Sian listened avidly to this recital of achievement. ‘And then to Australia and back!’ she said enviously. ‘You’ve never been married?’

Priscilla shook her head. ‘Never seemed to have time — or stayed long enough in one place. Plenty of chaps, though!’ she added with a smile.

‘My life has been deadly dull compared with yours,’ sighed Sian regretfully. ‘I left school soon after the war to work in a hospital lab in Newport and stayed there until I had the chance to come here. I love this forensic work so much that I’m doing an external degree in biochemistry now.’

‘What about chaps, though?’ called Priscilla over her shoulder, as she swung back to get on with her work.

‘Nothing serious yet, though there’s a fellow on my day-release course that I get on with very well.’

Their tete-a-tete was interrupted by the door into the hall opening to admit Richard Glanville Pryor, the founder of the Garth House venture. Tall and wiry, he wore a rather crumpled suit of fawn linen, with button-down pockets and a half-belt at the back. It was one of those he had brought back from Singapore, which the ladies claimed made him look like a big-game hunter. Under a bush of brown hair, his lean face, which usually creased so easily into a grin, was looking serious for once.

‘Just had a phone call from the police. Curious business! Sounds as if it might be right up your street, Priscilla.’

Moira came back in through the office door, clutching some unnecessary papers as an excuse to hear what was going on.

‘Why me, Richard?’ asked the glamorous serologist.

The doctor squatted on the corner of the big table that filled the large bay window. ‘There’s some suggestion that it might be a bog body, though I doubt it very much.’

Priscilla’s hazel eyes lit up at the mention of these curiosities.

‘A bog body! It would be a first in Wales, then. I’ve read a great deal about them. I even met Professor Glob once, at a congress.’