‘But now, if I get your drift, Padraic,’ he went on, unperturbed, ‘you’re telling me the statue has suffered more than the usual osculatory wear and tear? Smashed up, you say? How very disturbing! Has anyone checked the roof overhead and the remains below for a fallen corbel? I’m sorry I can’t be of help … what you need is the name of a good stonemason or an architect specializing in ancient buildings. I’m sure Monsieur de Pacy has the details of both on his books. Good story though—we were all agog!’ An appreciative nod to the Irishman marked the end of his turn in the spotlight.

Padraic looked about him uncertainly, opened his mouth, closed it and then sat down.

A pretty young woman with dark brown hair worn in a short bob fixed Joe with a scornful gaze from under her glossy fringe. ‘Jane Makepeace, Commander. I’m a guest of Lord Silmont. From my reading and experience, I judge that you are missing the point by a mile. Calculatedly, I hope. I would not like to discover that the police force we depend on is not trained to pick up the underlying—and disturbing—implications of this event. I can only guess at your motivation—I assume you are wilfully ignoring the potential threat to us all in a public-spirited attempt to calm the rabble.’

‘Jane’s making a study of the science of psychology.’ Orlando leaned to Joe and hissed a warning in his ear under cover of refilling his wineglass. ‘Conserver of ancient artefacts with the British Museum and presently on loan to the lord for the summer. Worth hearing, Joe!’

‘Miss Makepeace, you overestimate my sense of duty,’ Joe replied jovially enough. ‘My motivation in attempting to sweep the shards of this nasty business under the nearest carpet is a purely selfish one. By the morning I shall be gone. By the evening I shall be dining in Antibes. What I do is investigate crime—principally murder. Venting one’s wrath on a stone effigy may not be in the best of taste but it does not constitute a capital offence. Wanton damage at the most. Deplorable. But surely there’s a local gendarmerie who could interest themselves? I really don’t think this affair would ever secure the attention of Commissaire Guillaume of the Brigade Criminelle, were you to approach him …’

Her next comment was delivered with an extra helping of scorn. ‘Commander, you are being a very great disappointment. You really haven’t seen the danger, have you?’

Joe didn’t quite like to see the triumph in her eyes. Too late he recognized that his aversion to Padraic’s plangent delivery had led him into too brisk a reaction. He’d oversteered and would have to correct his course. He sighed and conceded stiffly: ‘You’re referring to the probable repetition and escalation in the violence, of course?’

Jane Makepeace favoured him with an encouraging smile. She had a very nice smile, he was irritated to notice, and he corrected the balance of his approval with the observation that she was one of those over-tall gawky women, all wrists and elbows.

‘It had occurred to me. Very well. I give you my thoughts: I dismiss the notion that we are dealing with the efforts of a disgruntled art critic. In six hundred years, the lady has attracted nothing but praise and admiration, after all. So what exactly has been attacked? Her beauty? Her sex? Her nobility? All of these? Perhaps we’re contemplating a statement by some ugly misogynistic Bolshevik? Anyone here fit the description?’

Stifled laughter greeted this and a shout of ‘Derek! He’s got your number. Confess at once!’

Suddenly serious, Joe added: ‘But we ought to consider that the lifeless image may well have been merely an unresisting substitute for a living, flesh and blood object of hatred. Could such a thing happen again? It’s a valid question. And one we must ask.’

Nods of agreement broke out around the table and, in response to a further challenge from Jane Makepeace, Joe was led to make a further confidence: ‘Yes, I have to say that your assumption is well founded, madam. I could reveal that, in my own studies of real-life criminals to whom I have access, I have noted that the worst, the most cruel, the craziest if you like, murderers have begun their bloody careers in petty and largely unremarked areas. Dolls disembowelled, domestic animals taken and tortured. And then smaller, weaker humans may follow: children or the mentally enfeebled. Family members may be attacked. And in his search for ever more satisfying outlets for his insane anger, the villain casts his net wider. Strangers are caught in it. And it’s at that moment that he comes to our—and the public’s—attention. Too late, you will say. He is already launched.’

Everyone was silent, appreciating Joe’s candour.

‘There! I told you all so!’ crowed Cecily. ‘The Commander agrees with me. There’s a Jack the Ripper in the making prowling the corridors. A Beast! A sadistic killer! A lunatic!’ Cecily had very blue, very large eyes and they were at this moment at their bluest and largest as they swept the table in triumph. They settled on Joe, and Cecily made a further dramatic point: ‘Did you know that the moon was at the full on the night it happened, Commander?’

‘I believe it was, madam,’ said Joe curtly, not wishing to feed her fire.

‘I don’t think Herr Freud would give much weight to the phases of the moon in such a case.’ Jane Makepeace’s response was equally repressive, Joe guessed for the same reason.

‘Huh! Only if the suspect were a woman, I bet,’ chimed in Estelle. ‘Then he’d have plenty to say about monthly madness. Now—have we got to the point where we shall have to go about the place suspecting everyone we rub shoulders with of being a weapon-wielding killer in embryo? Bring me a jug of water, Marcel—and just leave the axe at the door, would you?’ she drawled. ‘Are you happy now you’ve made your point, Jane?’ she finished waspishly.

Joe looked steadily across at Jane Makepeace and raised an eyebrow, underlining the question. She flushed and murmured uncomfortably: ‘No need to get carried away, Estelle. Crowd hysteria is something we should be on our guard against encouraging … In this much, at least, the Commander is quite right and we should listen to him. Though I maintain that ignorance is always a dangerous state. To know is to be able to arm oneself. If one chooses.’

‘But can you tell me, Padraic?’ Joe interrupted in his no-nonsense police voice, picking up the awkwardly expressed plea for calm. ‘As no one will admit to a falling corbel—was there a tool still at the scene? Hammer? Axe? Pick?’

‘No. None. But judging by the damage I saw, I’d say the attack could only have been carried out with a stonemason’s hammer or something of the kind.’ Padraic appeared to welcome his return to the limelight and spoke in the voice of a thoughtful witness.

‘What had been done with the remains?’

‘The sculpture had been smashed into large pieces and then prised away from the rest of the display. Like this …’ He instinctively mimed an action Joe had seen often enough: the swing of a man digging in the trenches, pounding, hacking, levering. ‘Someone had gone to the trouble of hauling the bits off to a corner of the chapel. They’re still sitting there in a pile if you’d like to inspect.’ He shot a questioning glance at Guy de Pacy who nodded soberly and then got to his feet.

Was some careful servant keeping an eye on proceedings through the red baize door which dampened the sounds between the hall and the rear offices? Instantly, a footman appeared with a tray laden with coffee cups and a second followed with a steaming jug.

‘Ah, we have coffee!’ said de Pacy as though surprised.

‘Interesting comments, Sandilands! Very interesting! And I intend to hear more. Right now! Why don’t you help yourself to a cup and come over here where we might be more at ease to continue this conversation? Orlando? May we ask you to join us?’ He spoke in English with the merest French lilt.