Meakin pointed out some features of the room that I might have spotted myself, such as the bed and the large wooden cupboard. I tried to respond with the appropriate mixture of surprise and delight. Then, because I knew I would have to do so at some point, I told him the nature of my business in Great Holling, hoping this would satisfy his curiosity and allow him to look at me henceforth in a less penetrating way. I told him about the Bloxham Hotel murders.

His mouth twitched as he listened. It looked rather as if he was trying not to laugh, though I might have been mistaken. “Murdered, you say? In a fancy London hotel? Now, there’s a thing! Mrs. Sippel and Miss Gransbury, murdered? And Mr. Negus?”

“You knew them, then?” I said, removing my coat and hanging it up in the cupboard.

“Oh, yes, I knew them.”

“They weren’t friends of yours, I take it?”

“Weren’t friends, weren’t enemies,” said Meakin. “That’s the best way, when you’ve got an inn to run. Friends and enemies gets you into trouble. Looks like it got Mrs. Sippel and Miss Gransbury into trouble. Mr. Negus too.”

What was it that I could hear in his voice—that strange emphasis? Was it relish?

“Forgive me, Mr. Meakin, but . . . does it please you to learn of these three deaths, or am I imagining it?”

“You are, Mr. Catchpool. Indeed you are.” He delivered the denial with utmost confidence.

We stared at one another for a moment or two. I saw eyes that gleamed with suspicion, devoid now of all warmth.

“You told me some news and I took an interest, is all I did,” said Meakin. “Just as I’d take an interest in the tellings of any visitor. It’s only right and proper, when you’ve got an inn to run. Fancy that, though—murder!”

I turned away from him and said firmly, “Thank you for showing me to my room. You’ve been very helpful.”

“I expect you’ll want to ask me a fair share of questions, won’t you? The King’s Head’s been mine since 1911. You’ll find no one better to ask.”

“Oh—yes, of course. Once I’ve unpacked and eaten, stretched my legs a little.” I didn’t relish the prospect of speaking to this man at length, but it was going to be necessary. “One more thing, Mr. Meakin, and it’s very important: if you would be kind enough not to pass on what I’ve told you to anyone else, I’d be grateful.”

“Secret, is it?”

“Not at all, no. It’s simply that I would rather tell people myself.”

“You’ll be asking questions, will you? There’s not a body in Great Holling who’ll tell you anything worth knowing.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” I said. “You’ve already offered to talk to me, after all.”