“Thank you. I had a call from Inspector Jessup. I have arranged for the service to be held tomorrow afternoon.”

That was very quick, but he said only, “He didn’t kill anyone, Mrs. Teller. He’s been completely absolved.”

“How nice to know that the rector needn’t mention in his eulogy that Peter was nearly arrested for murder,” she said sardonically.

“If I’d had the whole truth from the start,” he told her, “it might have been different.”

“All I know is, you made his last days a hell on earth. I hope this knowledge will give you nights as sleepless as his were.”

“I expect there are worse burdens on my conscience than this one.”

“Who did kill that woman in Lancashire?” she asked him, unable to stop herself.

He told her, and she said, “Jealousy is a powerful thing.”

“But you weren’t jealous of Florence Teller. After all, there was no need. She wasn’t Peter’s wife.”

“It never troubled me,” she said, still keeping up the lie, “from the time I found out. We had a happy marriage, Peter and I. Whether you believe that or not.”

“Have you asked your solicitor what your rights are, if you persist in this charade? Whether you are in fact the legitimately surviving spouse? Mrs. Teller is dead. Of course, the Captain must have made proper provisions for you in his will.”

That visibly shook her. But she said, “Our solicitors will sort it out.”

“Or perhaps they weren’t informed of the necessity for provisions. Unless your husband changed his will in the last ten days.”

“You’re unbelievably cruel, Inspector. My husband is dead, and so is the woman in Hobson. He can’t be prosecuted for bigamy, and you will only bring public shame on me if you pursue this.”