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?’The pink, plump man looked dumbfounded. ‘Why should they?’
    â€˜They’re bound to question everyone who was outside immediately after dinner.’
    â€˜ I didn’t stir!’
    â€˜Then I must have seen your ghost,’ said Grant.
    Prendergast stood staring, his colour deepening from pink to red; and now he looked as if he was afraid.
    â€˜I haven’t been outside the hotel since before dinner!’ he cried. ‘I’ve been here all the time.’
    â€˜I saw you outside,’ Grant said sharply. ‘Perhaps you were carried away by some artistic vision, and—’
    â€˜It’s a damnable lie!’
    â€˜Now don’t be absurd. I saw you.’
    â€˜It’s a lie!’ screeched Prendergast. ‘I didn’t step outside the door!’
    He jumped forward, as if to emphasise his protest with a blow. It was absurd, for Grant was so much bigger, but he had made the man lose his head.
    Christine realised that he had revealed how much the little artist was living on his nerves, and she sensed the significance of this without really understanding it.
    The tension was broken by a tap at the door, and Grant went to see who it was. The tall, comfortable figure of Inspector Fratton stood outside.
    Prendergast was so carried away by his rage that he still stood glowering, his feet planted wide apart, his hands clenched and raised.
    â€˜ I didn’t go outside, I tell you. Understand that? If you say I did, I’ll tell—’
    â€˜I’m afraid Mr Prendergast is getting rather excited,’ Grant said. ‘Come in, Inspector.’
    Fratton smiled, as if excitement was one of the emotions which would never affect him. He looked genial, and smiled with a natural affability. Perhaps the expression in his brown eyes as he looked at Grant did something to belie his smile, but his voice was friendly, rich and deliberate with its broad Dorset vowels.
    â€˜Excited, is he?’ he echoed. ‘What about, Mr Prendergast?’
    Prendergast didn’t answer, but tried to regain his poise.
    â€˜He’s forgotten that he went outside after dinner,’ said Grant dryly. ‘I suppose he doesn’t want to be in the limelight; artists are such shy, retiring people, but I think you should know everything.’
    Fratton actually chuckled.
    â€˜That would be a tall order, now, wouldn’t it?’ he remarked. ‘I’d like to know as much as I can, but—’
    â€˜It’s disgraceful!’ snapped Prendergast. ‘You are here to investigate a most dreadful crime, and—you laugh. Laugh! It is hardly surprising that crime flourishes; the incompetence of the police throughout this land is a crying shame, a scandal, a mockery.’
    â€˜Can’t live as if I was at a funeral all the time,’ Fratton remarked. ‘Did you know the dead man, Mr Prendergast?’
    â€˜I did not.’
    â€˜You’d only met him here,’ remarked Fratton.
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Very humanitarian of you to be so distressed,’ said Fratton. ‘Did you notice this dog when you were outside?’
    â€˜I did not leave the hotel!’
    â€˜Oh, of course.’ Fratton frowned, and deep grooves appeared on his forehead. ‘Possibly you were mistaken, Mr Grant.’
    Christine liked the casual way that Michael said: ‘I’ve no reason for saying that Prendergast was in the grounds if I didn’t see him, but that’s for you to decide. Is there anything I can do for you, Inspector?’
    â€˜There are one or two questions I’d like to ask you, sir. No need for you to stay,’ Fratton added to Prendergast, ‘but I’d like a word with you a little later, if you don’t mind.’
    Prendergast opened his mouth, as if about to protest, closed it again and went out.
    â€˜You seem to have upset him,’ Fratton remarked. ‘Was it only your saying you saw him in the