The car was unattended, although a man in a chauffeur’s uniform seemed to be giving instructions to the station master, presumably making arrangements for the guests arriving later. A young couple stood next to the car, and as she and Marta walked over to join them, Josephine noticed how nervous they both seemed: the man was tapping his hand repeatedly against his thigh and looking anxiously at the car, as if it might somehow move off without him, and the woman at his side – slightly taller than her husband, and attractive in a pale, delicate sort of way – was tying and retying her scarf in the reflection of the rear window. ‘The Lancasters, do you think?’ she said to Marta.

‘Must be. He certainly doesn’t look like a vicar or a colonel.’

The couple brightened as they approached, apparently relieved to have company. ‘Christmas at the Mount?’ the man asked, and then, when they nodded, offered his hand. ‘Gerald Lancaster, and this is my wife, Rachel.’

Mrs Lancaster smiled, and shook hands a little too vigorously. ‘Very pleased to meet you,’ she said.

Josephine and Marta introduced themselves, and Josephine was about to ask how far they’d come when Lancaster 77interrupted her. ‘Thirty-nine across!’ he said, looking at her triumphantly. ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Thirty-nine across in today’s Times crossword.’ He poked the newspaper that Marta had tucked under her arm. ‘It was a crime and detection special. You must have seen it?’ Josephine nodded, still confused by the turn in the conversation. They had resorted to the puzzle during a long wait in Exeter, but Marta didn’t read much crime fiction and there were too many clues about Dorothy L. Sayers for Josephine’s liking, so they hadn’t got as far as looking for a pen. ‘“Her victim had to wait his turn, nine and three”,’ Lancaster continued. ‘That’s obviously a reference to your first novel, The Man in the Queue, so you must be the answer.’

‘Gerry knows everything there is to know about detective fiction,’ his wife added, and it was hard to tell if her tone was nervous or simply weary. ‘He has all your books.’

‘That’s very kind,’ Josephine said, smiling as her heart sank. ‘I hope you enjoyed them.’

‘I did, very much, but there’s something I must ask you about A Shilling for Candles. Do you really think that Inspector Grant would have allowed Tisdall to give him the slip like that? I mean, he seems a perfectly competent policeman in most other respects, but that was a classic schoolboy error, and I wondered why you showed him up like that?’

Josephine was saved from having to justify the premise that most of her plot had been built around by the return of the chauffeur, who gave his name as Trannack and apologised for keeping them waiting. ‘Your luggage will follow on,’ he said, ‘so if you’re ready, I’ll take you across to the Mount. Is this your first time on the island?’ 78