'Called? You mean, literally, called?'

Again the blank yearning after understanding.

Wield said, 'There is a telephone, as you saw, sir. But Mrs Frostick seems to have been a bit hysterical and after she found her father she ran out into the street, yelling and banging at neighbours' doors.'

'Neighbours' doors? Several doors? So there would have been several neighbours? And also anyone casually strolling by who might have been attracted by the commotion?'

'It's a nasty night, sir,' said Wield. 'Not many pedestrians, I shouldn't think.'

'No. Well, all these people, some of whose names you have, what were they doing?'

'Some of them were upstairs with the deceased…'

'Was he, by then?'

'Sir?'

'Deceased.'

Another inch of retraction.

'He didn't look good, sir.'

'The murdered man did not look good,' murmured Pascoe, tasting the phrase with a kind of sad pleasure. 'So, some were upstairs. Some I presume were downstairs…'

'Yes, sir. Comforting Mrs Frostick, making her cups of tea, and that sort of thing, sir.'

'In the living-room, was that?'

'Mrs Frostick was in the living-room,' said Hector, screwing up his face in search of preciseness. 'The tea was being made in the kitchen. That's where the oven is, so they'd have to make it there. Mr Deeks was on his bed, in his bedroom. There's only one bedroom, at the front. The other bedroom's the bathroom. Converted.'

Keen to spot glimmers of hope, Pascoe said with the same approval as if he'd been talking about Castle Howard, 'You've got the geography of the house sorted, then.'

The head emerged a little and Hector said, 'Yes, sir. Well, it's just like my Auntie Sheila's in Parish Road round the corner, except that she had a bathroom extension built out over the wash-house in the yard.'