‘Give me ducks every time,’ said Miss Hinchcliffe. ‘Farless trouble…’

‘Oo, scrumptious!’ said Mrs Harmon across the breakfast table to her husband, the Rev. Julian Harmon, ‘there’s going to be a murder at Miss Blacklock’s.’

‘A murder?’ said her husband, slightly surprised. ‘When?’

‘This afternoon…at least, this evening. 6.30. Oh, bad luck, darling, you’ve got your preparations for confirmation then. Itis a shame. And you do so love murders!’

‘I don’t really know what you’re talking about, Bunch.’

Mrs Harmon, the roundness of whose form and face had early led to the soubriquet of ‘Bunch’ being substituted for her baptismal name of Diana, handed theGazette across the table.

‘There. All among the second-hand pianos, and the old teeth.’

‘What a very extraordinary announcement.’

‘Isn’t it?’ said Bunch happily. ‘You wouldn’t think that Miss Blacklock cared about murders and games and things, would you? I suppose it’s the young Simmonses put her up to it-though I should have thought Julia Simmons would find murders rather crude. Still, there it is, and I do think, darling, it’s ashame you can’t be there. Anyway, I’ll go and tell you all about it, though it’s rather wasted on me, because I don’t really like games that happen in the dark. They frighten me, and Ido hope I shan’t have to be the one who’s murdered. If someone suddenly puts a hand on my shoulder and whispers, “You’re dead,” I know my heart will give such a big bump that perhaps it reallymight kill me! Do you think that’s likely?’

‘No, Bunch. I think you’re going to live to be an old, old woman-with me.’

‘And die on the same day and be buried in the same grave. That would be lovely.’

Bunch beamed from ear to ear at this agreeable prospect.