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you have some idea.”
    “Some. I can’t discuss it further at this time.”
    Charles downed the remainder of his drink and made himself another. “Anybody else?” he inquired. Heads were shaken, and he sat down again. “I can’t believe it,” he said. “Richard was in perfect health, he was supposed to outlive me.”
    “Are you unwell, Sir Charles?”
    “Very much so,” Charles replied. “I’ve got a few months, if I’m unlucky.”
    “Unlucky?”
    “I’d rather fall off the twig before getting sicker,” he said.
    “I understand.”
    “I very much doubt it.”
    “Is Sir Richard married?”
    “For more than fifty years. They met at Cambridge. Glynnis is healthy as a horse. I’d better go see her at once,” he said, standing. “Have you anything else to ask me?”
    “I believe your wife died some years ago.”
    “That is correct.”
    “Are you seeing anyone?”
    “A woman, you mean? I’m marrying one on Sunday.”
    Stone was surprised. “Congratulations, Charles.”
    “Thank you. That’s the real reason for the party. It’s not my birthday quite yet. Her name is Elizabeth Bowen. She’s a solicitor in the village. I thought we’d surprise everybody, then bugger off to Paris for a few days.”
    “I congratulate you, as well, Sir Charles,” Holmes said. “And I have no further questions for you at this time. Perhaps we’ll talk again before Monday.”
    “I have one for you, Inspector. How was Richard killed?”
    “With a knife,” Holmes replied. “A rather large one, apparently. His head was half cut off.”
    “Good God,” Charles said again, and sadly. “I’d better go and see Glynnis.”
    “Will you dine with us this evening, Charles?” Stone asked.
    “We’ve plans in the village, Stone, but thank you.” He left without anything further said.
    “Sounds like someone took him from behind,” Stone said to Holmes. “Commando style.”
    “Quite,” Holmes replied. “And we have four former Royal Marines within spitting distance, counting Sir Richard.”
    “Major Bugg, then.”
    “Yes, and Sir Charles, and Wilfred Burns.”
    “Wilfred? Our hermit?”
    “Quite. He grew up with Sir Charles and Sir Richard andwas at Eton and Oxford. They were all serving senior officers during the Falklands War. Major Bugg was a subaltern in that one—he’s a good deal younger than they.” Holmes consulted his watch. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have a corpse to clear off your meadow and a suspect to question.” He closed the door behind him.
    “I love it,” Susan said.
    “Love what?”
    “Four Royal Marines, one of them dead, the others, suspects. And they all knew how to use a knife, didn’t they?”
    “You have an evil mind.”
    “I do, don’t I?” She stood up. “I think I’ll go have a nap before dinner.”
    “Tell me,” Stone said, “where is the Lilac Room?”
    “Never you mind,” she said. She kissed him on the cheek and left him alone in the library.
    After a moment, Stone went to the desk and jotted off a note to Sir Charles, offering to fly him and Elizabeth Bowen to Paris the Monday after their wedding, and give them use of his home there during their honeymoon. He’d have to refuel between England and the Azores anyway, and the house was just sitting empty. After summoning Elsie and asking her to convey the note to Sir Charles, Stone headed upstairs.

9

    S tone went up to the master suite, unpacked his things and arranged them in his dressing room, then he stretched out on his bed for a nap. Before he could close his eyes the phone on the bedside table rang. “Yes?”
    “Mr. Barrington, it’s Mrs. Whittle. What time would you like dinner?”
    “Seven-thirty?”
    “Very good. In the library?”
    “Yes, thank you.” He hung up and fell asleep. It was getting dark when the phone rang again. “Yes?”
    “Where and what time are we dining?” Susan asked.
    “Let’s meet in the library at seven, for drinks.”
    “And what is the dress?”
    “Since