‘And you’re wondering now if she was worried about the prospect of an imminent debunking through Chapter 7 of the blameless Lacklanders?’

‘Well, it makes you think,’ Fox said.

‘So it does,’ Alleyn agreed as they turned into the long drive to Nunspardon.

‘She being a great lady.’

‘Are you reminding me of her character, her social position or what Mr Phinn calls her avoirdupois?’

‘She must be all of seventeen stone,’ Fox mused, ‘and I wouldn’t mind betting the son’ll be the same at her age. Very heavy built.’

‘And damn’ heavy going into the bargain.’

‘Mrs Cartarette doesn’t seem to think so.’

‘My dear man, as you have already guessed he’s the only human being in the district, apart from her husband, who’s sent her out any signals of any kind at all and he’s sent plenty.’

‘You don’t reckon she’s in love with him, though?’

‘You never know – never. I dare say he has his ponderous attractions.’

‘Ah, well,’ Fox said, and with an air of freshening himself up, stared at a point some distance ahead. It was impossible to guess whether he ruminated upon the tender passion, the character of George Lacklander or the problematical gratitude of Kitty Cartarette. ‘You never know,’ he sighed, ‘he may even be turning it over in his mind how long he ought to wait before it’ll be all right to propose to her.’

‘I hardly think so, and I must say I hope she’s not building on it.’

‘You’ve made up your mind, of course,’ Fox said after a pause.

‘Well, I have, Fox. I can only see one answer that will fit all the evidence, but unless we get the go-ahead sign from the experts in Chyning, we haven’t a case. There we are again.’

They had rounded the final bend in the drive and had come out before the now familiar façade of Nunspardon.