‘Don’t worry, old chap,’ says Sir Michael, ‘these things tend to come out in the wash. And as for Jesse Marlon… ‘he pauses, delicately. ‘Well, all I’d say is that there’s everything still to play for. Let’s see how things pan out, eh?’ Sir Michael coughs, and avoids looking at me or Ned.

At the mention of Jesse Marlon Granville leaps to his feet and says that if he doesn’t get back to Court Place to join Cath and his guests and the Michael Greens for dinner, he’ll be in very hot water with the wife.

As he’s leaving the bar, he pops his head back round the door. ‘Oh yes, Rose…’ he queries, ‘are you and Pierre free tomorrow around teatime? I thought I might bring Kasmin, who’s staying with us with Pernilla, over, to look at Pierre’s etchings.’

Sir Michael stays on manfully. It’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it.

‘All right. So what’s he done now?’ Ned says. He is talking about Jesse Marlon. He throws me a sharp glance, as if I had corrupted his precious baby, which is very annoying, especially now it turns out that Jesse Marlon might be the village rapist though, frankly, if Jesse Marlon is a sexual predator, I’m Myra Hindley. ‘It wasn’t him who sent the video of Henry Pike and Martin Thomas hunting with a full pack of hounds, was it?’

‘To be quite fair, not exactly,’ says Sir Michael. ‘I had a word with Henry afterwards. We don’t know who sent the video of the hunt. At first we thought it might be that Sophy girl, who has all those fatherless children, the one who made that splendid green ointment I was telling you about that worked wonders on the terriers’ impetigo.’ He glows at the memory. Absolutely marvellous stuff. I think there’s been some confusion because she did give a package to Jesse Marlon, with whom she seems to have one of these trendy, modern relationships – don’t ask me – and told him to drop it into the Post Office and Stores on the way to his work at the Dairy. She doesn’t leave Spodden’s Hatch much, I think she has a young child. Well, Jesse Marlon – not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but there we go – didn’t spot it said Godminster Police on the envelope, and Mrs Hitchens did the rest. Total cock-up, basically. He gives it to the Hitchens, who put two and two together and make five, i.e. it’s the usual thing.’

‘But what was in the parcel then, if it wasn’t the hunting video?’ I ask, although I have a jolly good idea.