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agreed.’
    Smiley’s glass was empty and D’Arcy, without consulting Fielding, filled it for him from the decanter. His hands were polished and hairless, like the hands of a girl.
    ‘But,’ he continued, ‘I must be honest. Mrs Rode did not adapt herself so willingly to our ways.’ Still smiling, he sipped delicately from his glass. He wants to put the record straight, thought Smiley.
    ‘She would never really have fitted in at Carne; that is my opinion – though I am sure I never voiced it while she was alive. Her background was against her. The fault was not hers – it was her background which, as I say, was unfortunate. Indeed, if we may speak frankly and in confidence, I have reason to believe it was her past that brought about her death.’
    ‘Why do you say that?’ asked Smiley quickly, and D’Arcy replied with a glance at Fielding, ‘It appears she was expecting to be attacked.’
    ‘My sister is devoted to dogs,’ D’Arcy continued. ‘You may know that already perhaps. King Charles spaniels are her forte . She took a first at the North Dorset last year and was commended at Crufts shortly afterwards for her “Queen of Carne”. She sells to America, you know. I dare say there are few people in the country with Dorothy’s knowledge of the breed. The Master’s wife found occasion to say the very same thing a week ago. Well, the Rodes were our neighbours, as you know, and Dorothy is not a person to neglect her neighbourly duties. Where duty is concerned, you will not find her discriminatory, I assure you. The Rodes also had a dog, a small mongrel, quite an intelligent animal, which they brought with them. (I have little idea where they came from, but that is another matter.) They appeared quite devoted to the dog, and I have no doubt they were. Rode took it with him to watch the football until I had occasion to advise him against it. The practice was giving rise to unseemly humour among the boys. I have found the same thing myself when exercising Dorothy’s spaniels.
    ‘I shall come to the point presently. Dorothy uses a vet called Harriman, a superior type of person who lives over toward Sturminster. A fortnight ago she sent for him. “Queen of Carne” was coughing badly and Dorothy asked Harriman to come over. A bitch of her quality is not to be taken lightly, I assure you.’
    Fielding groaned, and D’Arcy continued, oblivious:
    ‘I happened to be at home, and Harriman stayed for a cup of coffee. He is, as I say, a superior type of person. Harriman made some reference to the Rodes’ dog and then the truth came out; Mrs Rode had had the dog destroyed the previous day. She said it had bitten the postman. Some long and confused story; the Post Office would sue, the police had been round, and I don’t know what else. And, anyway, she said, the dog couldn’t really protect, it could only warn. She had said so to Harriman: “It wouldn’t do any good.” ’
    ‘Wasn’t she upset about losing the dog?’ asked Smiley.
    ‘Oh, indeed, yes. Harriman said she was in tears when she arrived. Mrs Harriman had to give her a cup of tea. They suggested she should give the dog another chance, put it in kennels for a while, but she was adamant, quite adamant. Harriman was most perplexed. So was his wife. When they discussed it afterwards they agreed that Mrs Rode’s behaviour had not been quite normal. Not normal at all, in fact. Another curious fact was the condition of the dog: it had been maltreated, seriously so. Its back was marked as if from beatings.’
    ‘Did Harriman follow up this remark she made? About not doing any good? What did Harriman make of it?’ Smiley was watching D’Arcy intently.
    ‘She repeated it to Mrs Harriman, but she wouldn’t explain it. However, I think the explanation is obvious enough.’
    ‘Oh?’ said Fielding.
    D’Arcy put his head on one side and plucked coyly at the lobe of his ear.
    ‘We all have a little of the detective in us,’ he said. ‘Dorothy and I