'She must have some reason for thinking that.'

'Nothing that she can explain. Nothing that would impress the police. Not rational, perhaps. But that's what she feels. She asked me to get you.'

And he had come to get her. Did he always procure for his wife whatever she wanted? She asked again:

'What precisely am I being employed to do, Sir George?'

'Protect her from nuisance. Take any telephone calls which come for her. Open any letters. Check the set before the performance if you get the chance. Be on call at night; that's when she's most nervous. And bring a fresh mind to the question of the messages. Find out, if you can in just three days, who is responsible.'

Before Cordelia could respond to these concise instructions there came again that disconcerting pierce of grey from under the discordant brows

'D'you like birds?'

Cordelia was temporarily nonplussed. She supposed that few people, except those afflicted with a phobia, would admit to not liking birds. They are, after all, one of the most graceful of life's fragile diversions. But she supposed that Sir George was covertly inquiring whether she could recognize a marsh-harrier at fifty yards. She said cautiously:

'I'm not very good at identifying the less common species.'

'Pity. The island's one of the most interesting natural bird sanctuaries in Great Britain, probably the most remarkable of those in private hands, almost as interesting as Brownsea Island in Poole Harbour. Very similar, come to think of it. Courcy has as many rare birds; the blue-eared and Swinhold pheasants as well as Canada geese, black godwits and oyster catchers. Pity you're not interested. Any questions – about the case I mean?'

Cordelia said tentatively:

'If I'm to spend three days with your wife, ought she not to interview me before any decision is made? It's important that she feels she can trust me. She doesn't know me. We haven't even met.'