‘Yes, sir, I’m sure there was a mirror in the living room. Lying on the floor, a small mirror with traces of white powder on it . . .’

‘And you’re sure you’re not merely imagining this, Inspector? You could be wrong, couldn’t you?’

No, no, he couldn’t. But it was too late for all that. Why take the bottles . . . and only some of them, not all? Obviously, because some bottles had certain prints on them. Why take the mirror? Maybe fingerprints again . . .

Should have thought of all this yesterday, John. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid.’

And he’d done the damage himself. Hadn’t he told the Three Stooges not to go near the lodge? Because it hadn’t been fingerprinted. Then he’d let them wander off, with no guard left on the house. A constable should have been here all night.

‘Stupid, stupid.’

It had to be one of them, didn’t it? The woman, or one of the men. But why? Why had they done it? So it couldn’t be proved they’d been there in the first place? Again, why? It didn’t make much sense. Not much sense at all.

‘Stupid.’

He heard a car approaching, pulling up outside, and went to meet it. It was the Daimler, Kilpatrick driving, Patterson-Scott in the passenger seat, and Julian Kaymer emerging from the rear. Kilpatrick looked a lot breezier than before.

‘Inspector, good morning to you.’

‘Morning, sir. How was the hotel?’

‘Fair, I’d say. Only fair.’

‘Better than average,’ added Kaymer.

Kilpatrick turned to him. ‘Julian, when you’re used to excellence as I am, you no longer recognize “average” and “better than”.’

Kaymer stuck his tongue out.

‘Children, children,’ chided Louise Patterson-Scott. But they all seemed light of heart.

‘You sound chirpy,’ Rebus said.

‘A decent night’s sleep and a long breakfast,’ said Kilpatrick, patting his stomach.

‘You stayed at the hotel last night?’

They seemed not to understand his question.

‘You didn’t go for a drive or anything?’

‘No,’ Kilpatrick said, his tone wary.

‘It’s your car, isn’t it, Mr Kilpatrick?’

‘Yes . . .’

‘And you kept the keys with you last night?’

‘Look, Inspector . . .’

‘Did you or didn’t you?’

‘I suppose I did. In my jacket pocket.’

‘Hanging up in your bedroom?’

‘Correct. Look, can we go ins –’

‘Any visitors to your room?’

‘Inspector,’ interrupted Louise Patterson-Scott, ‘perhaps if you’d tell us . . .?’

‘Someone broke into the lodge during the night, disturbing potential evidence. That’s a serious crime, madam.’

‘And you think one of us –?’

‘I don’t think anything yet, madam. But whoever did it must have come by car. Mr Kilpatrick here has a car.’

‘Both Julian and I are capable of driving, Inspector.’

‘Yes,’ said Kaymer, ‘and besides, we all went to Jamie’s room for a late-night brandy . . .’

‘So any one of you could have taken the car?’

Kilpatrick shrugged mightily. ‘I still don’t see,’ he said, ‘why you think we should want –’