Mourn not your Dead

is a clock in the kitchen, but unless I should have an appointment I don’t pay it much attention.”
    “Do you think you could make an estimate as to the time on Wednesday evening, Mr. Bainbridge?” Kincaid asked with forced patience.
    “I can tell you that it wasn’t too long afterwards that the first of the panda cars arrived at the Gilberts’. Half an hour, perhaps.” Having conveniently placed the sherry decanter within arm’s reach, Bainbridge wrapped his long fingers around its neck. “Care for some more sherry, Superintendent? Chief Inspector? No? Well, you won’t mind if I do?” He poured himself a generous measure and drank. “I’ve become quite a connoisseur since my retirement, if I say so myself. I’ve even put some bottle racks into the pantry— had young Geoffrey in to help me—as the cottage doesn’t have a cellar, of course.”
    Kincaid felt the prickle of sweat under his arms and between his shoulder blades. The heat of the room had combined with the flush from the sherry to make him a bit queasy, and he felt an unexpected surge of claustrophobia. “Mr. Bainbridge,” he began, wanting to finish the interview as quickly as possible, “we want to ask you a few questions about the thefts you reported in—”
    “Don’t tell me you’ve got on to this burglar business, as well? No, no, no, I tell you. It’s absolute twaddle.” Pink splotches appeared on Percy Bainbridge’s cheeks, and the knuckles wrapped around the stem of his sherry glass turned white. “I heard them last night in the pub, the fools. You don’t really think some stranger appeared in the village and just happened to bash the commander in the head, do you, Superintendent?”
    “I’ll agree it’s not very likely, Mr. Bainbridge, but we have to follow—”
    “I’d look a bit closer to home if I were you. Oh, she’s a cool one, is Claire Gilbert, I grant you that. Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. But I can tell you”—he leaned towards them and put his finger beside his nose—“that our Mrs. Gilbert is no better than she should be. If I were you, I’d have a look at what she gets up to with that partner of hers, and I said as much to Commander Gilbert not too long ago.”
    “Did you now?” said Kincaid, forgetting his discomfort. “And how did the commander receive your advice?”
    Bainbridge sat back a bit and smoothed the fringe of hair behind his ear. “Oh, he was very appreciative, man to man, you know.”
    Kincaid leaned forwards and dropped his voice, as if inviting a confidence. “I didn’t realize you were on such friendly terms with Alastair Gilbert. Got on together well, did you?”
    “Oh, my, yes,” said Bainbridge, beaming. “I think the commander was much misunderstood by the hoi polloi of the village, Superintendent. He was a man of purpose, of direction, a man who counted in life. And I think he recognized a kindred soul when he met one.” One eyelid drooped in what might have been a wink, and Bainbridge finished off his sherry in one swallow.
    “Did the commander ask you to substantiate your allegations about his wife?” Kincaid asked a bit more sharply.
    “Oh, no, it wasn’t like that at all.” Bainbridge shook his head in aggrieved agitation. “I merely expressed my concern that his wife should be spending so much time alone with a man like that. Well, I ask you, what can they be doing all day? It’s not as if it were a real job, is it, Superintendent?” His enunciation became more absurdly precise as he compensated for the slurring effect of the sherry.
    “And what did you do before you retired, Mr. Bainbridge?” asked Kincaid. He tried to visualize the man as a navvy and failed miserably.
    “I was a teacher, sir, a molder of young minds and morals. At one of the best schools—you would recognize the name if I told you, but I don’t like to make much of myself-” He simpered and smoothed the lank fringe of hair again.
    Kincaid let a note of severity creep into his voice. “Tell me, Mr. Bainbridge, could the shadowy figure you saw have been Malcolm Reid, Claire Gilbert’s partner? Think very carefully, now.”
    The color drained from Bainbridge’s cheeks, leaving them more pinched than before. “Well, I... that is... I never meant to imply... As I told you, Superintendent, the figure was very vague, very elusive, and I couldn’t swear to anything at all.”
    Exchanging glances with Deveney, Kincaid gave him a slight nod.
    “Mr. Bainbridge,” said