‘I was in the navy as a young man.’

‘Charles! I never ever think of you as doing anything useful.’

A gust of wind rattled the windowpanes of the station. ‘Just as well I have,’ said Charles. ‘Seems to be blowing up.’

After a quarter of an hour they were both called into a side room where they signed their statements. Then they went out into Hewes High Street, leaning against the increasing force of the wind.

‘Do we have to go back to Hadsea today?’ pleaded Agatha.

‘’Fraid so. I promised to have it back. It’s only a river, Agatha. It’s not as if we have to go into the open sea.’

Agatha kept to the saloon as the powerful boat set off downstream. She could feel all her self-confidence leaking out through her fingertips. She remembered with shame bragging to Sylvan about her great detective work. Was she really any good? Or was she surrounded by clever people like Charles? The sheer folly of going out on a date and accepting another with a Frenchman who had been at the scene of every murder was silly, to say the least.

Maybe she wasn’t any good at being a detective at all. Maybe she just bumbled round like a trapped bee against a windowpane until someone opened the window and she saw daylight.

When they got to Hadsea and handed over the boat, Charles volunteered to drive them back as they had both come in Agatha’s car, and a weary and demoralized Agatha sank down into the passenger seat.

‘Before we drive off,’ she said, ‘I’d better phone Patrick and see why my interview was cut short.’

Patrick said that a fishing boat had located Sylvan’s boat adrift in the Channel and was towing it into Dover Harbour. An RAF patrol had been alerted earlier by the fishing boat’s captain and had immediately flown over the area. They had seen Sylvan diving off into the sea. He hadn’t been wearing a life jacket. They had circled over the Jolie Blonde. Sylvan had struck out for a little bit and then had sunk under the waves. They were now searching to see if the body surfaced.

Agatha relayed the news to Charles. ‘That’s the end of that,’ he said.

‘I don’t know about that,’ said Agatha, stifling a yawn.

‘Oh, come on, Aggie. It stands to reason. He’d slept with Felicity. She must have known something.’

‘But he had a cast-iron alibi.’

‘Did Patrick say whether the Bross-Tilkingtons are still being regarded as innocent?’ asked Charles.

‘Evidently so. The police feel they were being simply used all along the way. The security and the hiring of Jerry Carter were all Sylvan’s idea. He frightened them to death with stories of burglars.’

‘So, end of chapter. Good,’ said Charles. ‘We can all get back to normal.’

‘What’s normal?’ mumbled Agatha and fell asleep.

She did not awaken until they were drawing up outside her cottage. ‘I’m starving,’ said Charles. ‘Let’s see to your cats and then walk up to the Red Lion. Has John got his outside bit?’