There was no answer to his knock, and he tried again.

The cottage was actually outside Bennett’s jurisdiction, set a good half mile from the town’s inland boundaries. He was within his rights to be here, due to the nature of events, and the charge would be murder soon enough.

The door seemed to open reluctantly, and Stephen Mallory stuck his head out. He was unshaven, and smelled of whiskey. Bennett made a mental note of that, examining Mallory’s eyes. They were bloodshot, and there was a cut on his cheekbone under the left one. But Mallory was fully dressed.

“That’s a nasty cut, sir. How did you come by it?”

“I don’t know. I think I fell out of bed. What do you want?”

“It’s in connection with a body we found this morning. Might I come in, sir?”

“A body?” Mallory seemed to gather his wits. “Here? You mean in Hampton Regis?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Not the war, then…” He wiped a hand across his mouth, relief evident. He’d dreamed-but let it go.

“No, sir.”

Mallory stepped out onto the vine-covered porch, his eyes wary now. “What body?”

“I’d rather talk inside, if you don’t mind, sir.”

“Why? There’s no one here to listen, saving the occasional sparrow. What body?”

It was Bennett’s turn to feel reluctance. “An early riser found the body of a man down by the breakwater.”

Mallory seemed to relax. “Washed ashore, you mean?”

“No, sir, though the tide had nearly taken him. He hadn’t been in the water long, as far as we could tell.”

“What’s it to do with me, then?”

“You sometimes take an early walk along the water or the cliffs. Did you do either today?”