It was early evening and Tim and I had gone for a walk—supposedly to clear our heads. But the truth was, I wanted to be alone with him and somehow I felt safer away from the house. It struck me that all the deaths had taken place inside or near the building. And if we stayed too close to the house something else might strike me—a falling piano or a model of the Taj Mahal, for example.

I glanced down at the piece of paper I was holding in my hand. I had made a few notes just before we left:

RORY McDOUGAL—Killed with a sword.

SYLVIE BINNS—Poisoned.

JANET RHODES—Stabbed with an Eiffel Tower!

LIBBY GOLDMAN—Knocked down with a globe.

There was a pattern in there somewhere but I just couldn’t see it. Maybe some fresh air would help after all.

“I’ve got an idea!” Tim said.

“Go ahead, Tim,” I said.

“Maybe I could swim back over to the coast and get some help.”

We were sitting on the jetty. Today the sea was flat, the waves caught as if in a photograph. I could just make out the mainland, a vague ribbon lying on the horizon. The sun was setting fast. How many of us would see it rise again?

I shook my head. “No, Tim. It’s too far.”

“It can’t be more than five miles.”

“And you can’t swim.”

“Oh yes. I’d forgotten.” He glanced at me. “But you can.”

“I can’t swim five miles!” I said. “The water’s too cold. And there’s too much of it. No. Our only hope is to solve this before the killer strikes again.”

“You’re right, Nick.” Tim closed his eyes and sat in silence for a minute. Then he opened them again. “Maybe we could get one of the others to swim . . .”

“One of the others is the killer!” I said. “I saw someone out on the terrace, wearing a skeleton mask. I don’t know how they managed to disappear so quickly—but I wasn’t imagining it. Brenda saw them, too.”

“Maybe it was Mark! He’s a fast mover.”

“And just now . . . when Libby Goldman was killed. Someone must have climbed up onto the roof.” I thought back. “Brenda was out of breath when she came into the garden . . .”

“She could have been singing!”

“I doubt it. But she could have been running. She drops the globe, then runs all the way downstairs . . .”

A seagull flew overhead, crying mournfully. I knew how it felt. I almost wanted to cry myself.

“What’s missing is the motive,” I went on. “Think back, Tim. You were at school with these people. There are only three of them left—Brenda, Mark, and Eric. Would any of them have any reason to kill the rest of you?”