On Sunday morning, with all the guests making the most of the wonderful sunshine, the Sandybank guest house was unusually quiet. Grace, still in a sullen mood, equipped herself with cleaning essentials and went upstairs to give each room a quick going over. She only intended to sweep, open windows and empty waste paper bins, so only an hour of her time would be necessary. After that she planned to do some accounting to check how much had been squirrelled away in the past few years and, if there was time, she would go down to the potting shed to look for d**k's money.
On opening the door to Alf Harrison's guest room, Grace immediately noticed the smell of cooked meat. As she walked further into the room the odour got stronger until, on reaching the dressing-table, it had reached its most p
