'Bad business,' said Sergeant Denham briefly.

No one answered. He snapped open a notebook, adjusted elastic over a page, and poised a pencil.

'A few questions, if you don't mind,' he said. Tony nodded

'How long have you been here?' 'About three weeks.'

'Living in this house?'

'No, in a hut down the path.'

'You were going to run this place while they were away?' 'Yes, for six months.'

'And then?’

'And then I intended to go on a tobacco farm.' 'When did you know about this business?'

'They didn't call me. I woke and found Mrs Turner.' Tony's voice showed he was now on the defensive. He felt wounded, even insulted that he had not been called: above all, that these two men seemed to think it right and natural that he should be bypassed in this fashion, as if his newness to the country unfitted him for any kind of responsibility. And he resented the way he was being questioned. They had no right to do it. He was beginning to simmer with rage, although he knew quite well that they themselves were quite unconscious of the patronage implicit in their manner, and that it would be better for him to try and understand the real meaning of this scene, rather than to stand on his dignity.

'You had your meals with the Turners?' 'Yes.

'Apart from that, were you ever here – socially, so to speak?'

'No, hardly at all. I have been busy learning the job.' 'Get on well with Turner?'

`Yes, I think so. I mean, he was not easy to know. He was absorbed in his work. And he was obviously very unhappy at leaving the place.'