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was the first time, I suppose, that anyone from the School had done that. Most of the Chapel people here are tradespeople – what we call the locals.’ Rigby smiled again. ‘It isn’t often that Town and Gown come together, so to speak. Not here.’
    ‘How about her husband? Was he Chapel too?’
    ‘Well, he had been, so she told Mr Cardew. Mr Rode was born and bred in Branxome, and all his family were Chapel people. That’s how Mr and Mrs Rode first met, I gather – at Branxome Tabernacle. Ever been there, have you? A fine church, Branxome, right up on the hill there, overlooking the sea.’
    Smiley shook his head and Rigby’s wide brown eyes rested on him thoughtfully for a moment.
    ‘You should,’ he said, ‘you should go and see that. It seems,’ he continued, ‘that Mr Rode turned Church of England when he came to Carne. Even tried to persuade his wife to do the same. They’re very strong at the School. I heard that from my wife, as a matter of fact. I never let her gossip as a rule, being a policeman’s wife and that, but Mr Cardew told her that himself.’
    ‘I see,’ said Smiley.
    ‘Well now, Cardew came and saw me. He was all worried and bothered with himself. He didn’t know what he should make of it, but he wanted to talk to me as a friend and not as a policeman.’ Rigby looked sour: ‘When people say that to me, I always know that they want to talk to me as a policeman. Then he told me his story. Mrs Rode had called to see him that afternoon. He’d been out visiting a farmer’s wife over in Okeford and didn’t come home until half past five or thereabouts, so Mrs Cardew had had to talk to her and hold the fort until the Minister came home. Mrs Rode was white as a sheet, sitting very still by the fire. As soon as the Minister arrived, Mrs Cardew left them alone and Stella Rode started talking about her husband.’
    He paused. ‘She said Mr Rode was going to kill her. In the long nights. She seemed to have a kind of fixation about being murdered in the long nights. Cardew didn’t take it too seriously at first, but thinking about it afterwards, he decided to let me know.’
    Smiley looked at him sharply.
    ‘He couldn’t make out what she meant. He thought she was out of her mind. He’s a down-to-earth man, see, although he’s a Minister. I think he was probably a bit too firm with her. He asked her what put this dreadful thought into her head, and she began to weep. Not hysterical, apparently, but just crying quietly to herself. He tried to calm her down, promised to help her any way he could, and asked her again what had given her this idea. She just shook her head, then got up, walked over to the door, still shaking her head in despair. She turned to him, and he thought she was going to say something, but she didn’t. She just left.’
    ‘How very curious,’ said Smiley, ‘that she lied about that in her letter. She went out of her way to say she hadn’t told Cardew.’
    Rigby shrugged his great shoulders.
    ‘If you’ll pardon me,’ he said. ‘I’m in a darned awkward position. The Chief Constable would sooner cut his throat than call in Scotland Yard. He wants an arrest and he wants one quick. We’ve got enough clues to cover a Christmas tree; footprints, time of the murder, indication of murderer’s clothing, and even the weapon itself.’
    Smiley looked at him in surprise.
    ‘You’ve found the weapon, then?’
    Rigby hesitated. ‘Yes, we’ve found it. There’s hardly a soul knows this, sir, and I’ll trouble you to remember that. We found it the morning after the murder, four miles north of Carne on the Okeford road, tossed into a ditch. Eighteen inches of what they call coaxial cable. Know what that is, do you? It comes in all sizes, but this piece is about two inches in diameter. It has a copper rod running down the middle and plastic insulation between the rod and the outer cover. There was blood on it: Stella Rode’s blood group, and hairs from her head,