His aunt must have answered it quickly for the ringing stopped almost immediately and he dozed again into that happy trance between waking and sleeping which follows a good night. It must have been half an hour before the telephone rang again, and this time it seemed louder and more insistent. He opened his eyes wide and saw, framed by the window, a translucent oblong of blue light with only the faintest hairline separating the sea and the sky. It promised to be another wonderful autumn day. It was already another wonderful autumn day. He saw with surprise that his watch showed 10.15. Putting on his dressing gown and slippers, he pattered downstairs in time to hear his aunt answering the telephone. “I’ll tell him, Inspector, as soon as he wakes. Is it urgent? No, except that this is supposed to be his holiday … I’m sure that he’ll be glad to come as soon as he’s finished breakfast. Goodbye.” Dalgliesh bent over and placed his cheek momentarily against hers. It felt, as always, as soft and tough as a chamois glove.
