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with longing of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.
    â€œNow then,” Harris grumbled, “what’s so urgent a man can’t be let to eat his dinner in peace?”
    â€œA body, Sergeant.”
    The ensuing pause somehow conveyed disbelief rather than shock. After a few seconds the voice came laden with suspicion. “And who might this be as I’m speaking to?”
    â€œMy name is Fletcher, Alec Fletcher. As it happens, I’m a … an officer with the Metropolitan Police.” No need to announce his rank nor to mention Scotland Yard. “Let me make it clear: I’m not on duty. My wife and I are visiting friends. It’s pure chance that it was I who discovered the deceased.”
    â€œPure chance, was it, sir? Just where exactly was you when pure chance led you to this dead man?”
    â€œWoman.” Alec was beginning to feel as if he’d swapped r ô les with Daisy. She had more than once complained of scepticism on the part of authorities when she dutifully reported having happened upon a body.
    â€œHo, a woman, eh? And I s’pose you’re going to tell me you’ve never seen her before in your life.”
    â€œI think it extremely unlikely that I’ve ever seen her before, far less made her acquaintance. But in the circumstances, it’s impossible to make a positive statement either way. Perhaps you’d better come and see for yourself.”
    â€œI’ll do that, sir, and you just stay put till I get there, if you please.”
    â€œThat wouldn’t be much use to you, Sergeant. I’m in a telephone box on Station Road.”
    Heavy breathing. “And where, sir,” said Harris, “ if so be you don’t mind me asking, did you leave the corpse?”
    â€œWhere I found it. In the wine cellar at Cherry Tree House—no, just plain Cherry Trees. Orchard Road.”
    â€œCherry Trees. New people. Three old maids, isn’t it?”
    â€œI don’t think they’d appreciate that description. I’m going back to the house now. I’ll see you there shortly.”
    Striding back up Orchard Road, he hoped the foul stink had cleared from the house. It would inevitably return when Sergeant Harris opened the cellar door, but with all the room doors in the house closed, and side and front doors left open, the worst of its impact should be avoided. Alec was quite looking forward to the moment when the stench hit the nostrils of the obnoxious sergeant.
    Still, as Alec would have been quick to point out to Daisy, the man was just doing his job. And he’d been called out in the middle of his Sunday dinner, not a bad excuse for grumpiness.
    A whiff of rotting flesh reached Alec when he was halfway up the garden path. Emanating from the open front door, it was unpleasant but bearable. No doubt it was worse in the house still. He didn’t want to ask the women to open the kitchen door.
    He stopped and studied the house. The kitchen was on the northwest corner. He walked over to the small, wide-open window framed by blue gingham curtains.
    The odour coming from it was mostly roast beef. His stomach rumbled again.
    Voices cut off as he tapped on the glass. He heard a clink of china, as if someone had set down a cup on a saucer with a shaky hand.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œAlec?” Daisy came to the window and peered out, holding back the curtain. “You gave us a shock! Aren’t you coming in?”
    â€œI’ll wait in front for Sergeant Harris and bring him round to the side door. You ladies can stay put in the kitchen with the door closed, for the present.”
    â€œWouldn’t it be better if we all left now, darling? Presumably the sergeant will open the cellar door again, and that foul smell will return to full strength.”
    â€œHe’s going to want to talk to you.”
    â€œOf course. Which will mean opening the kitchen door to the stink, unless we decamp to the Saracen. He can talk to