And it was this fishy story that Jury relayed to Melrose when he got back to Ardry End, after making sure the dinner guests had left.

“Except for Sydney Cooke,” said Melrose. “She’s spending the night so she can check up on Aggrieved tomorrow.”

Despite Jury’s trying to convince him that he knew nothing else, no further details about the shooting, Melrose continued to press him for details.

“Husband? I didn’t even know she was married.”

“You don’t really know Flora Flood very well, do you?”

“No, but still well enough to be pretty sure she didn’t shoot him, even though her account of this sounds peculiar. But I expect anything’s possible, isn’t it?”

No, it isn’t, Jury didn’t say.

11

The next morning at Ardry End, after one of Martha’s sumptuous breakfasts, Jury was drinking his third cup of coffee and admiring the Christmas tree. My Lord, where had these fabulous ornaments come from? The little owl, the horse and rider made to look as if they were following the hounds round the tree looked to Jury like Belleek china, they were so delicate and finely formed.

The front doorbell sounded and Jury heard Ruthven and the visitor, whose voice was familiar.

He walked into the foyer to find Tom Brownell. “Tom! What are you doing here? Not that I’m not glad to see you.”

“Hello, Superintendent! I discovered Sydney was here seeing to a horse and just decided to barge in. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course. Where is she, Ruthven?”

“She’ll be in the stable, sir, seeing to Aggrieved.”

Ruthven liked to say “stable,” thinking it more befitting Ardry End than “barn,” which it was. However, as it had been partitioned off for Aggrieved and Aghast, one could, Jury supposed, call it a stable.

“Let’s go round the side,” said Jury to Tom Brownell. “Thanks, Ruthven.”

They found her forking hay into the holder in Aggrieved’s part of the barn. The horse was eating oats and the very fact of his eating at all was testimony to Sydney’s having helped him.

She looked wide-eyed at Tom and dropped the fork. “Grandad! Where’d you come from?”

“I went to the house, sweetheart, and your Aunt Ruthie told me you’d gone to Northampton to see to a sick horse. I drove here. How are you, Syd?”

Stiffly, Sydney met his embrace. There seemed to be a lot of ambivalence there. “I’m fine, Grandad.” She broke away and went back to Aggrieved, smiling broadly at Jury. “Look how much better he is. Where’s Mr. Plant?”

“He’ll be back soon. Had to go into Northampton. He’s going to be very happy about the horse.”

“Much to my surprise,” said Tom, “I ran into Mr. Jury here. I met him in Cornwall at the Old Success. You remember that inn?”

“Yes.”