Johnny, unaccustomed to Cleo’s directness, almost spat out his coffee. “What? Gabriel Redfern? Are you sure? He’s hardly the criminal type, is he?”

“Cleo!” Lucy said reproachfully. “You make it all so melodramatic.”

“Well, it was pretty exciting stuff.” Cleo licked butter from her fingers.

“What happened?” Finn, leaning his elbows on the table, directed the question at Lucy as Cleo was once more attacking the bacon roll.

“Cleo went out to get her phone charger from the car in the middle of the night and someone barreled into her coming up from the valley,” Lucy said. “She screamed and they ran off, but they dropped a key in the courtyard—the key to the barn, as it turns out. Or rather, the old key, since I’ve had the locks changed.”

“Hell.” Johnny looked shocked. He turned to Cleo. “Were you okay?”

“Yes thanks,” Cleo said cheerfully. “Just terrified.”

Finn’s frown was heavy. “So we were right then, Lucy,” he said. “Whoever left you that disgusting bunch of dead flowers did have a key.”

“Well, presumably it’s the same person,” Lucy said, sighing. “Cleo’s given a description to the police.”

“Six foot two and smells of cigarette smoke,” Cleo said, finishing off the sandwich and washing it down with the rest of the juice. “Thank you,” she added, “that was awesome.”

“Very restorative,” Lucy agreed, with a smile.

“So is that why you think it was Gabriel?” Johnny swung back on his chair. “Because of his height and the smell of smoke?” He glanced across at Finn. “You do know that could fit any number of people, right? Even Finn when he’s been down by the bonfire.”

“It’s a different sort of smoke,” Finn said mildly, “but yeah, Johnny’s right. I don’t think you can blame Gabriel unless you’ve got some other evidence.”

Cleo nudged her sister. “Lucy?” she prompted.

Lucy sighed again. “I know you and I had it all worked out last night,” she said to Cleo, “but Finn’s right that we can’t accuse anyone without proof and we don’t have any.”

“What about the book?” Cleo’s eyebrows shot up. “And your conversation with the curator at Chastleton about Charlie’s research, and Persis pretending to be his assistant—”

“Wait a minute—” Finn held up a hand. “You’ve lost me.”

“Me too,” Johnny said.

“This is what you get with Cleo,” Lucy said, sending her sister an affectionate glance. “She never starts a story at the beginning. Even when she reads a book she’ll plunge in at chapter three before she goes back to the start.”

“It’s true, I’m afraid,” Cleo admitted.

Briefly Lucy told them about her visit to Chastleton, the book about Robert Catesby, and how that had led to the conversation with Hazel about Charlie’s research.

“I haven’t had the opportunity to read much of the book yet,” she said to Finn, who was sitting back in his chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he listened. “I only dipped into it in a few spare moments. I’m not sure which parts are relevant to Knightstone, but hopefully I’ll find out when I get the chance to take a proper look.” A thought occurred to her. “Or perhaps you’d like to read it instead? You might have a better chance of spotting what had caught Charlie’s interest.”