“Mine, I suppose,” Rose said. “Rob Earl had run a couple of trips here in the autumn, and he was keen to try a pelagic. He asked if I knew anyone. Louis had moved into the valley, and I suggested him. Rob seemed very impressed. I just introduced them.”

“Did you know that Mr. Rosco has served a prison sentence for a serious offence?”

“Yes,” Rose said.

“Has he ever talked to you about it?”

“Not in detail. He said he had never intended it to end like that. He was too gullible, he said. It had been a means to an end.”

“What did he mean by that?”

“I don’t know,” Rose said. “He doesn’t like talking about it.”

“Did Mr. Rosco ever meet Mr. Franks here?”

“No,” Rose said. “He didn’t like the birdwatchers much. He kept out of the way when they were here.”

“Did he know that Greg Franks would be aboard the Jessie Ellen with this party? Did Mr. Earl send him a passenger list?”

“No, he had very little to do with the passengers. He only needed to know how many there would be.”

The inspector looked at a sheet of paper in the file. It was an indication, Rose thought, that the interview was almost over.

“Did you like Greg Franks, Miss Pengelly?”

“No,” Rose said. “ I thought he was cocky, irritating, rude. Some people may have found him amusing. I thought he was offensive.”

“Oh,” the inspector said. “How did he offend you?”

“There was nothing specific,” Rose said. “It was his manner.”

There was a silence. The inspector gathered her papers together. “Just one last thing,” she said. “ Why did you go to the cottage on the shore last night?”

Rose stared at her in shocked amazement, as if the woman had been gifted with supernatural powers. The inspector continued, “You did go, I presume, to see Louis Rosco.”

Rose nodded.

“Why?”

“We’re friends,” Rose said. “I wanted to talk to him.” She turned sharply to the detective. “Is he all right?” she said. “ You haven’t arrested him?”

“Why should we do that?” Claire asked.

Rose shook her head.

“No,” Claire said. “We haven’t arrested him. He spent the night on the boat. We’ll be talking to him later today.”

“He wouldn’t have killed Greg Franks!” Rose cried. “What reason would he have?”

“Miss Pengelly,” the inspector asked gently, formally, “ is Louis Rosco the father of your child?”

Rose nodded, and Claire Bingham was left with the satisfaction of knowledge but with no clear idea of what the information added up to.

Jane Pym had slept heavily in a blank, unnatural stupour and woke slowly to a headache and a feeling of empty nausea. She thought for a moment she was in hospital waking up after an operation, and the reality came as a disappointment. It would have been wonderful to be in hospital in a state of sympathetic dependence.