“Very natural,” Plank said, still writing. Without looking up he pointed his pencil at the vet. “And would you have formed an opinion, Mr. Blacker, as to how, exactly, the accident took place? Like — would you think that what went wrong went wrong on this side after the horse took off? Or would you say it cleared the gap and crashed on the far bank?”

“If you’d let me go and take a look,” Blacker said a trifle sourly, “I’d be better able to form an opinion, wouldn’t I?”

“Absolutely correct,” said the disconcerting sergeant. “I agree with every word of it. And if you can notice the far bank — it’s nice and clear from here — I’ve used pegs to mark out the position of the body, which was, generally speaking, eccentric, owing to the breakage of limbs, et cetera, et cetera. Not but what the impression in the mud doesn’t speak for itself quite strong. I daresay you can see the various other indications — they stand out, don’t they? Can be read like a book, I daresay, by somebody as up in the subject as yourself, Mr. Blacker.”

“I wouldn’t go as far as all that,” Blacker said, mollified. “What I would say is that the mare came down on the far bank — you can see a clear impression of a stirrup iron in the mud — and seems to have rolled on Dulcie. Whether Dulcie pitched forward over the mare’s head or fell with her isn’t so clear.”

“Very well put. And borne out by the nature of the injuries. I don’t think you’ve seen the body, have you, Mr. Blacker?”

“No.”

“No. Quite so. The head’s in a nasty mess. Kicked. Shocking state, really. You’ll have remarked the state of the face, I daresay, Mr. Alleyn.”

Ricky nodded. His mouth went dry. He had indeed remarked it.

“Yes. Well, now, I’d better go up and have a wee chat with the uncle,” said Sergeant Plank.

“You won’t find that any too easy,” Jasper said.

Sergeant Plank made clucking noises. He struggled into his tunic, buttoned up his notebook, and led the way back to the house. “Very understandable, I’m sure,” he threw out rather vaguely. “There’ll be the little matter of identification. By the next of kin, you know.”

“Oh God!” Ricky said. “You can’t do that to him.”

“We’ll make it as comfortable as we can.”

“Comfortable!”

“I’ll just have a wee chat with him first.”

“You don’t want us any more, do you?” Jasper asked him.

“No, no, no,” he said. “We know where to find you, don’t we? I’ll drop in at L’Espérance if you don’t object, sir, and just pick up a little signed statement from your good lady and maybe have a word with this young show-jumper of yours. Later on, this evening, if it suits.”

“It’ll have to, won’t it, sergeant? But I can’t pretend,” Jasper said with great charm, “that I hadn’t hoped that they’d be let off any more upsets for today at least.”

“That’s right,” said Sergeant Plank cordially. “You would, too. We can’t help it, though, can we, sir! So if you’ll excuse me, I ought to give Superintendent Curie at Montjoy a tinkle about this. It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Alleyn. Quite a coincidence. A ce soir,” added the sergeant.

He smiled upon them, crossed over to the ambulance and spoke to the men, one of whom got out and went around to the rear doors. He opened them and disappeared inside. The doors clicked to. Sergeant Plank nodded in a reassuring manner to Jasper and Ricky and walked into the house.

“Would you say,” Jasper asked Ricky, “that Sergeant Plankses abound in our police force?”

“Not as prolifically as they used to, I fancy.”

“Well, my dear Ricky, I suppose we now take our bracing walk to L’Espérance.”

“You don’t think—”

“What?”

“We ought to stay until he’s — done it? Looked.”

“The doctor’s with him.”

“Yes. So he is.”

“Well, then—”

But as if the ambulance and its passenger had laid some kind of compulsion on them, they still hesitated. Jasper lit a cigarette. Ricky produced his pipe but did nothing with it.

“The day,” said Jasper, “has not been without incident.”

“No.”

They began to move away.

“I’m afraid you have been distressed by it,” said Jasper. “Like my poorest Julia and, for a different reason, my tiresome baby brother.”

“Haven’t you?” Ricky asked. Jasper came to a halt.

“Been distressed? Not profoundly, I’m afraid. I didn’t see her, you know. I have a theory that the full shock and horror of a death is only experienced when it has been seen. I must, however, confess to a reaction in myself at one point of which I daresay I should be ashamed. I don’t know that I am, however.”

“Am I to hear what it was?”

“Why not? It happened when the ambulance men came into the yard here, carrying Miss Harkness on their covered stretcher. I had been thinking: thank God I wasn’t the one to find them. The remains, as of course they will be labeled. And then, without warning, there came upon me a — really a quite horribly strong impulse to go up to the stretcher and uncover it. I almost believe that if it could have been accomplished in a flash with a single flourish I would have done it — like Antony revealing Caesar’s body to the Romans. But of course the cover was fastened down and it would have been a fiddling, silly business and they would have stopped me. But why on earth should such a notion come upon me? Really, we do not know ourselves, do we?”

“It looks like it.”

“Confession may be good for the soul,” Jasper said lightly, “but I must say I find it a profoundly embarrassing exercise.”

“He’s coming.”

Mr. Harkness came out of the house under escort, like the victim of an accident. Doctor Carey and Sergeant Plank had him between them, their hands under his arms. The driver got down and opened the rear doors. His colleague looked out.

“It’ll only take a moment,” they heard Dr. Carey say.

On one impulse they turned and walked away, around the house and down the drive, not speaking to each other. A motorcycle roared down the cliff road, turned in at the gates, and, with little or no diminution of speed, bore down upon them.

“Look who’s here,” said Jasper.

It was Syd Jones. At first it seemed that he was going to ignore them but at the last moment he cut down his engine and skidded to a halt.

“G’ day,” he said morosely and exclusively to Jasper. “How’s tricks?”

They looked wildly at each other.

“Seen Dulce?” asked Syd.

ii

Any number of distracted reactions tumbled about in Ricky’s head. For an infinitesimal moment he actually thought Syd wanted to know if he’d seen dead Dulce with the broken body. Then he thought “we’ve got to tell him” and then that dead Dulce might be carrying Syd’s baby (this was the first time he’d remembered about what would doubtless be referred to as her “condition”). He had no idea how long this state of muddled thinking persisted, but their silence or their manner must have been strange because Syd said, “What’s wrong?” He spoke directly to Jasper and had not looked at Ricky.

Jasper said: “There’s been an accident. I’m afraid this is going to be a shock.”

“It’s bad news, Syd,” Ricky said. Because he thought he ought to and because he was unexpectedly filled with a warmth of compassion for Syd, he laid a hand on his arm and was much discomforted when Syd shook him off without a glance.

“It’s about Dulcie Harkness,” Jasper said.

“What about her? Did you say an accident? Here!” Syd demanded. “What are you on about? Is she dead? Or what?”

“I’m afraid she is, Syd,” Ricky ventured.

After a considerable pause he said, “Poor old Dulce.” And then to Jasper: “What happened?”

Jasper told him. Syd was, Ricky knew, a quite remarkably inexpressive person and allowances had to be made for that. He seemed to be sobered, taken aback, even perturbed, but, quite clearly, not shattered. And still he would not look at Ricky.