Getting to her feet with the ease of a young woman, she said, “Commander Dalgliesh and I are old colleagues. Well, shall we get started? Mr. Chandler-Powell, I’d like you to come up, if Commander Dalgliesh has no objections.”

Dalgliesh said, “None.”

He was probably the only police officer whom Dr. Glenister would invite to concur in any decision of hers. He recognised the problem. There were medical details which only Chandler-Powell could provide, but there were things she and Dalgliesh might want to say which it would be unwise to discuss over the body with Chandler-Powell present. Chandler-Powell had to be a suspect; Dr. Glenister knew it—and so, no doubt, did Chandler-Powell.

They crossed the square entrance hall and climbed the staircase, Chandler-Powell and Dr. Glenister leading. Their feet sounded unnaturally loud on the uncarpeted wood. The stairs led to a landing. The door to the right was open, and Dalgliesh could glimpse a long, low room with an intricate ceiling. Chandler-Powell said, “The long gallery. Sir Walter Raleigh danced there when he visited the Manor. Apart from the furnishings it’s still as it was then.”

No one commented. A second and shorter flight of stairs led to a door which opened onto a carpeted passage with rooms facing west and east.

Chandler-Powell said, “The patients’ accommodation is on this corridor. Suites with sitting room, bedroom and shower. Immediately underneath, the long gallery has been furnished as a joint sitting room. Most patients prefer to stay in their suite or, occasionally, to use the library on the ground floor. Sister Holland’s rooms are the first facing west, opposite the lift.”

There was no need to point out which room Rhoda Gradwyn had occupied. A uniformed police officer seated at the door sprang up smartly as they appeared and saluted.

Dalgliesh said, “You’re Detective Constable Warren?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How long have you been on guard?”

“Since Inspector Whetstone and I arrived, sir. That was at five past eight. The tape was already in place.”

Chandler-Powell said, “I was instructed to seal the door by Inspector Whetstone.”

Dalgliesh peeled the adhesive tape away and entered the sitting room, with Kate and Benton following. There was a strong smell of vomit, strangely at odds with the formality of the room. The door to the bedroom was to the left. It was closed, and Chandler-Powell pushed it gently open against the impediment of a fallen tray, the cups broken and the teapot, its lid detached, lying on its side. The bedroom was in darkness, lit only by the daylight streaming in from the sitting room. The dark stain of tea splattered the carpet.

Chandler-Powell said, “I left things exactly as I found them. No one has entered this room since Sister and I left it. I suppose this mess can be cleared up once the body has been moved.”

Dalgliesh said, “Not until the scene has been searched.”