God! Who the hell could have been so stupid? Prue?

"You mentioned you had a problem at the Copse," Mark went on when there was no response. "I'm afraid I didn't follow the rest so would you like to go through it again? When I have it straight in my mind, I'll discuss it with James… though I can't guarantee he'll come back to you."

Dick accepted the change of tack with relief. He was a straightforward man who found the idea of his wife panting down a telephone line both alarming and distasteful. "James is going to be the worst affected," he said. "There are six busloads of travelers parked about two hundred yards from the Manor terrace. As a matter of fact, I'm surprised you haven't heard them. There was a bit of argy-bargy when I went down there earlier."

There was a short pause as if the man at the other end had taken his ear away from the receiver. "Obviously sound doesn't carry as well as your wife claims it does, Mr. Weldon."

Dick wasn't trained to think on his feet. The nature of his business was to assess problems slowly and carefully, and make long-term plans to carry the farm through glut and famine as profitably as possible. Instead of ignoring the remark-the wiser option-he tried to override it. "This isn't about Prue," he said. "It's about an invasion of this village. We need to pull together… not snipe at each other. I don't think you appreciate how serious the situation is."

There was a small laugh at the other end. "You might like to reflect on that statement, Mr. Weldon. In my opinion, James has a case against your wife for slander… so it's naive to suggest I don't understand the seriousness of the situation."

Riled by the man's patronizing tone, Dick piled in again. "Prue knows what she heard," he said aggressively. "She'd have spoken to Ailsa in private if the poor soul had been alive the next morning-neither of us agrees with hitting women-but Ailsa was dead. So what would you have done in Prue's place? Pretended it hadn't happened? Swept it under the carpet? Tell me that."

The cool voice came back immediately. "I'd have asked myself what I knew of James Lockyer-Fox… I'd have asked myself why the postmortem showed no evidence of bruising… I'd have asked myself why an intelligent and wealthy woman would remain married to a wife-beater for forty years when she was intellectually and financially able to leave… I'd certainly have questioned whether my own passion for gossip had led me to embroider what I heard in order to make myself interesting to my neighbors."

"That's offensive," said Dick angrily.

"Not as offensive as accusing a loving husband of murder and inciting other people to do the same."

"I'll have you for slander if you say things like that. All Prue ever did was tell the police what she heard. You can't blame her if idiots draw their own conclusions."

"I suggest you talk to your wife before you sue me, Mr. Weldon. You might end up with a very expensive legal bill." There was the sound of a voice in the background. "Hang on a moment." The line was muted for several seconds. "James has come into the room. If you want to go over this business of the travelers again, I'll put you on loudspeaker so we can both hear it. I'll call you back with a decision after we've discussed it… though I wouldn't hold your breath for a favorable one."

Dick had had a lousy morning, and his volatile temper exploded. "I couldn't give a damn what you decide. It isn't my problem. The only reason I phoned is because Julian Bartlett didn't have the guts to deal with it himself and the police aren't interested. You and James can sort it yourselves. Why should I care? My house is half a mile away. I'm out of it." He thumped the phone down and went in search of Prue.

Mark replaced the handset as the line went dead. "I was merely giving him some facts of life," he explained, in belated response to James's agitated reaction when he entered the room and heard Mark talking about incitement to slander. "Mrs. Weldon's a menace. I don't understand why you're so reluctant to do something about her."

James moved to the window and peered out over the terrace, his head bent forward as if he couldn't see very well. They'd been through this the day before. "I have to live here," he said, repeating the same arguments he'd used then. "Why stir up a hornet's nest unnecessarily? It'll blow over as soon as the women get bored."

Mark's eyes strayed to the answerphone on the desk. "I can't agree," he said bluntly. "There were five calls last night, and none of them was from a woman. Do you want to listen to them?"

"No."

Mark wasn't surprised. There was nothing new. They were simply repeat liturgies of the information that was on the stack of tapes he'd worked through the previous day, but the anonymous voice, distorted electronically, rasped on the listener's nerves like a dentist's drill. He turned his chair to address the elderly man directly. "You know as well as I that this won't go away of its own accord," he said gently. "Whoever it is knows he's being recorded and he'll just keep on with it until you agree to involve the police. That's what he's angling for. He wants them to hear what he's saying."

The Colonel continued to stare through the window as if reluctant to meet the younger man's gaze. "It's all lies, Mark."

"Of course it is."

"Do you think the police will agree with you?" There was a tiny inflection in his voice that sounded like irony.

Mark ignored it and gave a straightforward answer. "Not if you keep putting off the decision to involve them. You should have told me about these calls when they began. If we'd acted immediately we could have nipped it in the bud. Now I'm worried the police will ask what you've been trying to hide." He massaged the back of his neck where a sleepless night, beset by doubt and punctuated by the ringing of the telephone, had given him a headache. "Put it this way, this bastard has obviously been passing information to Mrs. Bartlett or she wouldn't be so well informed… and, if he's spoken to her, what makes you think he hasn't been to the police already? Or that she hasn't?"

"The police would have questioned me."

"Not necessarily. They may be conducting an investigation behind your back."

"If he had any evidence he'd have gone to them before the inquest-that was the time to destroy me-but he knew they wouldn't listen." He turned 'round and stared angrily at the telephone. "It's a form of terror, Mark. When he sees he can't break me, he'll stop. It's a waiting game. All we have to do is hold our nerve."

Mark shook his head. "I've been here two days and I haven't slept at all. How long do you think you can last before you keel over?"

"Does it matter?" said the old man wearily. "I don't have much left except my reputation and I'm damned if I'll give him the satisfaction of placing these lies in the public domain. The police won't keep their mouths shut. Look how the details of their investigation into Ailsa's death leaked out."

"You have to trust someone. If you die tomorrow these allegations will become fact simply because you failed to challenge them. What price your reputation then? There are always two sides to a story, James."

The remark brought a faint smile to the Colonel's face. "Which is precisely what my friend on the telephone is saying. He's really quite persuasive, isn't he?" There was a painful beat of silence before he went on. "The only thing I've ever been good at is soldiering, and a soldier's reputation is won on the battlefield, not by kowtowing to grubby little blackmailers." He rested a light hand on his solicitor's shoulder before walking toward the door. "I'd rather deal with this in my own way, Mark. Would you care for a coffee? It's about time for one, I think. Come into the drawing room when you've finished."