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upon to adjourn his revels.
    ‘Say, Pop, we’ve sure got to see some more of you!’ cried Earle enthusiastically. ‘What say we get together again for a session on Boxing Day?’
    ‘Young man, I’ve a better idea,’ returned Sir Daynes, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Henry, I shall be most offended if you fail to bring your people over to the Manor the day after tomorrow. That’s a chief constable’s order, man, and as much as your life is worth to dispute. What do you say – will you come?’
    Somerhayes came forward, his thin lips twisting in a slow smile. ‘If it’s an order, Daynes, how can I do myself the disservice of refusing?’
    ‘Yippee!’ whooped Earle. ‘It’s a date, you old horse-thief ! We’ll surely set that Manor of yours alight, and nobody’s kidding.’
    Somerhayes turned to Gently. ‘And shall I have the pleasure of another visit from you, Mr Gently, before long? I should be very happy to show you over the state apartments and our workshop.’
    Gently mastered his surprise. There was something very like an appeal in the broken grey eyes.
    ‘Certainly … I’ll be pleased to come,’ he replied.
    Somerhayes nodded his acknowledgement and turned hastily away.
    ‘Well, I must say they’re not a bad crowd, not bad at all,’ boomed Sir Daynes as he gunned the Bentley down the Place carriage-drive. ‘You get ideas in your head, Inspector, and sometimes they take a lot of shifting. That Brass feller is a lad, give the devil his due. And I like that young American, with all his blasted impertinence.’
    ‘Don’t leave out the little blonde girl with the ponytail,’ said Lady Broke. ‘Isn’t it shocking, Inspector, how a man of three score can flirt with a little chit young enough to be his granddaughter?’
    ‘Pooh, pooh! Christmas Eve, m’dear,’ chortled her husband. ‘Once a year, y’know, once a year! And I didn’t notice you holding back when that young Wheeler feller was going round with the mistletoe, eh? But what do you make of Henry Somerhayes, Gently, now you’ve had a good look at him?’
    Gently shrugged invisibly in his voluptuous bucket-seat.
    ‘I’d have to have notice of that question,’ he replied.

CHAPTER THREE
    I T WAS IN the middle of breakfast when the telephone call came. Before then, Christmas had proceeded at the Manor with all its customary detail and ceremony.
    Quite early in the morning Gently had been awakened by the sound of stirrings about the house and by distant, smothered laughter. Then he had heard the sound of bells ringing in the direction of Upfield-cum -Merely, nearly two miles off, and Gertrude, looking rather red and mischievous, had knocked on the door to ask him if he wanted to go to early morning service.
    ‘Are Sir Daynes and Lady Broke going?’
    ‘Oh yes, sir. Sir Daynes will read the lesson.’
    ‘Righto – run the bath. I’ll have my cuppa afterwards.’
    The bath was run and Gertrude departed, after exchanging a merry Christmas with him. By the time he had dressed she was at his door again with tea and a hot mince pie.
    ‘I beg your pardon, sir …’
    ‘What is it, Gertrude?’
    ‘Well, sir, just come and see what’s happened outside your door!’
    Gently duly went to see, and there surely never was a more demure Gertrude than the one who pointed out the little sprig of mistletoe that was pinned to the transom. Gently sent the baggage about her business in the approved fashion and appeared below stairs with a Christmas twinkle in his eye.
    Then followed the drive through the dull and frosted Christmas morning, with the slated sky hanging low over the shallowly undulating fields and still, sepia groups of trees. The ploughed land looked pale under the frost; the smoke rose straight from the chimney of cottage and farmhouse. On their way they met nobody except the labouring postman, red-faced and steaming in spite of the nipping air, and for him Sir Daynes pulled up to bestow a Christmas box and the compliments of