a glimpse of the sea between two ancient cottages. Sally ate an enormous breakfast, and seemed quite anxious to discuss the events of the previous day. Wyatt told her that he had been making some inquiries about Barbara Willis, but that no one had seen her if she had stayed in Shorecombe prior to the tragedy. He had called at the local police station to report the accident, and had made further inquiries there about the elusive Miss Willis, but without success.
‘And what did you make of Doctor Fraser when you had me safely out of the way?’ smiled Sally.
‘She seemed quite an affable sort of person,’ said Wyatt in a non-committal tone. ‘What did you make of her?’
‘I rather liked her. Did she have much to say?’
‘Yes, quite a lot.’
He gave her a brief outline of Doctor Fraser’s experience.
‘Do you believe all that?’ asked Sally when he had finished.
‘Do you?’ he countered. ‘You’re the woman; you’re supposed to work by intuition.’
She shook her head thoughtfully.
‘I don’t know,’ she had to confess. ‘She doesn’t look the type who would make up an involved story like that.’
‘On the other hand,’ he reminded her, ‘we have to remember that she is a doctor; a woman with a brain well above the average. I shouldn’t think concocting a story like that would be beyond her powers.’
‘Is there no way of checking it?’
‘Not till we get back to Town. I think it can wait till then.’
Sally left the table and stood by the window, watching a cart move slowly along the narrow street outside.
‘What are we going to do today?’ she inquired eagerly.
Wyatt slowly tipped all the remaining sugar into his last cup of coffee, then said:
‘I thought we’d go out and see Tyson this morning, then probably catch the 3.45 back to London.’
‘Must we go to London?’ asked Sally rather wistfully.
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Wyatt. ‘I’ve got to see Sir James as soon as possible.’ He lit a cigarette and sipped his coffee. When the door opened to admit a handsome young man, they both had the idea that he was another guest at the inn. He was well dressed; his hair was smoothly plastered and he had a neat toothbrush moustache which distracted attention from his slightly receding chin.
‘I must apologize for interrupting you,’ he began, ‘but if you could spare me a few minutes …’
Sally turned and eyed the intruder curiously, while Wyatt rose.
‘It’s Mr Maurice Knight, isn’t it?’ he inquired.
‘Why yes, how did you—’
‘Your picture’s been in the papers rather a lot,’ Wyatt reminded him.
‘Oh, yes, I was forgetting that wretched business for the moment – at least, that aspect of it.’
He smiled at Sally.
‘I am sorry to barge in like this, Mrs Wyatt, but I’m on my way back to Town, and I did rather want to see Mr Wyatt for a few minutes, if he can spare the time.’
‘I’ll ring for some fresh coffee,’ said Sally. ‘I’m sure we could drink another cup – if you’ll join us.’
Wyatt pulled up a chair for their guest, and when the landlord had taken their order, he looked a trifle apprehensive.
‘I suppose it’s all right to talk here,’ he began in a low voice.
‘As good as anywhere, I should imagine,’ replied Wyatt. ‘I don’t think we can possibly be overheard.’
Maurice Knight sat on the edge of his chair and leaned forward; he spoke in a confidential tone.
‘Mr Wyatt, you know why I came to Shorecombe?’
‘I could probably guess,’ said Wyatt.
‘I wanted to find out what had brought my fiancée, Barbara Willis, down here.’ He suddenly became tense. ‘I wanted to find out the swine who deliberately, brutally, and sadistically strangled her.’
Sally gave a little shudder.
‘I’m sorry – please forgive me, Mrs Wyatt … you understand I’ve been very upset …’
‘Did you satisfy your curiosity, Mr Knight?’ inquired Wyatt evenly.
Knight shook his head somewhat wistfully.
‘Even as an amateur detective I’m afraid I’m a complete washout,’ he had to admit. ‘But I did stumble across one rather interesting point, Mr Wyatt. That’s why I wanted to see you.’
At that moment Fred Johnson returned with the coffee. After he had left Wyatt said:
‘Well, Mr Knight? What was it you discovered?’
Knight leaned forward again, and said:
‘Last night, Mr Wyatt, when I heard about your accident, I began to put two and two together. You were on your way to see Mr Tyson last night, weren’t you?’
‘How did you know that?’
‘I went to see Tyson myself a couple of days back.’ He stirred his coffee, then added significantly: ‘Do you know what happened, Mr Wyatt?’
‘I haven’t an idea.’
Knight dropped his voice to an even more confidential level.
‘I went to see Tyson in my car. When I reached the bridge, the one where you had your accident, I heard another car coming behind me. He was blowing his horn, and I pulled over to let him pass. Suddenly, and quite deliberately, he attempted to force my car off the road.’
‘But that’s exactly what happened to us!’ cried Sally excitedly.
‘Go on, Mr Knight,’ said Wyatt.
‘Fortunately for me,’ continued Knight, ‘I went into a skid, or he’d have forced me right over the bridge. He was off like the devil, of course.’
‘Didn’t you follow him?’ asked Wyatt.
‘Well, I was a bit shaken,’ Knight admitted. ‘And there was really not much point in my chasing him.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because,’ explained Knight impressively, ‘I managed to get his number.’
Sally sat up straight in her chair.
‘You got his number!’ she repeated.
Knight slowly took a small, black notebook from his waistcoat pocket and read out:
‘GKC 973. Perhaps you’ll take a note of it, Mr Wyatt.’
Wyatt did so.
‘It looks as if someone was trying to prevent you from seeing Mr Tyson,’ said Sally shrewdly.
‘Exactly, Mrs Wyatt. And I think the attempt on your life was for precisely the same reason.’
Wyatt balanced on the two rear legs of his chair and considered this.
‘It’s quite a theory, Mr Knight,’ he said at last.
Sally was looking puzzled now.
‘But surely Tyson can’t know anything about this business,’ she put in. ‘After all, he’s just an old fisherman who happened to discover the body.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Mrs Wyatt, if I were you,’ said Knight. Wyatt gave him a quick glance.
‘You saw Tyson?’ he demanded.
‘Yes,’