“Did he have any family?” The ambulance doors were now shut and the two ambulance drivers were climbing into the cab.

Jago shook his head. “Nobody. He just sort of slept rough. People used to let him use a shed or cow barn, you know. He’d do odd jobs. There was no malice in him.”

“Well, thank you, sir,” the constable said. “If I could just get the names of your guests who discovered him.”

“Certainly,” Jago said. “Here they come now.”

And a group of people was coming up a narrow path from the shore. The woman at the front was wearing a fur coat. The men wore overcoats with collars turned up, hats shielding their faces in the fading light.

“How long is this going to take?” the woman demanded in accented English. “The rain is picking up and I’m getting horribly wet. You had better go and get the automobile for us, Jago. I do not want to have to walk back to the house.”

“I only need your names, madam,” the constable said.

“Helga von Dinslaken,” the woman said as she approached us. “Can you spell that, do you think? I doubt it.” And she laughed.

“And these are Baron von Stresen, Señor Arguello, Mr. and Mrs. Greenslade and Mr. O’Connor. I’ll write them down for you and drop them off at the police station tomorrow, all right?” Jago said. “I don’t want to keep our guests out in the rain. I’d better go and get the motorcar.”

“That’s fine with me, sir,” the policeman said. “Sorry to have disturbed you. Thank you for your help. We’ll be getting along, then.”

“I’d better be going too,” I said to Jago.

“Are you going back to Trewoma?”

“I was heading into Truro but I think I’ll stay at White Sails tonight. It’s quite upsetting about the old man.” I started to walk away, feeling awkward as Jago’s guests were joining him. I crossed the lane, heading back to my motorcar.

“Quite a little adventure.” An American woman was allowing one of the men to help her over the stile.

“For God’s sake, get the motorcar before we are soaked,” the German woman said huffily. “Why didn’t any of you men think of bringing an umbrella?”

“It’s not too bad, Helga. We can walk back along the road. Come on,” one of the men said. There was something about his voice that made me look back.

Then I almost stepped into the water-filled ditch beside the road. It was Darcy.

Chapter 28

OCTOBER 19

WHITE SAILS

I think I might be going mad. I know what I saw.

He had his hat low over his face and his collar turned up, but the man looked just like my husband.

“You are such a brutal slave driver, Mr. O’Connor,” the German woman said and took his arm.