They don’t make wills like that in England.”

“It certainly isn’t nonsense. Old Roscoe became obsessed with the idea that his wife wanted to poison him. That’s why he made this secret will.”

“And why the Pendragons?”

“Because he owed everything to the seventeenth Earl. And also, because he’d stolen the man’s fiancée from under his nose he had a bad conscience all his life and he wanted to make amends.”

“So that’s why the Earl is taking an interest in tropical diseases. He thinks there was something fishy about Roscoe’s illness, and that he has a claim on the estate.”

“I think so.”

I had found my bearings. My profound attachment to things out of the ordinary had led me to a great mystery which, who knows, I might be destined to solve—though it rather pained me to think how much I knew about everything but tropical medicine. I sensed that the whole business was intimately connected with the telephone call. Something was afoot. The Parcae were spinning their threads.

By now Osborne’s conversation with Pat had come to a complete full stop. They were just sitting there, solemnly and in silence. Her face conveyed mild irritation, his total boredom. I got up and went over to the girl, while Maloney started to chat to Osborne.

“So,” I asked her, “how did you find the honourable gentleman?”

“Honourable or not, all I can say is that he’s a very odd bloke. I don’t give a toss for titles, but I do expect a man to be polite.”

“Why, was he rude?”

“He certainly was. He went on the whole time about some German called Dante who sent people to Hell. And this colleague of mine, called Lais—Dante wrote that she would be floating about in … I really can’t tell you what. Journalists shouldn’t be allowed to write that sort of thing about a nice girl. But that’s the type he mixes with.”

“I adore nice girls,” I said, taking her hand. “You’re a thoroughly nice girl, I’m a thoroughly nice boy. In this wicked world we should stick together.”

“Yes, I saw at once that you had a good heart,” she replied. To reinforce this judgement I sat even closer and put my arm around her waist.

“I’m as true as bread and butter,” I proclaimed with feeling.

“Yes, I can tell from your eyes you’d be very nice if we got even closer.”

This emboldened me to kiss her shoulder.

“I’ve no idea what you would be like close up. We should find out.”

The rest of my wooing was conducted through actions rather than words. Oh, the miraculous, electric suppleness of these island girls! Only a poem could express the joy of caressing one after midnight.

But such is my deplorable character that even as I busied myself with these amorous gymnastics I was listening with half an ear to the conversation Maloney was having with Osborne.

And what I thought I heard shocked me deeply. He appeared to be suggesting that I’d done everything I could to get myself invited to Llangyvan, and had only gone to Lady Malmsbury-Croft’s because I’d known the Earl would be there.

Meanwhile Pat was busy telling me something, and I lost concentration. They could have been talking about an entirely different matter and, with my usual hypersensitivity, I’d simply been imagining things.

I pulled away from Pat. She stared at me in astonishment. Everything had begun so well between us.

But why on earth did Maloney tell that lie? Because he was incapable of telling the truth, or because he just couldn’t understand what people told him? Or was it … that there was a purpose behind it, something to do with the conspiracy my troubled intuition had warned me about?

For a while Osborne listened to Maloney without interest, then stood up.

“Sorry, I must be off. See you again at Llanvygan.”

And without even shaking hands, he vanished like the Cheshire cat. Clearly he couldn’t bear to sit a minute longer beside a woman.

Maloney went over to another table, leaving me alone with Pat. Forget about Maloney, I thought: I’m going to take this girl home. A philologist is a man, after all.