Stirrington, which lay at the heart of the constituency Lenox hoped to represent, was a modest town of fifteen thousand souls, large enough to have several doctors, two schools, and a dozen pubs but small enough that cattle and sheep were still driven down the long High Street and everyone knew everyone else. To residents there the phrase “the City” referred not to London but to Durham, with its beautiful riverside cathedral, and as Hilary explained on their ride north, one thing Lenox must be sure not to do was speak down to them, or come off as oversophisticated, or glib, or slick.

“I’ll be myself, of course.”

“Of course,” said Hilary. Then he laughed. “Yet politics often requires certain attitudes. To adopt them one needn’t abandon one’s character.”

“Yes,” said Lenox uncertainly.

The trip there took hours upon hours. Durham County was nearly as far north as one could travel without reaching Scotland. The train arrived outside of town well after noon had struck, and both Lenox and Hilary-who had otherwise passed pleasant hours in doing what they loved, talking about the nature and strategy of politics-were famished. A small voice asked Lenox, too, whether he was now definitely beyond the distance at which he might have kept track of the two murders, and of course the great bulk of his thoughts were taken up with Thomas and Toto.

“To be honest, I wouldn’t accompany every candidate this far,” said Hilary. “But we’re friends, and perhaps more importantly, the balance is very fine in the House right now.”

“It is,” agreed Lenox. “I’ve followed the numbers on each side closely.”