Mrs. Davenport continued on her way. The news rankled. In the manner of British ex-patriates who lived on a diet of rumours, she stopped various people, embellishing the news as she went. By evening, it was all round the village that Agatha was having an affair with Paul Chatterton.

At six o’clock that evening, Agatha’s doorbell rang. She hoped that perhaps it was Paul inviting her out for dinner. Detective Sergeant Bill Wong stood on the doorstep. Agatha felt immediately guilty. Bill had been her first friend when she had moved down to the country. She didn’t want to tell him about the search for the ghost in case he would try to stop her.

“Come in,” she said. “I haven’t seen you for while. How are things going?”

“Apart from chasing and fining ramblers who will try to walk their dogs across farmland, nothing much. What have you been getting up to?”

They walked into the kitchen. “I’ve just made some coffee. Like some?”

“Thanks. That’s the biggest Thermos I’ve ever seen.”

“Just making some coffee for the ladies’ society,” lied Agatha. “I hear James was back in Carsely-briefly.”

“Yes,” said Agatha. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Still hurts?”

“I said, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay. How’s the new neighbour?”

“Paul Chatterton? Seems pleasant enough.”

Bill’s round face, a mixture of Asian and Western features, looked at her curiously. Agatha’s face was slightly flushed.

“So you haven’t been getting up to anything exciting?”

“Not me,” said Agatha. “I did some PR work in London, but down here I’ve been concentrating on the garden. I made some scones. Would you like one with your coffee?”