Flora interrupted. “Aunt Eleanor, this is what they know: My husband was shot. I had a gun. There appeared to be no one else in the room. If that’s true, I shot him. How else would you read it?”

“Well, somehow else, Flora, since I know you didn’t do it.”

“But you don’t. You just happen to believe me. Police don’t happen to.”

Eleanor said, “The man was a rotter. There must have been a dozen people with a motive to shoot him.”

“‘Must have been’ isn’t much of an option,” said Tom.

“And why,” put in Jury, “would someone follow him to Watermeadows to kill him?”

Jury watched Tom Brownell watching Flora Flood. Although Tom was sitting casually in his easy chair, his hand propping his chin, the scrutiny was intense.

Tom shifted his glance to Lady Summerston. “Eleanor, do you remember the woman who looked after Gerald for a short time when he was ill?”

“Yes. Manon Vinet. It was Gerald who spent time with her.” Eleanor frowned. “I didn’t much care for her. She was a very plausible person.”

A word that Jury knew was seldom a compliment. “She had the appearance of credibility, you mean?”

“Oh, yes. The appearance of it. She was very good at putting herself in one’s way. Manipulative.”

“She must have put herself in the way of the wrong person, then,” said Tom. “Her body was found on the sand at Bryher. She’d been shot.”

“My God!” said Eleanor. “But who? Why? Have you any idea—”

“No. We haven’t a clue as to why. I’m trying to build up a picture.”

“I can help to fill it out: she was fond of men. I don’t think you ever met my ward, Hannah Lean—” Here she looked quickly at Jury. “I’m sorry, Superintendent, to bring all that up—”

Jury was surprised that Lady Summerston had any idea that Hannah Lean’s death was a personal loss to him. “That’s all right, Lady Summerston.”

Tom said, “I heard about her death, Eleanor. I’m very sorry.”

“Yes, well, I bring it up because I suspected at one point there was something going on between this woman and Simon, Hannah’s husband.” She shrugged. “Simon was another man with an eye for women.”

“By ‘another’ I assume you’re referring to Flora’s husband?”

“Yes. Tony Servino was quite the lady’s man.”

Flora said, “I think that’s overstating it, Aunt Eleanor.”

Tom turned to Flora. “Miss Flood, I wonder if we could have a word in private?”

Flora looked uncertain. “Why, yes, I suppose so.” She gave her aunt a puzzled look and was met by one of reassurance from Lady Summerston. “Go ahead, Flora. Tom’s a very fair person.”

Jury wasn’t sure what “fairness” had to do with it.