I didn’t answer: it hadn’t really been a question. And I was thinking.

‘Sonia wasn’t raped,’ I said flatly.

‘No. We’d been lovers – if that’s a word fit to use – for months. First time was an accident, both drunk at a party. After that she made me do it again and again; swore she’d tell George if I didn’t. That first day of all this, when you and George came home unexpectedly, we thought we were caught and I told Sonia to yell “rape” while I got out of the window. She’d been reading all that muck about the Beast of Jersey, that’s what put all the witchcraft trimmings into her head.’

‘But George worked it out. What he did to Violet was revenge, simply?’

‘Yes. Perhaps he was telling us that he knew. I should have realized. Suppose I was too upset to think it through.’

‘I see. Then he must have got a sort of taste for it, I suppose. Brought out a streak of insanity in him, perhaps?’

‘An officer and gentleman,’ said Sam. He made it sound like the punch-line of a vile joke.

I finished bailing and tied George’s horrid paraphernalia to the spare anchor and threw it over the side. I didn’t care whether someone might fish it up, I just wanted it out of my sight.

The Plumber met us on the beech, helped us haul-up on to the trailer.

‘Where’s Mr Breakspear, then?’

‘Lost overside. We were nearly wrecked. Tell the Coast-guard, would you.’

‘My Chri’,’ said the Plumber. Then, ‘Oh, there’s a phone call at the pub for Mr Davenant, from England, urgent. You have to ask for the Personal Calls Operator.’ Sam started to walk towards the pub, then broke into a shambling run.

‘So it was Mr Breakspear all the time,’ said the Plumber.

I didn’t answer. I was wondering how many people had known all the time. Perhaps I should have asked my gardener. Perhaps he would even have told me.

Sam came out of the pub, bleak-faced.

‘Violet has killed herself,’ he said carefully. ‘Let’s go home. Things to do.’

‘Have to go to the police first,’ I said. ‘Report George missing.’

‘Yes, of course. I’d forgotten about that.’ His voice was gentle now.

‘Don’t you want your fish?’ the Plumber called after us.

‘No, thanks,’ I said. ‘We know where they’ve been.’

It was dark when we left the Police Station and drove up the Grande Route de S. Jean towards our homes.

‘Want to talk?’ I asked diffidently.

‘Vi was left alone for a moment – nurse went to the loo – and she just got out of bed and hurled herself through the closed window. Can’t blame the nurse; Vi hadn’t stirred for days. They warned me, of course. Catatonics think they can fly, you see. Angels.’

‘Sam – ’ I started.

‘Please shut up, Charlie.’