“Look,” she said. “I don’t think there’s a lot of point in taking detailed statements tonight. If anyone has any information about Mr. Franks, you should tell me now. But it’s late, and you must tired, and if you really think you can’t help, I’ve no objection to most of you going to bed. I’ll leave Sergeant Berry here to look after you.”

“Make sure we don’t run away, do you mean?” It was Roger Pym, a little drunk, very objectionable.

“Yes,” she said. “That, too. Perhaps you will have gathered by now that we have to treat Greg Franks’ death as suspicious. There was no question that it was not an accident. So at the very least you’re all witnesses in a murder enquiry.”

“And suspects?” Roger Pym interrupted again. “ I suppose we’re all suspects, too.”

“Yes,” she said. “ I suppose you are.”

“Can we go, then?” Jane Pym said. The skin on her face seemed to have tightened, so the ridge of cheekbone under her eyes was sharp and noticeable, and her cheeks were thin and drawn.

“Yes,” Claire said. “ Go to bed. I’ll come back early tomorrow to take statements.”

Perhaps by then I’ll feel more confident, she thought. I’ll know how to cope with you.

“All except Mr. Palmer-Jones and Mr. Earl,” she added. “I’d like to talk to you now.”

They filed obediently and helplessly away. At the door Rose paused, and for a moment it was the old Rose who thought that everyone who came to the house needed her care.

“If you’d like anything to eat or drink,” she said, “there’s plenty in the kitchen. Just help yourself.”

Surprised, Claire looked up and nodded, but she said nothing until the door had closed and she was left with the sergeant and the two men.

Molly hoped that Claire Bingham would shake George from his apathy. On their return to Myrtle Cottage from the Jessie Ellen he had been engrossed in his notebook. Sketching the new petrel, adding minute details, checking other species in Rose’s books. It was as if what she thought of as the seawatching madness was still with him. He was brooding and absorbed.

She had succeeded at last in getting him to herself by volunteering to make coffee and forcing him into the kitchen to help.

“You do realise that Greg must have been pushed?” Molly said as she spooned coffee haphazardly into a jug. “Otherwise, how did his bag and the rest of his equipment go missing? He hadn’t taken that on deck with him. That was no accident.”

“No,” George had said. “Probably not.”

“Well,” she said, “what are we going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” he said. “It’s nothing to do with us now. We’ll cooperate fully with the police, tell the inspector everything we know, then leave the rest to her.”