He hurried inside, a diminutive, portly man who held his head high in an effort to attain the height he didn’t possess. He was aware but unworried that his critics called him ‘pouter pigeon’. Some thought it an apt description; he had a jerky, bird-like habit of moving his head during conversations or court appearances and walked in abrupt, thrusting movements. Had he had any say in the appellation, Flood would have preferred being called a hawk. After all, a hawk was a wary, sharp-sighted bird. And that’s how the enquiry was going to find him.

His clerk had already preceded him with his document case, so Flood went immediately to the robing room. He had almost finished dressing when the door tentatively opened behind him and Edward Baumgartner, the court registrar, entered.

‘Morning, Attorney-General,’ he said formally.

Flood nodded, but didn’t speak.

‘So at last everything is to become clear?’

Baumgartner spoke hopefully, anxious to convey the belief that the elucidation would come from the cleverness of Flood’s questioning.

‘That’s my intention,’ said Flood. He had been so long in Gibraltar that there was hardly a trace of his Irish accent. Only when he was excited or angry did it become pronounced.

‘Quite a number of witnesses,’ said Baumgartner.

‘There’s no hurry,’ said the Attorney-General. ‘I’ll keep the court convened for a year if necessary.’

‘Sure it won’t be,’ said Baumgartner, again intending the remark as admiration for the Attorney-General’s ability to get to the truth. He waited, but when Flood failed to respond, said, ‘Sir James would like to see you before we begin.’

Flood nodded again, as if he had anticipated the invitation, and followed the official out into the corridor and along to the Commissary’s rooms.

Flood was glad it was Sir James Cochrane who was to preside at the hearing. Although it would have been an exaggeration for him to regard Sir James as a friend, the Attorney-General felt they understood each other.