She was dressed and bright-eyed; obviously she had slept well. There was a tea-tray on the bedside table. From the kitchen came the sound of the Welsh maid, singing in a soft, happy voice There were the usual sounds from the street and from the river, and Palfrey drank his tea and listened to them. She did not try to cheer him up by saying that Charles might turn up alive, for neither of them expected it. Yet when, after breakfast – it was nearly half past ten – the telephone rang, Palfrey was across the room like a shot. ‘Is that Dr. Palfrey?’ asked an impersonal voice. Palfrey said, ‘Yes.’ ‘Hold on, please, Chief Inspector Rowse would like to speak to you.’ ‘Who is it?’ asked Drusilla urgently. ‘The Yard,’ said Palfrey. His heart was beating uncomfortably fast, and he steeled himself for the reception of bad news. The delay was considerable, and when Rowse came on the line he was apologetic.
