“Well, m’m,” Northcott began at last, “it’s like this. I-” He broke off when a sharp tap on the door interrupted him.

Cecily called out, and a moment later the door opened. Gertie stuck her head inside and sent the constable a broad wink, which instantly sent him into a fit of coughing. “You sent for me, m’m?”

“Yes, Gertie. Police Constable Northcott would like a glass of brandy.”

“Yes, m’m. Coming up right away.” Gertie grinned at the red-faced policeman and withdrew her head.

“Very kind of you, m’m, I’m sure,” Northcott muttered, once more fishing his handkerchief out of his pocket.

Cecily waited until the constable had everything under control again before prompting him with a polite, “You were saying?”

“Ah, yes, well, I was coming to that.” Northcott harrumphed a couple of times, then said hoarsely, “I gather you’ve heard about young Jimmy Taylor?”

Cecily frowned. “Jimmy? The delivery boy from Rick-man’s Dairy? What about him?”

Northcott cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to h’inform you that he was found dead alongside his horse and cart last Sunday.”

“Great heavens!” She gulped a couple of times, a hand at her throat. “I had no idea. That poor lad. He was so young. What happened to him?”

Northcott got a pained expression on his face, rather as if he urgently needed to use the facilities. “He was struck in the ’ead by a sharp object, namely a rock. The doctor didn’t think that was what killed him, however.”

“Then what did cause his death?”

“He fell and hit his head again on the wheel hub. Broke his neck, didn’t he. That’s what killed him.”

Cecily was getting a nasty feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Where exactly did this rock come from?”

“Ah well, that’s the thing, isn’t it.” Northcott ran a finger around the edge of his starched collar. “Dr. Prestwick is quite sure someone threw it at the lad, which makes the perpetrator responsible for Jimmy’s death. We just don’t know the identity of that person. Not at present, anyhow.”