She paused. ‘I think he said he’d travelled. I don’t recall distinctly. It was easy to see what he’d been doing — drinking. My guess is that he’d been in and out of jail.’

‘That could be important. Any evidence?’

She shook her old head, no. But it hadn’t stopped her saying it. Her husband had sent enough men inside in his time, perhaps she had an instinct about it.

‘He didn’t tell you where he lived?’

She shook her head.

‘No. But I believe you should look for him on skid row.’

Her hands flew up to her mouth too late to stop the incongruous words. They were totally out of place for a woman so careful in her speech, so mindful to avoid the lurid. They suggested that she could be a closet television watcher and that raised another problem for me — this whole thing could be a bloody fantasy. The moment was awkward and then we were both startled by the sound of a voice screaming. ‘No!’ and the sound of a door crashing closed. Lady C brushed a scone crumb from her dress.

‘Verna,’ she said wearily. ‘Fraught as usual. Go and see her and get what you need, Mr Hardy. It will give me a respite.’

I got up, said something vague about reporting to her and went out.

The passage outside the room had a big window with a view of the drive up to the house. I took a look and saw a blue car shooting down the gravel; it skidded around a bend in the drive and took off through the gates as if someone was out there with a chequered flag.

3

I found Miss Reid two turns down the passageway. She was leaning against the wall breathing heavily. Her fists were clenched and a few wisps of hair had escaped from her bun. I told her what I wanted, got a short nod and she set off down the passageway which ended at a heavy oak door. I caught up with her and stood close while she unlocked the door. Years of training and field research paid off — her breath smelled of gin.