George gave her a baleful glare. “I won’t keep anyone longer than I have to. Now, first, I need the name of the unfortunate victim.”

“I don’t see how we can tell you that,” Rita retorted, “seeing as how we don’t know who’s been killed.”

“It’s the tall gentleman,” Elizabeth said helpfully. “He has blond hair and is wearing a dark gray suit with a blue silk tie.”

“Oo, I remember ’im,” Nellie Smith piped up. “Handsome bugger, he was. Who would want to kill a nice-looking bloke like that? What a bloomin’ waste.”

Rita turned on her at once. “Is that all you can think about? How handsome he was? He’s lying down there with a knife in his chest. Have you no respect for the dead, Nellie Smith?”

“Of course I do,” Nellie said hotly. “I only meant-”

“And how did you know he had a knife in his chest?” George demanded.

Rita tossed her head. “It happens to be my knife, doesn’t it. Bessie told me where it was.” Her voice lost some of its bravado when she added, “I’ll never use that knife again to cut another wedding cake. Not after knowing where it’s been.”

“I just can’t believe he’s dead,” Bessie said, her voice still quivering. “I was just talking to him in the kitchen an hour or so ago. What a dreadful thing to happen. Thank the Lord Wally and Priscilla got away before I found the body.”

George looked around. “Seems as if a lot of people got away,” he said darkly. “What I want to know is, what’s the name of the deceased? Someone’s got to know who he is.”

Neville Carbunkle, who had been hovering around in the background, stepped forward. “Well, I can tell you one thing,” he said. “Wally didn’t know him. I heard him asking someone who he was.”

George pulled a notepad from his top pocket, then spent an agonizing minute or two hunting for a pencil. Having found one in his trousers pocket, he licked the end of it and started scribbling.

“The chap he asked didn’t know the bloke, either,” Neville added, “but I did see the… er… deceased having nasty words with the photographer earlier.”