She stood peering at the body on the couch. ‘Is Lord Remnant unwell?’

‘He is dead,’ Basil Hunter said.

‘Would one of you take the camera from Augustine? The man is a complete idiot, or else he’s doing it on purpose!’ There was something terrifying about Clarissa’s white make-up and lips the colour of old blood.

‘Dead? But how dreadful,’ Hortense Tilling whispered.

‘The little beast,’ Dr Sylvester-Sale said. He was looking in the direction of the french windows. ‘He did it after all. He said he would – and he did.’

‘I don’t think you should jump to conclusions, Syl,’ Clarissa said.

It was perhaps unfortunate that it was to Hortense Tilling, Clarissa’s aunt, that Augustine handed the camera.

‘Oh dear. Is this the right way to hold it? It’s not upside down, is it? I’m terribly sorry but I’m hopeless with cameras,’ Hortense moaned. ‘Perfectly hopeless.’

Having been very pale, her face was flushed now. She was frightened but also excited. Her thoughts were confused. Dead – Lord Remnant was no more – it wasn’t dreadful at all – one always said things one didn’t mean – the beast was dead – destroyed at last – questo è il fin di chi fa mal – this is the end of evildoers – there should be singing and dancing in the streets – the death of those who do evil is always the same as their lives!

Don Giovanni was her favourite opera.

‘I have no idea how this thing works,’ she said. ‘No idea at all.’

‘It doesn’t matter how it works. Really, Aunt Hortense! Just turn the bloody thing off.’ Clarissa Remnant sounded at the end of her tether.

‘We must call an ambulance,’ Louise Hunter said.

‘I don’t think that would be much use,’ Clarissa said.

‘The police – we must call the police. It would be wrong if we didn’t call the police. We’d be breaking the law.’