Troy said: “Come and speak to her, Rory. It’ll help.”

“Daddy?” Ricky said in a small voice.

“We won’t be a minute,” Troy and Alleyn answered together, and Alleyn added, “We know how it feels, Rick, but one has to get used to these things.” Ricky nodded and swallowed.

Alleyn followed Troy into Miss Truebody’s compartment. “This my husband. Miss Truebody,” Troy said. “He’s had a word with the doctor and he’ll tell you all about it.”

Miss Truebody lay on her back with her knees a little drawn up and sick hands closed vise-like over the sheet. She had a rather blunt face that in health probably was rosy, but now was ominously blotched and looked as if it had shrunk away from her nose. This effect was heightened by the circumstance of her having removed her teeth. There were beads of sweat along the margin of her grey hair and her upper lip and the ridges where her eyebrows would have been if she had possessed any; the face was singularly smooth and showed none of the minor blemishes characteristic of her age. Over her head, she wore, as Troy had noticed, a sort of net bag made of pink string. She looked terrified. Something in her eyes reminded Alleyn of Ricky in one of his travel-panics.

He told her, as reassuringly as might be, of the doctor’s pronouncement. Her expression did not change and he wondered if she had understood him. When he had finished she gave a little gasp and whispered indistinctly: “Too awkward, so inconvenient. Disappointing.” And her mottled hands clutched at the sheet.

“Don’t worry,” Alleyn said, “don’t worry about anything. We’ll look after you.”

Like a sick animal, she gave him a heart-rending look of gratitude and shut her eyes. For a moment Troy and Alleyn watched her being slightly but inexorably jolted by the train, and then stole uneasily from the compartment. They found their son dithering with agitation in the corridor and the attendant bringing out the last of their luggage.