Sykes rang the bell, and then stood a little way back so as not to appear threatening. After a few moments, a key turned in the lock. The door opened. A pleasant-looking housekeeper, almost as broad as she was high, said hello.

She was the sort of person whose cheerful manner demanded a smile. Sykes introduced himself, handing the housekeeper his card. “I should be much obliged if the Reverend Mr. Branscombe would spare me a few moments of his time.”

He had read the name last night, on the board outside the church.

She asked him in, and left him waiting in the hall. The oak floor was highly polished. A cut glass vase of daffodils sat on an octagonal table inlaid with brass. The vicar’s study was a few feet away, and so Sykes listened to the exchange. No, the housekeeper did not know what he wanted, but he seemed a respectable gentleman. What a perfectly wonderful housekeeper. This was much better than hearing that he looked like a plain-clothes policeman.

Moments later, he was seated by the vicar’s large roll top desk. “What can I do for you, Mr. Sykes?”

“It’s about Mr. Harry Aspinall. I called at the Manor House, hoping to make enquiries there but found it shut up.”

“Mr. Aspinall lives abroad.”

“Were you expecting him back?”

“What makes you say so?”

The suspicion in the vicar’s voice alerted Sykes that he must give some detail, to convince this clergyman to cooperate. He explained about the American he had met at Moortown Golf Club, and the arrangement they had made to meet Mr. Aspinall during the Ryder Cup tournament.

“Oh yes. I saw an article in the paper about the tournament.”

“From what my acquaintance said, I thought the house would be ready for Mr. Aspinall’s return.”

The vicar seemed to cheer up a little. “I wish that could be true. The house has stood empty for years. Mr. Aspinall never comes back, but perhaps something has changed. A parishioner did write to him.” He sighed. “Though if he has returned, it would be too late.”

As the vicar spoke, he glanced at the paper he had been writing on. Sykes quickly followed his glance. A name was block printed, and below it the dates of birth and death. The name was Helen Farrar. He knew now that he must come straight to the point, and was glad to have a small interruption as the housekeeper brought coffee.

“I usually have coffee at this time. Will you join me?”

“Thank you.”

The vicar poured. “So what news did the American golfer have of Mr. Aspinall?”

Sykes explained the story of the Americans having been given Mr. Aspinall’s card, and the plan to break open a bottle of champagne, whoever won the tournament.

The vicar smiled. “You are genuine. That’s Aspinall for you.”

“And vineyards trump mining and railways.”

“That’s about the size of it.”