‘About Maurice.’ Lady Lacklander, who had waited for a moment, added: ‘I’m afraid it’s the worst kind of news,’ and had then told her. Kitty stared at her. ‘Dead?’ she said. ‘Maurice dead? I don’t believe you. How can he be dead? He’s been fishing down below there and I dare say he’s looked in at the pub.’ Her hands with their long painted nails began to tremble. ‘How can he be dead?’ she repeated.

Lady Lacklander became more specific and presently Kitty broke into a harsh strangulated sobbing, twisting her fingers together and turning her head aside. She walked about the room, still, Lady Lacklander noticed, swaying her hips. Presently she fetched up by a grog tray on a small table and shakily poured herself a drink.

‘That’s a sensible idea,’ Lady Lacklander said as the neck of the decanter chattered against the glass. Kitty awkwardly offered her a drink which she declined with perfect equanimity. ‘Her manner,’ she thought to herself, ‘is really too dreadful. What shall I do if George marries her?’

It was at this juncture that Nurse Kettle and Mark had appeared outside the french windows. Lady Lacklander signalled to them. ‘Here is my grandson and Nurse Kettle,’ she said to Kitty. ‘Shall they come in? I think it would be a good idea, don’t you?’

Kitty said shakily: ‘Yes, please. Yes, if you like.’ Lady Lacklander heaved her bulk out of her chair and let them in.

‘Sergeant Oliphant’s there,’ Mark murmured. ‘They’re going to ring Scotland Yard. Does Rose –?’

‘Not yet. She’s out in the garden, somewhere.’

Mark went across to Kitty and spoke to her with a quiet authority that his grandmother instantly approved. She noticed how Kitty steadied under it, how Mark, without fussing, got her into a chair. Nurse Kettle as a matter of course came forward and took the glass when Kitty had emptied it. A light and charming voice sang in the hall.

‘Come away, come away death …’

And Mark turned sharply.

‘I’ll go,’ his grandmother said, ‘and I’ll fetch you when she asks for you.’

With a swifter movement than either her size or her age would have seemed to allow she had gone into the hall. The little song of death stopped and the door shut behind Lady Lacklander.

Kitty Cartarette was quieter but still caught her breath now and again in a harsh sob.

‘Sorry,’ she said, looking from Nurse Kettle to Mark. ‘Thanks. It’s just the shock.’

‘Yes, of course, dear,’ Nurse Kettle said.

‘I sort of can’t believe it. You know?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Mark said.

‘It seems so queer … Maurice!’ She looked at Mark. ‘What was that,’ she said, ‘about somebody doing it? Is it true?’

‘I’m afraid it looks very much like it.’