‘I was seen leaving,’ Cox said, miserably. ‘It is possible that someone saw me on the way to Clarence Keep. It was stupid of me, yes. But the facts are still the facts, Detective Inspector. I had a very good reason to kill Melissa James. We argued before she died and I followed her to her home. It was obvious to me that when all this came out I would be your number-one suspect. I did not think you would even believe me about what I had heard. You would think I had made it up.’

Pünd glanced at Detective Chief Inspector Hare as if asking his permission and, on receiving a quick nod, said: ‘You should return to London, Mr Cox. It was most foolish of you to lie to the police and you could have done great harm by delaying the investigation. But now that you have told us the truth, there is no need to detain you. We will, however, contact you again if there are any further questions.’

Cox looked up. ‘Thank you, Mr Pünd. I really am very sorry, Detective Inspector.’

‘Detective Chief Inspector,’ Hare corrected him. He was finally unable to resist it.

‘I’m sorry. Yes … ’

Simon Cox got up and left the room.

‘So do we believe him, then?’ Hare asked, once he had gone. ‘And if we do, perhaps we should be arresting Phyllis Chandler and her son!’

‘We must certainly question them,’ Pünd agreed. ‘But we must also remember that Mr Cox is not in full command of the English language, and moreover, he heard the conversation through a window while he was in an agitated state of mind.’

‘I understand the Moonflower is losing money,’ Hare muttered. ‘And it’s clear that Miss James suspected some sort of embezzlement … ’

‘I am sure that Mr Pendleton will be able to give us more information on that matter.’ Pünd turned to his assistant. ‘But before we leave, there is something I must ask you, Miss Cain. I do not remember you mentioning that you had lived in Devonshire when we were discussing your resumé.’

Now it was the secretary’s turn to blush. ‘Actually, Mr Pünd, I’ve never been here in my life.’

‘Wait a minute!’ Hare couldn’t believe what he had just heard. ‘Are you telling me all that stuff about Gray Sands …?’

‘I hope you’ll forgive me, sir. But I’m afraid I made it up.’ She blinked several times, then continued hurriedly. ‘It was obvious that the gentleman was lying to you and it suddenly occurred to me that I might be able to call his bluff, so to speak. I gambled on the fact that he was down here for the first time, so I decided to tell him that the beach he had walked on didn’t exist – at least, not at the time he was there.’ She turned to Pünd. ‘I hope you’re not angry with me, Mr Pünd.’

Detective Chief Inspector Hare burst out laughing. ‘Angry with you? You deserve a medal, Miss Cain. It was brilliantly done.’

‘It was indeed very helpful,’ Pünd said.

‘The two of you make a perfect team.’

‘Yes,’ Pünd agreed. ‘We do.’

NINE

SCENE OF THE CRIME

It took Detective Chief Inspector Hare less than five minutes to drive Atticus Pünd and his assistant from the Moonflower Hotel to Clarence Keep. On the night of the murder, it had taken Melissa James more than twenty, meaning that she had at least fifteen minutes that were unaccounted for. What could she have got up to in that time? There might be an innocent explanation. She could have walked to the postbox. She could have met someone in the street and stopped for a chat. But the fact remained that she had then gone home to her death and everything she had done that evening had a significance that might be critical. As Pünd had written in the preface to The Landscape of Criminal Investigation: ‘In some respects, the roles of the detective and the scientist are closely related. The events that lead up to a murder are as closely bound together as the atoms that make up a molecule. It is all too easy to disregard or overlook a single atom, but if you do so, the sugar that you were expecting may turn out to be salt.’

In other words, the choices that Melissa had made might well have contributed to her murder. Pünd wanted to know everything she had done.

They drove through the gates of Clarence Keep and pulled up at the front door. The house was immediately impressive, with its veranda and ornate balcony, sitting on an immaculate lawn rising up from the coastal road. Looking back, Pünd took in the entire sweep of the coast, the lighthouse and Tawleigh-on-the-Water just beyond, half a mile to the east. The Bentley was parked on the gravel, now bereft of its owner and somehow, despite its elegance, a little sad. There was a second car, a rather beaten-about Morris Minor, next to it and a bright green Austin-Healey in a bay around the side of the house.

‘The Austin belongs to Francis Pendleton,’ Hare muttered. ‘The Bentley, of course, was hers. Not sure about the Morris.’

Pünd examined the front of the house. Francis Pendleton claimed that he had left Clarence Keep at 6.15 p.m. It was one of Miss Cain’s ten moments in time. Now, Pünd saw that, given the horseshoe shape of the driveway with its twin gates, it would have been quite possible for him to have left the house through the set of French windows that opened onto the bay where the Austin was parked. He could have driven down to the main road, disappearing down the slope, and could have been on his way without anyone noticing. They only had his word for the time he had actually left.

Meanwhile, Miss Cain had climbed out of Hare’s car and was gazing at the house with what was, for her, unusual enthusiasm. ‘What a lovely house!’ she exclaimed.

‘I thought the same,’ the detective chief inspector said. ‘You can understand why Miss James would want to live here.’

‘It’s gorgeous.’

‘Must have cost an arm and a leg to run it, though. She was having financial difficulties, by the way.’ These last words were addressed to Pünd. ‘I’ve spoken to her bank manager. She was thinking about putting the Moonflower back on the market to raise funds and she was looking at her other assets too. She definitely needed a new film.’

They were about to ring the bell when the front door opened and a man in a tweed suit came out, carrying a bulky medicine bag. It would have been obvious who he was even if Hare hadn’t already described him when discussing the investigation. Now he introduced him to Pünd. ‘This is Dr Collins. You’ll recall that he was the one who found Miss James’s body.’

Atticus Pünd did not need reminding. He smiled and shook hands with the doctor.

‘Pünd?’ It took Collins a moment to connect the name. ‘You’re the chap who sorted out that business with the Ludendorff Diamond! What on earth brings you to this neck of the woods?’

‘Mr Pünd has kindly agreed to help me with my enquiries,’ Hare explained, slipping into the official language that he had been using for the past thirty years.

‘Yes. Of course. How stupid of me. Why else would you be here?’

‘You have been treating Mr Pendleton,’ Pünd said.

‘That’s right.’ Collins grimaced. ‘I hope you haven’t come out here to talk to him.’

‘He is too ill to speak?’

‘Well, he’s barely slept since his wife died and I’d say he’s a nervous wreck. I popped in on my rounds this morning, took one look at him and told him that if he didn’t get some proper sleep soon, I’d have no alternative but to admit him to hospital. He didn’t want that so I’ve given him a fairly hefty dose of reserpine.’

‘It is a tranquilliser?’

‘Yes. An alkaloid extracted from a plant that grows in India. Rauwolfia serpentia. I prescribed a lot of it during the war and it certainly does the job. He downed it in front of me and although it may be a while before it kicks in, I don’t think you’re going to find him completely compos mentis.’

‘I am sure you did what you had to, Dr Collins.’

‘Are you on your way home, sir?’ Hare asked.

‘I’ve just got to look in on Mrs Green at Leavenworth Cottage and young Nancy at the lighthouse and then I’ll be back in plenty of time for lunch. Why? Do you want to talk to me?’

‘We might want to have a word, sir. If you don’t mind.’

‘I thought I’d already told you everything I know, but I’m happy to go over it again. I’ll ask Samantha to put the kettle on.’

He walked past them and, stooping low, climbed into his car. It took three attempts to get the engine to fire but then he was off down the driveway and out onto the road.

‘I hope I didn’t jump ahead of you there, Mr Pünd,’ Hare said. ‘I assumed you might want to talk to him next.’

‘You are quite correct. He is most certainly another atom to be considered,’ Pünd replied, cryptically.

They rang the doorbell and at once there was a fierce, high-pitched barking from inside. The door opened and a little dog ran out, a ball of red-coloured fur with short legs and a bushy tail curling up over its hindquarters. At the same time, a voice called out, ‘Kimba, come back in here,’ and as the dog obeyed, Pünd found himself facing a rather dishevelled man dressed in a dark suit.

‘This is Eric Chandler,’ Hare said, introducing him.