‘That isn’t a comparable analogy. Science may have disproved the efficacy of the bloodstone; it has not yet disproved the existence of evil.’

He gave her a look of respect and approval.

‘You have a point there. Mind, I never denied the existence of evil; all I question is that it takes the form of mysterious illness caused by wax images, familiars in the shape of cats and midnight junketings in lonely places.’ He pushed back the cuff of his sleeve and glanced at his watch. ‘I wish I had time. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation of everything you have mentioned; even the marks of bare feet. I expect somebody went bathing in Puddler Pond. . . . Unfortunately, I have a busy day ahead of me; and I think you should be in bed.’

‘I couldn’t rest. Not with everybody going round saying that Wesley Baines committed suicide.’

‘Miss Mayfield, nobody is going round saying anything. Naturally, the men who found him came to their own conclusions, which they are at liberty to express. In speaking to the Police Constable at Renham, I said we had what seems to be a case of suicide. That is all. Apart from your – what shall I call it? – rather far-fetched theory, have you any reason for doubt that it was suicide?’

Had she?

‘It would have been so out of character.’

‘It almost invariably is. Near relatives are always taken by surprise. “So cheerful, so contented,” they say. Actually, in this case that is not so; I think nobody realizes what Mrs Baines has been through. All war casualties did not occur on the battlefield, you know.’

‘Wesley Baines, on that evening I told you of, spoke of his faith in God. About bearing what God chose to send. Oh, I know it’s very little to go upon, but it gives me a certainty that he wouldn’t have drowned himself. And I’m so afraid . . .’

‘Of what?’

‘That with this general impression that he did kill himself, something vital might be overlooked.’

‘Such as?’

‘Any sign that he had been forcibly held down in the water.’

‘Now, there, at least, I can put your mind at rest. In a case like this, a . . . a very careful and expert examination of the body will be made. The police are not fools; they’re bound to be alert to the possibility of a fatality being rigged to look like suicide. You really need not worry. Look, you go home, sponge those cuts – have you any Dettol? – and lie down and put the whole thing out of your mind.’

‘And you’ll do nothing about all that I have told you.’

‘Indeed, yes. I shall inform Frisby that his dog has run berserk. And when all this dismal business is over, I will go round to Phoebe Rigby’s with bell, book and candle. And I promise to confiscate her broomstick.’