There was a clatter of feet on the wooden stairs but no voices. Newton Macklefield came in first, evinced no curiosity about the room and, unsmiling, held out his hand. He said, “I hope I’m not inconveniently early. The traffic on a Sunday morning is light.”

He was younger than Dalgliesh had expected from his voice on the telephone, probably no more than early forties, and was conventionally good-looking—tall, fair-haired and clear-skinned. He brought with him the confidence of assured metropolitan success which was so in contrast to his corduroy trousers, checked open-necked shirt and well-worn tweed jacket, that the clothes, appropriate for a weekend in the country, had a contrived air of fancy dress. His features were regular, the mouth well shaped and firm, the eyes wary, a face, Dalgliesh thought, disciplined to reveal only appropriate emotions. The appropriate one now was of regret and shock, gravely but not emotionally expressed and, to Dalgliesh’s ears, not without a note of displeasure. An eminent City firm of solicitors did not expect to lose a client in so notorious a manner.

He refused the chair which Kate had pulled out from the desk without looking at it, but used it to hold his briefcase. Opening it, he said, “I’ve brought a copy of the will. I doubt if there is anything in its provisions to help your enquiry, but it is, of course, right that you should have it.”

Dalgliesh said, “I expect my colleague has introduced herself. Detective Inspector Kate Miskin.”

“Yes. We met at the door.”

Kate received a handshake so brief that their fingers barely touched. No one sat down.

Macklefield said, “Miss Gradwyn’s death will distress and horrify all the partners in the firm. As I explained when we spoke, I knew her as a client, not as a friend, but she was much respected and will be greatly missed. Her bank and my firm are joint executors of the will, so we shall take responsibility eventually for the funeral arrangements.”

Dalgliesh said, “I think that her mother, now Mrs. Brown, will find that a relief. I’ve already spoken to her. She seemed anxious to dissociate herself as far as possible from the aftermath of her daughter’s death, including the inquest. It seems not to have been a close relationship, and there may be family matters which she doesn’t want to disclose or even think about.”

Macklefield said, “Well, her daughter was pretty good at disclosing other people’s secrets. Still, the family’s non-involvement probably suits you better than being landed with a tearful publicity-avid mother milking the tragedy for all it’s worth and demanding a progress report on the investigation. I’ll probably have more problems with her than you. Anyway, whatever her relationship with her daughter, she’ll get the money. The amount will probably surprise her. Of course you’ll have seen the bank statements and the portfolio.”