The air smelt fresher when they got out. Rain drummed on roofs and flagstones and cascaded down the sides of houses. Alleyn led the way into a typical county police station and was greeted by a tall sandy-haired sergeant.

‘Chief Inspector Alleyn, sir? Sergeant Oliphant. Very glad to see you, sir.’

‘Inspector Fox,’ Alleyn said, introducing him. There followed a solemn shaking of hands and a lament that has become increasingly common of late years in the police force. ‘We’re that short of chaps in the country,’ Sergeant Oliphant said. ‘We don’t know which way to turn if anything of this nature crops up. The Chief Constable said to me, ‘Can we do it, Oliphant? Suppose we call on Siminster can we do it?’ And, look, Mr Alleyn, I had to say no, we can’t.’

Fox said: ‘T’ch.’

‘Well, exactly, Mr Fox,’ Oliphant said. ‘If you haven’t got the chaps it’s no good blundering in, is it? I’ve left my one PC in charge of the body and that reduces my staff to me. Shall we move off, Mr Alleyn? You’ll find it wettish.’

Alleyn and Fox accompanied the sergeant in his car while Bailey, Thompson and the Yard driver followed their lead. On the way Sergeant Oliphant gave a businesslike report. Sir George Lacklander had rung up Sir James Punston, the Chief Constable, who in turn had rung Oliphant at about nine o’clock. Oliphant and his constable had then gone to Bottom Meadow and had found Dr Mark Lacklander, Nurse Kettle and the body of Colonel Cartarette. They had taken a brief statement from Nurse Kettle and asked her to remain handy. Dr Lacklander who, in Oliphant’s presence, made a very brief examination of the body, had then gone to break the news to the relatives of the deceased, taking Nurse Kettle with him. The sergeant had returned to Chyning and reported to the Chief Constable who decided to call in the Yard. The constable had remained on guard by the body with Colonel Cartarette’s spaniel, the latter having strenuously resisted all attempts to remove him.

‘Did you form any opinion at all, Oliphant?’ Alleyn asked. This is the most tactful remark a CID man can make to a county officer and Oliphant coruscated under its influence.

‘Not to say opinion, sir,’ he said. ‘Not to say that. One thing I did make sure of was not to disturb anything. He’s lying on a patch of shingle screened in by a half-circle of willows and cut off on the open side by the stream. He’s lying on his right side, kind of curled up as if he’d been bowled over from a kneeling position, like. His hat was over his face. Nurse Kettle moved it when she found him and Dr Lacklander moved it again when he examined the wound which is in the left temple. A dirty great puncture,’ the sergeant continued, easing off his official manner a point or two, ‘with what the doctor calls extensive fractures all round it. Quite turned my chap’s stomach, drunks-in-charge and disorderly behaviour being the full extent of his experience.’