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knock, and he almost fell through into the hallway. The tall, imposing figure stood above us, not looking at all intimidated, but fully dressed and in command of himself.
    â€œYes, Inspector. What can I do for you?” came the stern inquiry.
    Just for a few seconds I lost it. “Ah, yes, could we have a few words with you about the Miss Wood case?” I asked.
    He looked at his watch. “You seem rather early.”
    Joe spoke: “We thought we might catch you before your day began.”
    â€œUm. You had better come in, then, but I can’t spare you very much time. I’ve a lot to do.”
    We followed him into the same room as before, and he sat down behind his desk. I could feel that we were losing the initiative as we took our seats.
    â€œWell, Inspector, how can I help you? I am sure I’ve told you everything.”
    â€œAh, no, sir, I don’t believe you have told us everything.”
    He looked at me, puzzled, worried. “I don’t quite follow. What exactly do you mean?”
    â€œWell, sir, it now appears that you called round to see Miss Wood on the night she was attacked.”
    â€œHow did you—?” He stopped.
    â€œHow did we know, sir? We have a witness.”
    The confidence melted away from his face and was replaced with a worried frown.
    â€œWell, I might have; I am not really sure.”
    He leant back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. I knew he was playing for time, trying to compose his thoughts.
    I motioned to Joe, who said, “Reverend Thomas Wright,” – the vicar’s eyes shifted from the ceiling to Joe – “we would like you to come down to the station to make a statement.”
    Joe’s voice sounded seriously official, and I could see the fear and sadness in the vicar’s eyes as the words sunk in.
    Joe stood up. “Are you ready, sir?” he asked, holding out his hand as if to help the vicar to his feet.
    â€œWhat – now, you mean? Right at this minute? Impossible! I have things to do.”
    I now stood up and said, “Please, sir, will you come now?” I tried to sound as threatening as possible.
    He turned to look up at me, his face sagged and white. He slowly got to his feet and followed Joe, with me bringing up the rear.
    Out in the hall Joe stopped and asked if he wanted his jacket, pointing to the clothes hanging neatly from their brass hooks.
    â€œAh, yes, thank you,” said the vicar as he reached out and took a grey jacket. I looked at the golf clubs standing proudly at the side of the hatstand as the vicar fussed about putting his jacket on. I could tell he was playing for time – thinking time.
    He suddenly turned to Joe: “My dog I can’t leave – he’s in the kitchen.”
    â€œThat’s all right – I don’t expect you will be long,” I said. He seemed to perk up a bit when I said that.
    Not a word was said as we drove back to the station. I sat in the back with the vicar, who stared out of the window all the way. He must have been deep in thought as he was startled when I told him we had arrived. He followed Joe meekly, shoulders sagging slightly, to the interview room. I closed the door with a controlled bang, which had the desired effect of making the vicar jump. After we had all sat, I pointed out to him that he was there of his own free will to help us with our inquiries and that he was free to leave at any time. He sat bolt upright, looking down at his hands, which were palms down on the table, as if he was about to get up. I felt he was showing us that he was ready to leave at any moment he chose.
    I started the questions: “Now, when we saw you the first time you told us that the last time you saw Miss Wood was on the Monday afternoon when she was on her way to Mrs Thomas’s. Is that correct?”
    He nodded without looking up.
    â€œBut our subsequent investigations show that you did in fact see her on the evening