The room in which she lay, like the sitting room through which they had passed, despite its comfort was too carefully furnished, achieving an organised perfection which for him was unwelcoming and impersonal. The objects he had glimpsed as he passed through the sitting room to her bedside arranged themselves in his memory: the Georgian writing desk, the two modern easy chairs before a stone grate fitted with an electric heater, the mahogany bookcase and bureau arranged to their advantage. And yet they were rooms in which he would never have felt at home. They reminded him of a country-house hotel once—and only once—visited, where the overcharged guests were subtly made to feel socially inferior in their taste to that of the owners. No imperfections were allowed. He wondered who had arranged the rooms. Presumably Miss Cressett. If so, she was trying to convey that this part of the Manor was merely a short-stay hotel. Visitors were here to be impressed but not to take over even temporary possession. Rhoda Gradwyn may have felt differently, may even have been at home here. But the room, for her, had not been tainted by the noxious contamination of murder.

Turning to Chandler-Powell, Dr. Glenister said, “You had, of course, seen her the evening before.”

“Naturally.”

“And is this how you found her this morning?”

“Yes. When I saw her throat I knew that there was nothing I could do, and that there was no possibility that this was a natural death. It hardly needs a consultant forensic pathologist to diagnose how she died. She’s been throttled. What you see now is exactly what I saw when I first approached the bed.”

Dalgliesh asked, “Were you alone?”

“I was alone at the bedside. Sister Holland was in the sitting room coping with Kimberley Bostock, the assistant cook, who had brought up the early-morning tea. When she saw the body, Sister pressed the red call button in the sitting room several times, so I knew that there was some kind of emergency. As you’ll see, the one by the bed has been looped out of reach. Very wisely, Sister Holland didn’t touch it. She has assured me that it was lying as usual on the bedside table when she settled the patient for the night. I thought that probably the patient had panicked or was ill, and I expected to find Sister here also responding to the call. We shut both doors and I carried Kimberley down to her own apartment. I called her husband to stay with her and immediately telephoned the local police. Chief Inspector Whetstone instructed me about sealing the room and was here in charge until you arrived. I had already arranged for this corridor and the lift to be out of bounds.”