Dalgliesh had found his eyes held by that patch as if it had the power to assert that Pooley was still a human being. Well, the beast was caged now and the public and press were free to be loud in their praise of the police work in general and of Superintendent Dalgliesh in particular. A psychiatrist could explain, no doubt, why he felt himself contaminated with guilt. The feeling was not new to him and he would deal with it in his own way. After all, he reflected wryly, it had seldom inconvenienced him for long and never once had it made him want to change his job. But he was damned if he was going to discuss Pooley with Celia Calthrop.

Across the room his aunt’s eyes met his. She said quietly: “What exactly do you want my nephew to do, Miss Calthrop? If Mr. Seton has disappeared, isn’t that a matter for the local police?”

“But is it? That’s our problem!” Miss Calthrop drained her glass as if the Amontillado had been cooking sherry, and automatically held it out to be refilled. “Maurice may have disappeared for some purpose of his own, perhaps to collect material for his next book. He’s been hinting that this is to be something different-a departure from his usual classical detective novel. He’s a most conscientious craftsman and doesn’t like to deal with anything outside his personal experience. We all know that. Remember how he spent three months with a travelling circus before he wrote Murder on the High Wire? Of course, it does imply he’s a little deficient in creative imagination. My novels are never restricted to my own experience.”

Justin Bryce said: “In view of what your last heroine went through, Celia darling, I’m relieved to hear it.”

Dalgliesh asked when Seton had last been seen. Before Miss Calthrop could answer, Sylvia Kedge spoke. The sherry and the warmth of the fire had put some colour into her cheeks and she had herself well under control. She spoke directly to Dalgliesh and without interruption.