'Well, she must have done. Perhaps not everything. She probably did research and got some of her facts from various royal biographies but I expect her imagination has been central to the enterprise.'

'She must be frightfully convincing. Or else this Tancred Vane is a complete sap. Is he a complete sap?'

'Something of the well-bred naif about him. A pleasant enough chap, but not a terribly forceful personality. All right, a bit of a sap, perhaps ... When I first met Melisande Chevret, I decided she couldn't be a very good actress, mainly on account of her manner being so affectedly actressy, but clearly I was wrong. She must be terribly good after all.'

'Something's not right, Hughie. I don't know exactly what I mean, but- Very well, let's a.s.sume it was Melisande Chevret who killed Stella. Her aim was to eliminate Stella, and that she managed to achieve, correct?'

'Correct.'

'Why then, in the name of sanity, did she continue visiting the Vane fellow? What was the point? You said she was in his house today. We are now what? Five days after the murder? She's achieved her aim. She's got rid of her love rival and so on. So why doesn't "Miss Hope" simply disappear?'

Major Payne scrunched up his face. 'One possible explanation is that she has gone completely mad and she has actually persuaded herself she is "Miss Hope" now. Is that too feeble? Or she might have started playing some other, more sinister, game. She might be intent on ruining Tancred Vane's reputation as a royal biographer. She might have taken against him, for some reason.'

'She's got a sister, did you say? What's the sister like? Equally cuckoo?'

'Not at all. Winifred is the soul of well-bred reserve. A paragon of discretion and good sense. Nothing like Melisande. Well, something must be done about Melisande Chevret before it is too late.'

'You think she might run amok or something?'

'She might. Morland told me she'd been trying desperately to win his affections back. He got me on the phone this morning. He said he was unable as well as reluctant to go back to Melisande. He said that whatever he'd felt for her once was no more. But apparently she keeps ringing him. He has now stopped answering her calls. He believes she is unhinged.'

'You look worried.'

'I am worried about Vane. Why hasn't he phoned? I hope he's all right.' Major Payne looked at his watch. 'If she gets it into her head that he suspects her of not being who she says-'

The next moment Major Payne's mobile phone rang but it wasn't Tancred Vane.

Into the Mouth of Madness One thing I am absolutely determined to do the next time I go to the Villa Byzantine I will go as myself.

The time for masquerade and mimicry is over. The comedy must end. The truth shall set me free and keep my soul from going astray. It was idiotic of me to present myself as an octogenarian in the first place. Whatever possessed me? Couldn't I think of something simpler? Well, I wanted to get instant access to Tancred and that was the best I could think of. I seem to be cursed with the kind of mind that has been described as tortuous.

I need to wash the lines off my face. I must stop walking with a stoop. I need to take off this ridiculous wig. Perhaps I could burn it? The action will symbolize my newly found freedom.

Serenity and peace are starting to sweep over me in great tidal waves, unleashed, I suspect, by the relief that Hugh Payne's visit was nothing worse than 'merely routine'.

What a charming pathway this is! Clumps of azalea and rhododendron planted to the right of it, with a few late-flowering roses. It looks as though the shrubs have perspired in the air. I stoop down and pick up a fallen petal. I crush it between my fingers, and I have there, in the hollow of my hand, the essence of a thousand scents, unbearable and sweet. My love appears to have enhanced my appreciation of Nature. What is it they say? A feeling for Nature is the privilege of cultivated minds not entirely absorbed in the material necessities of life.

Was Hugh Payne's visit 'merely routine', though? Those were his words, as Tancred reported them to me, but he is frightfully brainy that handsome Major with his faux buffo manner! Why were they whispering? I couldn't hear a word of what they said. No, Tancred would never lie to me. I mustn't be suspicious.

I must control my emotions or, like a firework, I may explode and be pulverized into a thousand sparks!

But what of the superficial, nay, pointless princely life on which Tancred has been expending so much time and energy? The so-called 'biography', with the writing of which I have been 'a.s.sisting' him?

An image floats into my head. The Communists making Prince Cyril dig his own grave, shooting him in the back of the head, then pushing him in. Something similarly drastic needs to be done about the book. That so-called biography. I couldn't possibly allow poor Tancred to be discredited and become the laughing stock of the literary elite!

I was desperate for his attention, for his love, that's the reason I did it. I acted irresponsibly, but what I have done, I shall undo.

I am sure Tancred will understand. I don't suppose he will get cross with me. One doesn't get cross with those one cares for.

Tancred cares for me as much as I care for him. He said so himself with his own lips. Tancred loves me. Tancred would never lie to me. Never. Never.

Tancred. Tancred. Tancred.

'Why are you out of breath?' Winifred said. 'Where have you been?'

She stood looking at Melisande. Her sister's face was pale and her hair was uncharacteristically dishevelled, wild, almost. Winifred had seen her sister with hair like that only once before, at the final curtain of a play that had been booed by the audience some feeble forgotten French farce. Melisande had ripped off her wig even before she had reached her dressing room and burst into tears.

'In paradise. Isn't that what Irene tells Soames on her return from her tryst with Bosinney?'

They were standing outside their house, under a pale sky bruised with garish clouds.

'You look different,' Winifred said.

Melisande explained that she had felt a little odd, so she had gone for a therapeutic ramble. She had wanted to get some fresh air. 'I did some light shopping.'

'Shall we go inside?'

'I am afraid of going inside. It's an unlucky house. That's where I met Stella. The face of the grandfather clock reminds me of Papa Willard at his most censorious. My bed with that scarlet canopy might have been a catafalque, it is so creepily portentous. The window curtains keep moving even when all is still. And there is a smell.'

'What kind of smell?'

'Can't say exactly. Not of rare and subtle flowers, to be sure. I believe it's a metaphysical kind of smell. Horror and corruption stalk in the shadows. Where's that from?'

'The d.u.c.h.ess of Malfi?'

'Arthur phoned to say he might get me a part in a new play that focuses on the dynamics between four women who reside in a brothel in the jungle, but I said no ... I should never have become an actress. I could have been an air hostess an MP's secretary or a magician's a.s.sistant. I'd have been so much happier. Perhaps tonight I will sleep outside in the garden! In one of those sinister sleeping bags we got for Christmas? They look like body bags. High time someone used them.'

Winifred pointed to her sister's shopping bag and said brightly, 'What did you buy?'

'Oh, the usual organic rubbish. Watercress. Tofu. A vegetarian steak. Eggs that couldn't have cost more if they'd been made of gold. Preposterous. What's the point of a healthy diet? I do not intend to live to be a hundred. Life after thirty-eight is one long compromise.'

'One of your b.u.t.tons is missing.'

'I wish I could be as balanced and splendid about my sorrows and disappointments as you have been about yours. I should have learnt to worship at the shrine of established routine. Plumping cushions and so on. I was wrong to think of myself as transcending mundane human laws.'

'Let's go inside and I will make you a cup of tea.'

'What am I going to do with the rest of my life? I loathe looking at pictures. Books bore me, really. I can't cook. Going to the theatre is out of the question. I only pretend to like gardening. What am I going to do?' Melisande suddenly clutched at her sister's hand. 'Please, help me, Win.'

'This is all to do with James, isn't it?'

Melisande's eyes started filling with tears. 'He turned off his mobile. I was in the middle of telling him something extremely important. I heard the roar of animals in the background and somebody laughing like a hyena. Then he turned off his mobile, just like that. I think he was at the zoo with that girl, Stella's daughter who I suspect I very strongly suspect is his daughter. The whole thing is incredibly sordid. That girl chopped off her mother's head.'

'You can't be sure-'

'I can be. I have every intention of calling the police and telling them what I know. The things she said at my party. They should arrest the little b.i.t.c.h and put her in jail at once. No one but the daughter could have killed Stella. Who else is there?'

Winifred noticed that Melisande was wearing the jacket from her Chanel Boutique suit with domed b.u.t.tons and gold studs, but the skirt came from some other suit, Winifred couldn't tell which one. This sort of thing had never happened before. Her sister had always been so particular about what she wore.

'Perhaps it was James who did it?' Melisande said in a thoughtful voice. 'Perhaps he and Stella were playing some game and it all went horribly wrong?'

'What game?'

This is awful, Winifred thought. My sister has gone mad. What am I going to do? Who did one phone? Should I perhaps contact Antonia and Hugh? But how could they help?

'Couples play games when they start experiencing difficulties. Neither of them could be described as being in their prime. Swords are notorious phallic symbols.'

'Let's go inside, shall we?' Winifred held her sister gently by the arm. 'I will make you a cup of tea and then you can have a lie-down.'

'James is a pig. They should keep him in a pigsty, put a piggy ring through his piggy nose and feed him pigswill!' Melisande broke into paroxysms of sobbing laughter. 'Grunt-grunt. People will go to the zoo to look at him. Grunt-grunt. What a fat, pink and stupid pig, they will say. h.e.l.lo, James. Isn't it time you were converted into sausages?'

'Come on, Meli-'

'He turned off his mobile phone. He is the most pig-headed and pig-like of pigs. So degrading, expecting a pig to love you. He is actually a lousy lover. I now count my married days with Chevret as the happiest in my life. I should never have divorced Chevret. Never.'

'Chevret was cruel to you.'

'Chevret possessed the perfect diffidence and un.o.btrusive reserve which mark a person of high birth and breeding.'

'He had awful habits. And he made futile little jokes that drove you mad. That's what you always said.'

'I do believe you were secretly in love with Chevret, that's why you talk like that. We should sit in the garden and dine alfresco. Incidentally, the pince-nez has disappeared.'

'What pince-nez?'

'The Miss Prism pince-nez. The pince-nez was my lucky charm. It was on my dressing table and now it isn't. In fact I haven't seen the pince-nez for some time. It was my lucky charm. Someone's taken my lucky charm-'

Covering her face with her hands, Melisande burst into tears. Winifred put her arm round her sister's shoulders and led her into the house. She was aware of tense currents vibrating through Melisande's body. It felt as though her sister were full of wires that vibrated with electricity.

This is the kind of complication I could have done without, Winifred thought.

Later she noticed that Melisande's bag contained no shopping.

The Case of the Lethal Golfer 'You seem disappointed it's me. Who did you want it to be?' Antonia asked.

'Tancred Vane, actually. I've been expecting him to ring.'

'You saw him? You talked to him?'

'I did. Melisande was with him.'

'At the Villa Byzantine? So Melisande is Miss Hope.'

'Yes.'

'Does she know you know?'

'She probably suspects,' Major Payne said. 'She saw me through the window. I'll give you the details later. Vane said he'd call, but hasn't so far ...'

'You don't think he's in danger, do you?'

'I don't know. Why doesn't he ring? I wonder whether to call the police-'

'Where are you?'

'At Aunt Nellie's.'

'Give her my love, won't you?'

'I shall. She is convinced you make pots of money from your books. Did you know that by 1939 Enid Blyton was earning more than the then Chancellor of the Exchequer?'

'I wouldn't mind earning more than the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Though the current one would be a hard act to follow. The Osborne wallpaper fortune has been estimated at was it four million pounds?'

'Where are you? What's that chirruping sound?'

'Birdsong. I am in Kensington Gardens. I'm sitting on a bench beside Peter Pan.'

'You sound as though you are about to embark on some awfully big adventure.'

'Perhaps I am. Perhaps I already have. I had coffee with Julia Henderson earlier on. Julia Henderson is James Morland's sister.'

'You seem to be imbuing the name "Julia Henderson" with extra special significance.'

'Julia said something very interesting. Stella talked to her the day before she was killed. Stella was keen on making her peace with her daughter. She had a plan. She was about to do something. She hinted there was an irregularity involved.'

'What kind of irregularity?'

'I believe she intended to commit a crime.'

'Are you serious? Would you care to specify the nature of the crime?'

'Steal Tancred Vane's sword. My theory,' Antonia went on, 'is that Stella meant it as a peace offering. That was the reason why she went to the Villa Byzantine on the morning she was killed. She had already stolen one of Vane's front door keys during her previous visit. Tancred Vane had told her he would be at the British Library that morning.'

'Did she go to the Villa Byzantine alone?'

'No. I have an idea it is only an idea, mind that Julia Henderson went with her. I believe Julia might have driven Stella in her car.'

'You think it was Julia who beheaded her?'

'You may think I am sacrificing probability to wild speculation, but, you see, Julia does fit the bill. She had a good motive for wishing Stella dead. Julia depended on her brother financially. I got a palpable sense that she hadn't wanted her brother to marry Stella. Stella considered Julia her friend and confided in her. Julia is a champion golfer, yet she was eager to conceal the fact. She has very strong wrists.'

'This is all most ingenious, but it doesn't quite tally with the Melisande-as-Miss-Hope theory, does it?'

Antonia admitted it didn't though did it have to?

After she'd rung off, she went on sitting on the bench under the statue of Peter Pan, thinking.

Stella was dead, but her daughter was still very much alive. James Morland was a rich man. If he were to act on his decision and adopt Moon, she would share in his fortune. He had bought a Regency house in Chelsea, which he intended to share with Moon. He had talked about hiring private tutors for her.