Oh, how long the day seemed as darkness fell and the body of Bert Trymp was lifted from the river. Halogen lamps were set up. Teams of scene of crime operatives moved in the light in their white suits like ghosts. After the body was pulled from the water, Agatha said she thought it was probably that of Bert. It was difficult because she had only met him once and the face was swollen from immersion in the river. Someone had struck him a savage blow on the back of the head, filled his pockets with rocks and dropped him off the jetty. Bert’s father was collected and brought to the scene. In a gruff voice, he identified his son and then burst into tears. The Bross-Tilkingtons were abroad, said Falcon. They were on holiday in Barcelona.

Then Agatha and Roy were driven to the police station and the questioning began. Boase and Falcon seemed to find Agatha’s knack of finding bodies very suspicious.

It was eleven o’clock in the evening when they were finally released. ‘I’m hungry,’ wailed Roy.

‘The Chinese restaurant is still open,’ said a familiar voice behind them.

‘What are you doing here, Sylvan?’ demanded Agatha.

‘I am the prime suspect. I am house-sitting for George. The body was found under his jetty. They have taken away my passport. Let’s eat.’

‘I should really change,’ said Agatha. She had not only bought underwear but a sweater and trousers from Marks.

‘Don’t,’ wailed Roy. ‘I’m simply too hungry.’

‘The restaurant is only just along the street,’ said Sylvan.

The staff at the restaurant seemed to know Sylvan very well. They rushed to welcome him. ‘Shall I order for us?’ asked Sylvan.

I always seem to land up with men who won’t let me choose my own food, thought Agatha, but she was too tired to protest. ‘Go ahead.’

Sylvan seemed to know a great deal of light yet scurrilous gossip about various celebrities. He poured generous amounts of wine. Agatha began to relax. She felt it would do no harm to get mildly drunk and maybe, therefore, enjoy a good night’s sleep without being plagued by nightmares of Bert’s dead face.

But charming and attractive as Sylvan was, Agatha, mindful of her detective duties, finally asked, ‘Who do you think killed Bert?’

‘I haven’t a clue.’

‘I forgot to ask. When exactly did George and Olivia leave?’

‘Yesterday, I think.’

‘So George could have murdered Bert!’

‘Hardly. If Bert’s information was about Sean, then it stands to reason that some Irishman decided to get rid of him in the same way. Sean could have had information about some IRA cell working on the mainland.’

‘But I thought the Provisional IRA had gone all peaceful,’ protested Roy.

‘Oh, yeah?’ said Agatha cynically. ‘Tell that to the people of Omagh.’