The following Monday, I was back in the Institute after another day of dangling about in York. It was a quarter after five, and this time I planned to be at the Lost Luggage Office in good time for half-past. It was still raining, and the Institute was just as empty as before, only with two quiet, reasonable- looking blokes in place of the Camerons. The day's Evening Press was on the bar, just as it had been on Friday last. I glanced at the front-page advertisements, turned to the sport at the back: 'York v. Brighouse,' I read, 'another defeat for the City team.' The barmaid was looking on.

'Try page two,' she said.

So I turned to it, and saw what must have been a good six paragraphs running down the middle of the page like a scar: 'York Murder' I read at the top, followed by 'Horrible Find at Goods Yard'. 'Last night,' began the article proper, 'Duncan and John Cameron, believed to be brothers, were found shot to death on the cinder path by York goods yard

The rest was just meaningless words to me, about how the York police were enquiring into the matter, appealing for witnesses to make themselves known. I couldn't take any of it in, such was the knock I'd received. Friday last there'd been the cut throat in the Station Hotel, and now this.

The paragraphs…

My eye ran up and down them again.

The barmaid was watching me narrowly.

'Surprised you didn't know about that,' she was saying, '… you being a policeman.'

'I'm sworn, but I haven't started in the job yet'1 said, turning to her with no colour in my face. 'Who were this pair, exactly?'

'Well, one was a railway man, on and off. That was John. And his brother was… well, I hardly know how to put it nicely…'

She thought the matter over for a while.

'He was soft in the head' she said, eventually, 'as you found out last week.'

'Often caused trouble in here, did they?'