He looked around at them all, shaking their heads in agreement, and Kathy felt as an almost tangible thing the wave of sympathy that flowed to Emerson, and beneath it something else, a sense of collective shame that such a thing should happen to a guest of theirs.

‘We shall do everything we can to help, rely on that,’ Toby, who appeared to be in charge, went on. ‘You must be in total shock.’

‘A cup of tea,’ Julie suggested.

‘No,’ Toby corrected her, ‘brandy. Garry, if you will.’

Garry grunted and left the room for a moment, returning with a brimming glass which he handed carefully to Emerson, who hesitated, then nodded and took a sip. He coughed and mumbled, ‘I think we may have seen him, the man who did it.’

‘What?’

‘It just occurred to me as I was waking up. When we were at the flower show we noticed a man who seemed to be watching us. We joked about it, that he was an admirer, stalking Nancy. Perhaps he was. It just struck me that he looked like the man the bus driver described. Look, I took a picture.’

He pulled the little camera out of his pocket and switched it on, showing the last image to Toby, who studied it and passed it around the circle to Kathy. It certainly did look very like the bus driver’s description.

‘But that would be very strange,’ Deb objected. ‘I mean, you can’t just wander in off the street to the Chelsea Flower Show. You have to book months in advance. We tried to get a ticket for a guest last week and it was impossible. So you’re saying someone planned to go there ages ago, and when he got there picked another visitor at random and followed them out into the street?’

‘Random,’ Julie said, rubbing her hands on her apron. ‘You can’t fathom some people’s minds.’

‘I’d like to get copies made of this picture, Mr Merckle,’ Kathy said, ‘and I’d also like to take a look in Nancy’s room with you, if you feel up to it.’