall we go and rescue them?’ Mark asked.

Rose hesitated. He looked at her for a moment and then said in a level voice: ‘OK. I’ll come back,’ and went into the house. Rose turned away and stood at some distance from the group.

‘It’s toughest for Rose,’ Kitty said, unexpectedly compassionate, and then with a return to her own self-protective mannerisms she sipped her sherry. ‘I wish you joy of my skirt, Mr Alleyn,’ she added loudly. ‘You won’t find it very delicious.’

‘No?’ Alleyn said. ‘Why not?’

‘It absolutely reeks of fish.’

III

Alleyn observed the undistinguished little face and wondered if his own was equally blank. He then, under the guise of bewilderment, looked at the others. He found that Lady Lacklander seemed about as agitated as a Buddha and that George was in process of becoming startled. Rose was still turned away.

‘Are you a fisherman too, then, Mrs Cartarette?’ Alleyn asked.

‘God forbid!’ she said, with feeling. ‘No, I tried to take a fish away from a cat last evening.’ The others gaped at her.

‘My dear Kitty,’ Lady Lacklander said, ‘I suggest that you consider what you say.’

‘Why?’ Kitty countered, suddenly common and arrogant. ‘Why? It’s the truth. What are you driving at?’ she added nervously. ‘What’s the matter with saying I’ve got fish on my skirt? Here,’ she demanded of Alleyn, ‘what are they getting at?’

‘My good girl …’ Lady Lacklander began, but Alleyn cut in:

‘I’m sorry, Lady Lacklander, but Mrs Cartarette’s perfectly right. There’s nothing the matter, I assure you, with speaking the truth.’ Lady Lacklander shut her mouth with a snap. ‘Where did you meet your cat and fish, Mrs Cartarette?’

‘This side of the bridge,’ Kitty muttered resentfully.

‘Did you, now?’ Alleyn said with relish.

‘It looked a perfectly good trout to me, and I thought the cat had no business with it. I suppose,’ Kitty went on, ‘it was one of old Occy Phinn’s swarm; the cat, I mean. Anyhow, I tried to get the trout away from it. It hung on like a fury. And then when I did jerk the trout away it turned out to be half-eaten on the other side, sort of. So I let the cat have it back,’ Kitty said limply.

Alleyn said: ‘Did you notice any particular mark or scar on the trout?’

‘Well, hardly. It was half-eaten.’

‘Yes, but on the part that was left?’

‘I don’t think so. Here! What sort of mark?’ Kitty demanded, beginning to look alarmed.

‘It doesn’t matter. Really.’

‘It was quite a nice trout. I wondered if Maurice had caught it and then I thought old Occy Phinn must have hooked it and given it to the cat. He’s crazy enough on his cats to give them anything, isn’t he, George?’