Miss Mowat knocked gently at her neighbour Gertrude’s front door. She knew Gertie was home for she’d seen her arrival from the kitchen window. Must’ve gone to the village a brief spell to pick up a thing or two, Miss Mowat thought.

“Oh, it’s you. Do come in. Fancy, I was getting tea ready just now. I insist you join me.”

“Well, it if isn’t too much for you,” Miss Mowat said.

“Hush now. Have a seat in the parlour. I’ll return in a jif,” Gertie said.

Joan Mowat looked round Gertie’s parlour for signs of any new object. She’d done the same thing many times before. They’d been close neighbours and friends for, well, too many years to count.

Gertie returned with a large bamboo tea tray. The water in the sea blue china pot was steaming and there seemed to Joan to be five or six nice dainties beside it. “Nothing new in this room,” Gertie said, “though I’m dying to spend a little. Perhaps next week.”

“With these new prices, dear,” Joan said, reaching for her teacup.

“I suppose you’ve heard about Mavie’s Gerard,” Bertie said, adding a tad of sugar and cream to each cup.

“Colonel Babcocke? Heavens no!” Joan said.

“The colonel himself,” Gertie said. “Went off camping two days ago with his buddies and never returned alive. Dropped dead just like that, they all said.”

“My, dear Mavie must be devastated!” Joan exclaimed.

“Indeed she is. I saw her myself,” Gertie said.

“I don’t recall hearing them mention any heart trouble,” said Joan.

“You or anyone else,” Gertie said quickly.

The elderly women passed on verbally to two or three of their other fifteen-odd neighbours who lay within walking distance. Then Miss Mowat thanked Gertie for the tea and bid farewell. But she didn’t go home. Instead, she turned down the lane leading to the Babcocke’s. She simply had to offer Mavie her condolences that very evening.

The funny thing was she could already sniff something amiss about this ‘sudden’ death of Colonel Babcocke’s. And such a kind, gentle man he’d been too. Practically everyone in tiny Coleville agreed.