14

The woman in the doorway looked at them blankly.

'Mrs Knowles?' Ferris asked.

'Who?'

His heart dropped like a stone. 'Are you Mrs Knowles, ma'am?'

'Oh – no, the name's Fielding. The Knowleses moved away years ago.'

Ferris closed his eyes briefly in frustration. 'Have you any idea where they went?'

'Over to the east of the county, I think. Yes, that's right – Honeyford. We drove through it once, and my husband said, "This is where the Knowleses moved to." Quiet sort of place.'

'Thank you, you've been most helpful.'

Ferris hurried back to the car and, sliding inside, took out his phone again.

'Dave? It's Ted. I'm in Oxbury, and we could be on to something: girl by the name of Zoe Knowles, might have been involved with Philpott. She moved from here to Honeyford some years ago. That's on your patch, isn't it?'

'Yes. What have you got on her?'

'Nothing, really. It's a convoluted trail – I'll explain when I see you.'

'You're coming over?'

'You bet we are. Straight away.'

Right, I'll see if I can track her down and meet you there. How long will it take you?'

'About an hour and a quarter. I'd say.'

'I'll wait outside the Swan – it's the first pub as you enter the village.'

'Thanks, Dave, we're on our way.'

It was four-fifteen when Ferris's car drew up behind Webb's outside the Swan. Webb got out and walked back.

'We've located her, Ted. Girl and her mother live in Swing-Gate Lane.'

Ferris frowned. 'Her mother? No husband?'

'No, Zoe's the daughter, according to the newsagent across the road there. While 1 was waiting I went over for a paper and engaged him in a bit of chat. No father either; died when she was an infant.'

'Then who the hell are we looking for?'

'You tell me.'

Ferris swore softly. 'Do you know if she's home?'

'Someone is; there's a car in the drive. We don't want to alarm her by crowding her out, though; I suggest we stop just short of the house and the two sergeants stay in the cars.'

'Fine; you lead the way, then.'

They set off in convoy. Jackson turned down the first road on the left and after a hundred yards or so drew to a halt. Seconds later, Ferris's car stopped behind them.

The two senior detectives got out. The sun had disappeared and there was an oppressive air to the day, as though all the oxygen had been used up. As they turned in the gate, Webb saw that the house was little more than a cottage, chocolate-box pretty in its Broadshire stone, with a steeply pitched roof and, literally, roses round the door. They walked up the path and rang the bell.

The door was flung open by a pale, fair woman in her thirties, who appeared taken aback to see them.

'Oh – I'm sorry, I thought it would be the doctor.'

'Police, ma'am.'

Before Webb could continue, her eyes widened and she exclaimed, 'It's not my mother, is it? Nothing's – happened?'

'No, no, Miss Knowles.' He paused. 'I take it you are Miss Knowles – Miss Zoe Knowles?'

'Yes, that's right.' Puzzled, she looked from one face to the other.

'Chief Inspectors Ferris and Webb.' They both held up their cards.

She said tentatively, 'How do you do?'

'May we come inside, please?'

Still bewildered, she stood to one side and they went directly into a charming living-room. Obviously genuine old beams criss-crossed a low ceiling, and most of one wall was taken up by a stone fireplace, the grate of which was masked by a basket of flowers.

The table and dresser, of a rich, dark wood Webb couldn't identify, were polished to a high sheen, and the comfortable easy chairs were covered in chintz. No attempt had been made to double-glaze the small, diamond-paned windows, and a staircase went up from one side of the room. Webb felt a twinge of envy; he could comfortably live here himself.

He nodded to Ferris, who began without preamble, 'Miss Knowles, we're looking into the death of Mr Trevor Philpott. I wonder –'

He broke off in consternation as she swayed, her eyes flickering. Webb moved quickly forward and guided her into a chair.

'We don't mean to distress you, Zoe, but we have to ask you some questions.' He hoped the use of her first name would reassure her, but her deepening pallor showed no signs of improving. 'You did know Mr Philpott, didn't you?'

'We – worked in the same office.' He had to bend down to hear her.

'But there was more to it than that, wasn't there?'

'I don't know what you mean!' She rose unsteadily to her feet, holding on to the chair for support. 'I'd be grateful if you'd go now. My mother –'

'Did you have an affair with Mr Philpott, Miss Knowles?' Ferris this time.

She gave a little moan, both hands going to her mouth.

'Shortly before he was killed?' Ferris persisted. 'Your boyfriend wouldn't have liked that, would he?'

'My-?' She stared at them with total lack of comprehension.

From beyond the open window came the crunching of footsteps on the path, the door opened, and a tall, fair man came into the house, stopping short on seeing the tableau before him. Right on cue, Webb thought, regarding him with interest.

'What the hell's going on?' he demanded.

'Patrick – oh, Patrick, thank God!' Zoe's knees began to buckle. The man caught hold of her, his arm encircling her protectively.

'What is this? Who are you, and what are you doing in my sister's house?'

The detectives exchanged a significant look, and Webb released his breath in a long sigh.

'You're Mr Knowles, sir?'

'Of course I am. More to the point, who are you?'

DCIs Ferris and Webb. We're looking into the murder of Trevor Philpott.'

There was total silence. Then Patrick Knowles said, 'Oh, my God.'

Zoe had begun to weep silently. 'Make them go away,' she begged.

'We have reason to believe, sir, that your sister had a relationship with him. Is that correct?'

Knowles didn't answer. His face was now as white as his sister's.

'Did she?' Webb repeated.

'All right, damn you, yes, she did ... And I bet she wasn't the only one.'

'But perhaps she took it harder than the rest?'

'Look, you can see this is distressing her. She's not well, and added to that, our mother is seriously ill in hospital.'

'I'm sorry, sir. If you'd like to make arrangements for your sister, we're quite agreeable to hearing the story from you.'

Patrick held his eyes for a long moment. Then he said, 'I'll ring my wife. She can be here in fifteen minutes.'

He gently lowered his sister into her chair, and disappeared through one of the doors opening off the living-room. They heard him say, 'Sonia, there's an emergency. Can you come to Honeyford at once, and take charge of Zoe? ... What? No, it's not Mother. Just get here as soon as you can, for God's sake.'

Faced with a fifteen-minute delay, Webb moved restlessly to the window, in time to see a short, dark man turn into the gateway and walk briskly up the path. Webb recognized him from a case in the area two years ago; it was Dr Pratt.

The doctor gave a token tap on the door and came straight in, looking in surprise at the gathering.

Knowles greeted him with relief. 'Doctor, thank God you're here! My sister's not well, and I have to speak to these gentlemen; could you possibly –?'

The doctor's eyes went to the detectives and he gave Webb a brief nod. 'Of course, she can come and rest in the surgery until you're ready for her.'

'I take it there's no news on my mother?'

'Nothing significant. I called in because I promised your sister I would, but there's really nothing to report.'

He helped Patrick raise Zoe to her feet and between them they guided her down the path. Webb kept an eye on Knowles through the window, phone at the ready in case he needed to alert Jackson, but the man returned almost at once.

'The doctor lives next door but one. She'll be all right for the moment. Look, I need a drink. Can I get you anything?'

'No, thank you, sir.'

He went to the sideboard, removed a whisky bottle from one of its cupboards and poured a shot into a crystal tumbler.

'Philpott was a rat,' he said unemotionally, 'and whoever killed him deserves a medal.'

Ferris resumed his questioning. 'What happened, sir?'

'He made a play for my sister. She didn't realize his game – she's always been immature for her age – and she really fell for him. He spun her the usual line, he'd divorce his wife, all the rest of it. Even so, she still refused to sleep with him. So,' Knowles said deliberately, sitting down in the chair his sister had vacated and staring into his glass, 'he took her out in his car and raped her.'

The words hung in the charming room, brutal and alien.

'I'm very sorry to hear that,' Ferris said quietly. 'Why didn't you report it?'

'How could we bloody report it?' Knowles's voice was savage. 'What do you think it would have done to her, to my mother, if it had all come out in court? Wasn't it bad enough that she had to go through it once, without bringing it all up again?' He wiped a hand across his face. 'Then we realized she was pregnant. We arranged an immediate abortion, but it was all too much for her and she had a breakdown. She's – never been the same since.'

Yet again there were sounds on the path outside, and this time the door burst open to admit a tall, slim woman with shoulder-length brown hair. She, too, stopped short on seeing them.

'Patrick –?' she said hesitantly.

'These men are detectives, Sonia.'

She frowned. But – Zoe?'

'Dr Pratt has taken her. No' – at her exclamation – 'she's all right, but she wasn't up to the – questioning.'

'Questioning?' Mrs Knowles repeated, looking from one to another.

'These gentlemen, my dear, are on the point of asking me if I murdered Trevor Philpott.'

Sonia Knowles gasped, but Ferris forestalled her. 'Mr Knowles, I think I should caution you that –'

He interrupted with an impatient gesture. 'Save your breath; I'm not making any statement, other than to say categorically that I did not.'

'All the same, sir, I'm afraid it will be necessary for you to accompany us to the station. A statement will be required, even if it's only to repeat what you've already told us.'

'What have you told them, Patrick?' Sonia demanded urgently.

Knowles looked at her briefly, then away. 'That Philpott raped Zoe and she had to have an abortion.'

She stared at him in horror. 'Is that what her illness was all about?'

'She had a breakdown afterwards.'

'Why didn't you tell me?'

Why indeed, thought Webb. 'What size shoes do you take, Mr Knowles?' he asked conversationally.

'What?' Knowles turned to him with a frown.

'Your shoes; what size are they?'

'Nines, though I can't see –' He broke off as, patently, he began to see.

'Do you possess a pair with rubber soles?'

Knowles was about to deny it, but his wife cried, 'What have Patrick's shoes got to do with anything? Is it now a crime to own rubber soles?'

Ferris said tonelessly, 'Whoever broke in to the Mace house was wearing them. We'll need to examine yours, Mr Knowles.'

Sonia looked from him to Patrick's wooden face. 'You can't seriously believe my husband would break in to the Maces' house?' she said incredulously. 'They're friends of ours – I've known them most of my life.'

'He was getting too close, wasn't he?' Webb remarked, ignoring her. 'He'd worked out by some method of his own what type of man Philpott had been, contrary to received opinion. And he stated in public that he'd been killed, not by one of those he'd hurt directly, but by someone avenging her. We assumed he meant a husband or lover, but a brother would have an equally strong motive. Especially,' Webb added, remembering the newsagent's words, 'one who'd felt responsible for his sister from childhood.'

Sonia Knowles reached blindly behind her for a chair and lowered herself into it.

'My goodness,' Knowles said gratingly, 'you have been doing your homework. Well, Mr Webb, or whatever your name is, in this country we're still innocent until proved guilty, so you can theorize all you like. Even if I had killed Philpott, there's nothing that could link me with it.'

'Perhaps I should warn you that when we get to the station, we'll be requiring a blood or saliva sample.'

Knowles's knuckles whitened on the arm of his chair. 'Why?'

'Because, Mr Knowles, we're arresting you in connection with two crimes which we believe are linked, the murder of Trevor Philpott and the attack on Mr Mace. And a couple of hairs other than his own were found on Mr Mace's clothing.'

On the way back to Shillingham, Webb phoned Harry Good from the car to inform him of developments.

'Well, he's a dark horse!' Good commented. 'I've never even heard of him!'

'You'll be hearing a lot more, believe me. Ted Ferris and I are on our way to interview him now. Have you any specific questions you want answering on Mace's attack?'

'Nothing more than you'd ask yourself. Come back to me as soon as you have a result.'

'You can bet on it.'

By the time Knowles had had his sample taken and been escorted to the interview room, the fight had gone out of him. He even declined the services of a solicitor. They'd left Sonia in tears at the cottage, having been instructed by Patrick to collect her sister-in-law from the doctor and to stay with her.

'But when will you be back?' she'd cried desperately.

Knowles had climbed into Ferris's car without answering.

Now, seated across the table in the interview room, Webb thought how exhausted the man looked. Until the Judd murder, he must have thought he'd got away with it. In fact, right up until Frederick Mace started declaiming his theories on the Ten Commandments. A very different character from Baring, this one, with a totally different motive, as Mace had recognized.

Ferris switched on the tape and went through the preliminaries.

As he stopped speaking, there was silence. Knowles was sitting motionless, his head bent, staring at the pitted table in front of him.

'When you're ready, sir.'

He raised his head and looked at Webb. Was that on the level, about the hairs on Mace's clothes?'

Webb nodded, then said gently, 'Wouldn't it be a relief to get it off your chest?'

Knowles spread his hands in a gesture of resignation. 'All right, Chief Inspector, you win. But before I say anything, I must make it clear neither my mother nor Zoe has the slightest inkling I was involved in Philpott's death. They simply thought he'd got his just deserts.

'The irony is that I never meant to kill him anyway. My intention was to take him somewhere he couldn't just walk away from, but would have to hear me out. I meant to tell him what I thought of him, punch him on the jaw, then dump him and leave him to find his own way home. I hoped it would be a lesson to him.'

'Perhaps,' Ferris suggested, 'you'd better start at the beginning.'

Knowles sighed, thinking back. 'We'd an awful job finding out what had happened. Zoe arrived home in hysterics and wouldn't stop crying. When we did get it out of her, I wanted to report Philpott, either to you or his manager, but she wouldn't hear of it – swore she'd kill herself if anyone found out what had happened. So, officially, my hands were tied, but I was damned if he was going to get away with it. At the very least I wanted reimbursement for her medical expenses.

'So I pretended I had a house for sale, in a location that was difficult to find. I suggested picking him up outside the Stag and driving him out there. He was quite amenable.

'It was November, a cold, foggy evening. I drove out into the country, and turned down a rutted lane I'd earmarked when driving past. Then I stopped the car and we got out – as I thought, in the middle of nowhere. The ground was very uneven and I'd taken the precaution of bringing a torch; I'd no intention of twisting my ankle.

'But Philpott completely took the wind out of my sails by saying, "We're just behind the Feathers, aren't we? I didn't know there were any houses here."

'I was dumbfounded. There I was, thinking I had him alone in the depths of the country, and it seemed the lane we were in ran parallel to one which had a pub in it. I hadn't even known there was a pub, but we'd finished up within a hundred yards of its back entrance.'

Ferris nodded, knowing the terrain. The Feathers could not be seen from the main road, and though there was a board proclaiming its whereabouts, it was quite feasible that Knowles had never noticed it.

All I could do,' he was continuing, 'was make the best of the situation, so I stopped pretending and told him who I was and what I thought of him.

'He was a bit shaken at first, then he started to bluster. And the more he tried to justify himself, the angrier I got. Then he also lost his temper and shouted, "Anyway, why all the fuss? She brought it on herself; she'd been following me round for months, simply begging for it."

'That was it, really. I lashed out with my left and caught him on the chin. He went staggering backwards, then, recovering himself, started to run towards the pub, shouting over his shoulder that I was mad. There's not a proper access there, not much more than a gap in the hedge, but the grass was flattened, so it must be fairly well used.

'I went after him, because I was still determined to get compensation. I caught up with him just as he reached the gap and grabbed his arm, swinging him round, but he shook me off, laughing in my face.

'"God, the way you're carrying on, anyone would think you fancied her yourself! Is that what's eating you? Did I spoil a cosy little arrangement you had with your nympho sister?"'

Knowles broke off and leant forward, his head in his hands. The detectives didn't hurry him. Finally he looked up, his eyes bleary and inward-looking.

'I just – lost it. I'd forgotten I was still holding the torch, but suddenly I was bringing it down on his head with all the strength I could muster. And, not surprisingly, he went down.'

Knowles was breathing laboriously, as though reliving his attack on Philpott. 'I waited for a minute to see if he'd get up, but he didn't. I couldn't leave him where he was, blocking the entrance, so I pulled him further into the car park, between two of the cars. I think I thought someone would find him before long, and give him any help he needed. I was damned if I was going to help him myself, but I swear to God it never occurred to me I'd killed him. I didn't find that out until the news broke the next day.'

He gave a short, bitter laugh. 'By merciful providence, I'd been wearing gloves; not for any sinister purpose, but simply because it was a bloody cold evening. Mind you, no one so much as approached me during the inquiry. Why should they? Philpott's public reputation worked against him, and his death was depicted, at least in the press, as a motiveless crime – an innocent man lured to his death, and not even robbed. Which, I need hardly say, suited me just fine.'

He reached for the glass of water in front of him and took a long drink. Webb didn't blame him. It was close in the small room, despite the high, open window, and the first rumbles of thunder could be heard in the distance.

Webb shifted on his seat. 'How did you feel when Judd's death was linked with Philpott's?'

Knowles shrugged. 'The similarity was a bit unnerving, and naturally I wasn't happy about the revival of interest in Philpott. Still, since I'd had nothing whatever to do with Judd, I reasoned I wasn't in any more danger than I'd been before.'

'Until Mr Mace began airing his theories?' Webb asked, remembering Harry Good.

'That, I admit, put the fear of God into me. He'd really got his teeth into the case and he's an astute old so-and-so. I knew if he came up with anything, the police would take notice. They'd go back to Philpott's firm and start digging deeper.'

'So you tried to stop him?'

Knowles wasn't meeting his eye. 'I wasn't really thinking straight, but it seemed if I could just get hold of his notes, I'd have a clearer idea where I stood. But the desk drawer was locked and I couldn't break it, and I didn't dare hang around any longer.'

'So you waited outside till he walked his dog?' Webb persisted.

'I knew he took it out at nine-thirty every evening.'

Ferris leaned forward. 'How did you know?'

Knowles flushed. 'His daughter mentioned it once.'

Webb wondered at the heightened colour, but didn't comment on it. 'Did she also mention the route?'

'Yes, she said whenever she took Goldie out, he wanted to go the way her father took him, down to the canal and home round the block.'

'So you were friendly with Mr Mace's daughter, but had no compunction about attempting to murder her father?'

This time, colour flooded his face. 'All right, Chief Inspector, you can't despise me any more than I do myself. I've no regrets about Philpott, but I'd give anything to take back what happened to old Frederick. Thank God he survived.

'In my defence, though you mightn't believe me, it was my mother and sister I was most worried about. My mother's dying and I couldn't let her find out everything right at the end like this.'

He looked up, beseechingly. 'Is there any way of keeping it quiet, just for a day or two?'

'I'm afraid not, sir, but if your mother's as ill as you say, it should be easy enough to keep it from her.'

'But I have to see her. I've been going in twice a day, and if I don't –'

'It's out of our hands, I'm afraid.'

And that, Webb thought, whatever sentence the court might impose, would be Knowles's real punishment.

'So it wasn't the assistant, after all?' Crombie commented, some days later.

'No; he had simply slipped and fallen, as his landlady said. What's more, it was just outside the cinema, so there were plenty of witnesses, including,' Webb added meaningfully, 'a young lady who'd been to the cinema with him.'

'Ah-hah!'

'Quite so; he's not gay at all. That was simply uninformed gossip about a reserved young man who kept himself to himself.'

'Just goes to show,' said Crombie enigmatically.

If anything, Gillian was more concerned about Alex than Sonia. The latter was proving surprisingly strong; Mrs Knowles had died the day of Patrick's arrest, and Sonia had been left to deal with everything, including her distraught sister-in-law.

'Now that I know what was wrong with her, it's much easier to handle,' Sonia told her. 'Would you believe, neither Patrick nor Sybil had dared mention it to her in all this time? If I can get her to talk about it. I'm sure she'll be much better, and of course I can stress she's not the first or the last to have gone through this.

'Another thing, she's never worked since, just moped around the house all day being pampered by her mother, which gave her far too much time to think, and feel sorry for herself. I'm determined to ease her back into a job.'

Sonia'd smiled. 'This may all sound very altruistic, but I admit to an ulterior motive. I want her to have sufficient confidence to stay on in the cottage. It's not far away, after all, and when Patrick comes out of prison, I want to have him all to myself.'

Gillian suspected that this positive attitude came from the fact that Patrick was leaning on his wife so heavily, needing her now as he'd shown little sign of doing before.

Informed opinion was that his sentence on the murder charge might not be too severe, taking into account provocation and lack of premeditation – always providing his story was accepted. How he'd be dealt with regarding the attempted murder, Gillian didn't know, but she herself could never forgive him. It said a lot for the strength of her friendship with Sonia that it was surviving under such adverse conditions.

Alex, though, was another matter. Consumed as she was with guilt and horror, there was little Gillian could say to help her.

'And to think he tried to kill Pop, of all people – and that I unwittingly helped him! If I hadn't mentioned about Goldie –'

'- he'd simply have waited till Pop came out,' Gillian said firmly. 'It's no use torturing yourself like this, Alex. Anyway, thank God he's as good as new again.'

She studied her sister's downcast face. 'How do you explain all this heart-searching and remorse to Roy? He must have noticed it.'

'He's being very considerate,' Alex said quietly. 'I don't know how much he suspects; do you think I should tell him?'

'Not yet, and certainly not just to salve your conscience; that would do more harm than good. For all we know, the possibility of an affair might never have entered his head, and it would be pointless to hurt him unnecessarily.'

'I know you think I've been a fool,' Alex said, 'and you're right. But I'll make it up to him, I promise I will. I've learned my lesson.'

Which, Gillian acknowledged to herself, was at least something.

'Chief Inspector!' Edwina looked at Webb in surprise.

He smiled wryly. 'I suppose you thought you'd seen the last of me. This isn't an official visit, though.'

'It's nice to see you. Come through; we're in the garden.'

He followed her through the hall and large, homely kitchen and out of the back door. Frederick Mace, resplendent in a Panama hat, was seated in a deck chair under an apple tree.

'Good to see you home again, sir,' Webb greeted him, taking the hand the old man held out.

'Thank you. Sit down, sit down – Edwina's bringing out some lemonade. Yes, I had a lucky escape. It's hard to believe Sonia's chap was behind it. I never really took to him – didn't think he was good enough for her – but I never suspected he was a killer.’ Mace shook his head sadly.

'So even you aren't infallible!' Webb commented.

The old man smiled. ‘Touché. Chief Inspector.' He paused, shooting Webb a calculating look from his keen grey eyes. 'Am I right in thinking you had your sights set on Paul Blake?'

'So much for my subtle approach! Only in passing, really, but I noticed you seemed surprised to hear he'd lived in Oxbury.'

'So I was, till I thought about it, but there'd really been no reason to mention it. He left before the murder, and in any case we never discussed his personal life. That, at least, has been rectified to some extent.'

Oh?'

Mace ignored the implied question. 'Was that your only reason for suspecting him, apart from the size of his feet?'

Webb hesitated. 'Not quite, sir. I suspected – quite wrongly, as it turned out – that he might have been gay.'

Frederick Mace leant back in his chair. 'Now that is interesting. Why was that?'

'Just an off-the-cuff remark by his parents' next-door neighbour.' Webb paused. 'Why is it interesting?'

Mrs Mace had rejoined them, and her husband waited while she passed round the glasses of lemonade and seated herself. Then he settled back in his chair.

'You know, of course, that along with Philpott's womanizing, I passed on the information that he had strong prejudices against homosexuals?'

Webb nodded.

'Well, I didn't put too much emphasis on it at the time; I was too busy congratulating myself that my suspicions of his being a ladies' man had been confirmed. However, when we left the Bradburns and I decided to go straight on to Oxbury, Paul did his best to dissuade me. I thought it was the long drive he was objecting to, but the following week he visited me in hospital, and when I suggested he went back there, he refused point-blank – said he couldn't fit it in, or some such excuse.

'I was astonished; he'd always agreed to my requests before, and I didn't know what to make of it. We parted, I'm afraid, on rather strained terms. To my relief, though, he returned later that day, saying he wanted to set the matter straight, but before he could do so, you arrived on the scene.'

'And waded in with my size elevens,' Webb said ruefully.

'Which, of course, ruffled him even more, but when you'd gone, I got the full story. It seems that although Paul was never homosexual, one of his friends was. This Charles had been at school with him, where he'd repeatedly stuck up for Paul when he was bullied, and the friendship – totally platonic, of course – had continued afterwards.

'What really is amazing, though, is that it was Paul and Charles whom Philpott insulted that evening at the cricket club. Paul says he was completely poleaxed when Mrs Bradburn mentioned it. He'd forgotten the incident – he was used to that kind of thing when he was out with Charles and had trained himself to ignore it. But what totally stunned him was that he'd had no idea until then that the man involved had been Trevor Philpott.

'It knocked him sideways, and he nearly blurted the whole thing out to me over lunch afterwards. God knows why he didn't, but during the next few days he got in more and more of a panic, realizing he now had what might appear to be a personal grudge against Philpott. So he decided to keep as far away from previous haunts as possible.

'He told me that after the visit to Mrs Bradburn he'd had another look at Philpott's picture, but even then he couldn't recognize him. It had been dark in the clubhouse, and as soon as Philpott started abusing them, Paul had turned away, refusing to meet his eye.

'So there you are. Chief Inspector. Although you were wrong in your suspicions, there was a grain of truth buried there.'

Webb nodded, glad of the explanation. In view of his innocence, Blake's behaviour at the hospital had continued to puzzle him, and he didn't like to leave loose ends.

'Thank you very much for telling me, sir. So that's that, then. I must say, when this book of yours comes out, I'll be first in line to buy it. As a matter of interest, will you still include the Feathers case?'

'Most certainly I shall; you don't imagine I'd let all that work, not to mention a cracked head, go for nothing?'

'And the relevant Commandment, I suppose, was adultery?'

'Of course; Philpott was married, even if the girl wasn't. He'd been consistently unfaithful, and it finally caught up with him.'

'It'll make interesting reading. In the meantime' – Webb retrieved the paper bag from the grass beside him – 'I wonder if you'd be kind enough to autograph The Muddied Pool? I found it fascinating.'

'How kind. I'd be delighted.'

Webb watched as he wrote a short dedication in his neat hand, and signed it with a flourish.

'Thank you. Well, it's been a pleasure to meet you, sir, and I wish your books every success. All the same, it might be safer not to include any unsolved crimes in future.'

'Don't worry, Chief Inspector,' Edwina assured him, 'I shall personally see to that.'