Two women passed me, also apparently in a hurry. They ignored my friendly greeting and scuttled away without looking up. It was only when I heard over my shoulder the words “policeman” and “Harriet” that I wondered if I had blamed the perfectly innocent rain for a phenomenon of my own making. Were these people running from the weather or from the London policeman?

While I had been applying my little gray cells, as Poirot would call them, to Walter Stoakley’s disjointed proclamations, had Victor Meakin left his inn by the back door and stopped passersby on the street to inform them of my presence in the village, against my clearly stated wishes? I could imagine that might be his idea of sport. What a strange and unpleasant man he was.

I continued along the S-shaped street. Ahead of me, a young man emerged from one of the houses. I was pleased to see that it was the man with the glasses and freckles whom I had met when I first got off the train. When he saw me strolling toward him, he stopped as if the soles of his shoes had been glued to the pavement. “Hello!” I called out. “I found the King’s Head, thanks to your help!”

The young man’s eyes widened as I approached. He looked as if he wanted to flee; evidently he was too polite to do so. If it hadn’t been for that distinctive boomerang of freckles across his nose, I might have concluded that this could not be the same person I had met before. His manner had totally altered—exactly as Victor Meakin’s had.

“I don’t know anything about who killed them, sir,” he stammered before I had an opportunity to aim a question at him. “I don’t know anything. I’ve never been to London, like I told you.”

Well, that put the matter beyond doubt: my identity and reason for being in Great Holling were common knowledge. Silently, I cursed Meakin. “It isn’t London that I’m here to find out about,” I said. “Did you know Harriet Sippel, Ida Gransbury and Richard Negus?”

“I can’t stop, sir, I’m afraid. I have an errand.” He was calling me “sir” all over the place. He had not done so the first time we spoke, before he knew I was a policeman.

“Oh,” I said. “Well, might we speak later today?”

“No, sir, I don’t think I’ll be able to spare the time.”

“How about tomorrow?”

“No, sir.” He chewed his bottom lip.

“I see. And if I force the issue, I dare say you would only clam up or lie, wouldn’t you?” I sighed. “Thank you for exchanging these few words with me, at any rate. Most people see me coming and take off in the opposite direction.”

“It’s no reflection on you, sir. People are scared.”

“Of what?”