I looked past him to the happy revelers, the journalists taking pictures of the winner and copious amounts of either beer or cider being drunk. “But we are no nearer to solving it, are we? We know that some twisted mind is enjoying a little joke at the expense of people’s lives, but we have no way of knowing who or why. They are still such a strange assortment of victims and the killer has been clever enough not to leave evidence.”

“He has left evidence,” Darcy said. “Two people are still alive. Mr. Klein was apparently not harmed, and Mrs. Sechrest is going to recover. We have to contact the police right away and have them talk to the survivors. Maybe they will know why someone might have wanted them dead.”

“He didn’t want Mr. Klein dead,” I said. “He only took valuable jewelry from him.”

“Either he thought that would be an appropriate punishment for Klein or he had planned a murder that for some reason didn’t happen.”

“Let’s go see Mr. Klein right away, shall we?” I took his hand.

“We have to tell all this to the police first,” Darcy said.

“Since when were you so law-abiding?” I demanded. “You are the one who taught me how to crash wedding parties and who does all kinds of suspect things around the world.”

“Those are different. This is dealing with people’s lives, Georgie. And also it’s my aunt’s family. I have to do the right thing when I’m staying with her.”

“Very noble,” I said. “Well, all right. Let’s borrow Monty’s motor again and go find the hopelessly thick inspector. We can get away now, while they are all celebrating.”

I glanced across at Monty, now drinking something from a large cup while the crowd cheered. We moved silently toward the gap in the hedge, slipped through, then hurried across the village green, up the driveway and around to the garages. A few minutes later we were driving toward Newton Abbott at a snail’s pace, with Darcy peering forward through the mist. Luckily nobody else was foolhardy enough to attempt driving in this weather.

“So let’s think,” Darcy said, raising his voice over the considerable noise of the engine. “What does all this tell us about the murderer? Why did he wait until Christmas?”

“So that he could kill twelve people in twelve days?”

“But why? It’s clearly his little joke, isn’t it?”

“He’s punishing each of them for a reason. Maybe Freddie played one of his pranks on him. Ted Grover was committing adultery. Miss Ffrench-Finch—well, I’m sure old ladies can be annoying. Gladys Tripp listened in on private conversations and gossiped afterward. We don’t know anything about Mr. Klein or the butcher or the master of hounds or the farmer’s wife, but Sandra Sechrest and Johnnie Protheroe were carrying on together.”