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Anaesthetized by the largest cream tea they had ever eaten—Roy had insisted on two lots of scones, strawberry jam and Cornish cream—they slumped down in deckchairs in the gardens and listened to the band, surrounded by the amiable chatter of families with their children.

Roy had bought a Panama hat and it was now tilted across his eyes. Agatha did not have a hat but she had edged her deckchair under the shade of a tree.

After a few minutes, Roy let out a faint snore. Maybe he was right, thought Agatha. Maybe she should give up the whole business of detecting. But she knew all at once that if she spent too much time alone she would start thinking of James Lacey again. Still, at least she actually cared about poor Jessica and was determined to find out who murdered the girl. Robert Smedley was another matter. And then she blinked rapidly. At first she thought her mind had conjured up an image of him. Then she realized it really was Robert Smedley. He had risen from a deckchair near the bandstand and was helping a young woman to her feet. The woman was vaguely pretty in a vapid kind of way. Lots of red hair but a thin white face and a rabbity mouth.

“Roy!”

Snore.

Agatha leaned over and prodded him in the ribs.

“Hey, what?”

“It’s Smedley,” hissed Agatha, “with another woman.”

“Where?”

“Over there. They’re coming this way. Here!”

Agatha extracted a newspaper from the three she had been holding in her lap. Roy snatched one and opened it up to shield his face. Agatha did the same. They covertly lowered the newspapers a little.

Robert Smedley was dressed in white flannels and a tight blazer with a flashy crest on the pocket. His lady was wearing very high heels and leaning on his arm. They waited until the couple had passed.

“Right!” hissed Agatha. “We follow them.”

But too many junk meals had taken their toll and Agatha’s hips were wedged firmly into the deckchair. She stood up with the chair sticking to her backside. “Help me, Roy.”

He wrenched her free. There was a ripple of laughter from the other people in deckchairs. Agatha looked wildly round. Smedley and his companion had disappeared.

“You need to lose weight,” said Roy.

“I’ve only put on a little. It was that cream tea. They were heading up the hill.”

They hurried up to Pierrepoint Street. “No sign,” panted Agatha. “I’ll go right and you got left.”

“I don’t know what they look like. They were gone by the time I looked!”

“He’s portly with thinning hair, tight blazer, white trousers. She’s rabbity with red hair, lots of it, wearing a blue-and-white-patterned dress and very high heels. She can’t have got far in those heels. We’ll meet back here.”

They split up. Agatha went as far as the Grand Parade on her side and Roy went along Manvers Street, Dorchester Street and then St. James’s Parade.

When they met up again, they were hot and tired. “I know,” said Agatha. “Hotels.”

“There are loads of hotels. Loads!” screeched Roy.

“Let me think. He was so solicitous, I think it must be a new love, so he’d take her somewhere posh.”

“Like where?”

“Like the Granton Crescent Hotel. We’d better get a cab. It’s a long climb up.”

But there did not seem to be any cabs available. By the time they had trudged up to the Royal Crescent, where the hotel was situated, Roy was flushed with heat and cross with Agatha.

They entered the cool hallway of the hotel and approached the reception desk. “Yes, madam?”

The receptionist was cool, slim and foreign.

“I wonder if a friend of mine has checked in?” asked Agatha. “A Mr. Smedley?”

Long painted nails rattled efficiently over the keys of a computer. The receptionist raised her head. “I am afraid we have no one of that name.”

“May I just see the book? Such a rogue. He may have signed in under another name.”

“What book?”

“The book the guests sign,” said Agatha impatiently.

“No, that is so old-fashioned. They sign cards and their bookings are logged on the computer.”

“Oh, if you could just give me a printout.”

“The details are private. Please leave.” The receptionist turned away to where an overdressed woman was waiting.