They settled themselves round the table. Looking at Kate, Dalgliesh asked, “Are you comfortable at the B and B? You’ve had a meal?”

“Very comfortable, thank you, sir. Mrs. Shepherd did us well. Home-made soup, fish pie and—what was that sweet, Sergeant? You know about food.”

“Queen of puddings, ma’am.”

Dalgliesh said, “Chief Inspector Whetstone has arranged with the Shepherds that they take no other visitors while you are there. They ought to be compensated for any loss, but no doubt this has been arranged. The local force has been extraordinarily co-operative. It can’t have been easy.”

Benton broke in. “I don’t think the Shepherds will be bothered about other visitors, sir. Mrs. Shepherd said they haven’t any bookings and don’t expect any. They’ve only got the two rooms anyway. They’re busy in the spring and summer, but mostly with regular visitors. And they’re choosy. If people arrive they don’t like the look of, they immediately put the No Vacancies sign in the window.”

Kate said, “So who don’t they like the look of?”

“People with large expensive cars and the kind who ask to see the rooms before booking. They never refuse women arriving alone, or people without cars who are obviously desperate at the end of the day. They have their grandson staying for the weekend, but he’s in an annexe at the bottom of the garden. Chief Inspector Whetstone knows about him. And he’ll keep his mouth shut. They love their grandson but not his motorbike.”

Kate said, “Who told you all this?”

“Mrs. Shepherd when she showed me to my room.”

Kate didn’t comment on Benton’s formidable ability to extract information without asking for it. Obviously Mrs. Shepherd was as susceptible to a handsome and deferential young man as most of her sex.