“For why? You said yourself that we weren’t to gossip about Miss Gradwyn’s death but wait until the police arrived. Well, the boss man is here now, so I’m telling him what I saw.”

Before anyone could respond, the door was flung open. All eyes turned towards it. A man burst in with DC Warren expostulating just behind him. His appearance was as extraordinary as his irruption was dramatic. Benton saw a pale, handsome, somewhat androgynous face, blazing blue eyes and fair hair plastered to his forehead like the marbled locks of a sculpted god. He was wearing a long black coat, almost to the floor, over pale-blue jeans, and for a moment Benton thought he was in his pyjamas and dressing gown. If his sensational entrance had been planned, he could hardly have chosen a more propitious moment, but contrived histrionics seemed unlikely. The newcomer was shaking with poorly controlled emotions, grief perhaps, but also fear and anger. He stared from face to face, seemingly confused, and before he could speak Candace Westhall spoke calmly from her seat by the window.

“Our cousin, Robin Boyton. He’s staying in the guest cottage. Robin, this is Commander Dalgliesh of New Scotland Yard, and his colleagues Inspector Miskin and Sergeant Benton-Smith.”

Robin ignored her and turned his blaze of anger on Marcus. “You bastard! You cold, black-hearted bastard! My friend, a dear close friend, is dead. Murdered. And you didn’t even have the decency to tell me. And here you all are, cosying up to the police, deciding together to keep all this quiet. We mustn’t upset Mr. Chandler-Powell’s valuable work, must we? And she’s lying upstairs dead. You should have told me! Somebody should have told me. I need to see her. I want to say goodbye.”

And now he was openly weeping, his tears falling unrestrained. Dalgliesh didn’t speak, but Benton, glancing at him, saw that the dark eyes were watchful.

Candace Westhall half rose as if about to comfort her cousin, then subsided. It was her brother who spoke. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible, Robin. Miss Gradwyn’s body has been taken to the mortuary. But I did attempt to tell you. I called at the cottage shortly before nine, but you were obviously still asleep. The curtains were drawn and the front door locked. I think you did tell us at some time that you knew Rhoda Gradwyn, but not that you were a close friend.”

Dalgliesh spoke. “Mr. Boyton, at present I’m interviewing only those people who were in this house from the time Miss Gradwyn arrived on Thursday until the discovery of her death at seven-thirty this morning. If you were among them, then please stay. If not, I or one of my officers will see you as soon as possible.”

Boyton had controlled his rage. Through the gulps of indrawn breath, his voice took on the tone of a petulant child.