Redfern’s answer came mechanically.

‘No-no-of course not.’ And then in a deep agonized whisper. ‘Who?Who? Who could have done that to Arlena. She can’t have-have been murdered. It can’t be true!’

Emily Brewster shook her head, not knowing quite what to answer.

She heard him draw in his breath-heard the low controlled rage in his voice as he said:

‘My God, if I get my hands on the foul fiend who did this.’

Emily Brewster shivered. Her imagination pictured a lurking murderer behind one of the boulders. Then she heard her voice saying:

‘Whoever did it wouldn’t be hanging about. We must get the police. Perhaps-’ she hesitated-‘one of us ought to stay with-with the body.’

Patrick Redfern said:

‘I’ll stay.’

Emily Brewster drew a little sigh of relief. She was not the kind of woman who would ever admit to feeling fear, but she was secretly thankful not to have to remain on that beach alone with the faint possibility of a homicidal maniac lingering close at hand.

She said:

‘Good. I’ll be as quick as I can. I’ll go in the boat. Can’t face that ladder. There’s a constable at Leathercombe Bay.’

Patrick Redfern murmured mechanically:

‘Yes-yes, whatever you think best.’

As she rowed vigorously away from the shore, Emily Brewster saw Patrick drop down beside the dead woman and bury his head in his hands. There was something so forlorn about his attitude that she felt an unwilling sympathy. He looked like a dog watching by its dead master. Nevertheless her robust common sense was saying to her:

‘Best thing that could have happened for him and his wife-and for Marshall and the child-but I don’t supposehe can see it that way, poor devil.’

Emily Brewster was a woman who could always rise to an emergency.