“I did it because of my husband,” Mrs Abbott cried.

“I’m sorry about your husband,” Rollison said gently. “What happened?”

“That devil killed him.”

Jolly was pouring out coffee.

“Which devil?” inquired Rollison.

“Madam Melinska!”

“When?”

“It was last year, she—”

“But Madam Melinska only arrived in England a few months ago.”

“My husband met her in Rhodesia,” said Mrs Abbott. “She got her talons into him just like she got them into those other poor fools, and persuaded him to give her money. She was going to invest it for him, if you please! I told him not to trust her, but he would do it and he lost every penny.” Her face was twisted, her lips working. “And then he killed himself.” She stretched trembling fingers for the cup Jolly held towards her. “And all because of that woman, that—that bitch!”

“Or witch?”

Mrs Abbott caught her breath.

“What do you mean—witch?”

“Some people call seers witches.”

“She’s no seer, she just pretends she can look into the future. She doesn’t care what lies she tells anyone provided she can get her hands on their money. She—”

The telephone bell rang, and she broke off. Rollison moved towards it and lifted the receiver, thinking more about what Mrs Abbott had been saying than about the call. Was she speaking the truth, and was Madam Melinska responsible for her husband’s death? Or was she lying?

“This is Rollison,” he said into the telephone.

“Hallo again, Richard,” said Lady Hurst. “I will say that you excelled yourself this morning.”