And she used to tell a different story each time. When someone pointed out that that wasn't what she had said last time, she said: 'But that's so dull! I've thought of a much better one. No one ever knew where they were with her. Temperament, they called it, of course."

"And don't you call it that?" asked Grant, always sensitive to an inflection.

"Well, I don't know. It always seemed to me more like — well, like protection, if you know what I mean. People can only get at you if they know what you're like — what matters to you. If you keep them guessing, they're the victims, not you."

"A girl who'd pushed her way from a lace factory in Nottingham to the top of the film world couldn't be very vulnerable."

"It's because she was from a lace factory that she was what-d'you-call-it. Every six months she was in a different social sphere, she went up at such a rate. That takes a lot of living up to — like a diver coming up from a long way below. You're continually adjusting yourself to the pressure. No, I think she needed a shell to get into, and keeping people guessing was her shell."

"So you were a Clay fan, Williams."

"Sure I was," said Williams in the appropriate idiom. His pink cheeks grew a shade pinker. He slapped marmalade with venom onto his slab of toast. "And before this affair's finished I'm going to put bracelets on the chap that did it. It's a comforting thought."

"Got any theories yourself?"

"Well, sir, if you don't mind my saying so, you've passed over the person with the obvious motive."

"Who?"

"Jason Harmer. What was he doing snooping around at half past eight of a morning?"

"He'd come over from Sandwich. Spent the night at the pub there."

"So he said. Did the County people verify that?"

Grant consulted his notes.

"Perhaps they haven't. The statement was volunteered before they found the button, and so they weren't suspicious. And since then everyone has concentrated on Tisdall."

"Plenty of motive, Harmer has. Clay walks out on him, and he runs her to earth in a country cottage, alone with a man."

"Yes, very plausible. Well, you can add Harmer to your list of chores. Find out about his wardrobe. There's an SOS out for a discarded coat. I hope it brings in something. A coat's a much easier clue than a button. Tisdall, by the way, says he sold his wardrobe complete (except for his evening things) to a man called — appropriately enough — Togger, but doesn't know where his place of business is. Is that the chap who used to be in Craven Road?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where is he now?"

"Westbourne Grove. The far end."

"Thanks. I don't doubt Tisdall's statement.