'I know,' said the detective with feeling. 'Only the rich can buy such things. I certainly can't.'

'It was strange, really – Mr Kellow said so himself. He was living here in a rented room yet he was making silver ornaments that might end up in the homes of the aristocracy.'

'Did he talk much about his work?'

'Not really, sir – he kept to himself most of the time. I always looked in Mr Voke's window as I went past the shop in the hope of seeing him there. Mr Kellow waved to me once.'

'What about Mr Voke's son, Stephen? Was he mentioned at all?'

She brooded for a while. 'I don't think so.'

'But he must have talked about his sister.'

'Oh, he did. Effie was all he had in the world. They were close.'

'Did you ever meet her?'

'No, Sergeant,' she said. 'The girl was in service and that meant she had very little spare time. Mr Kellow used to walk all the way to Mayfair to get a glimpse of her. They sometimes went to church together on a Sunday. He had hopes that one day he'd own a shop of his own and be able to employ his sister in it.'

'Did he ever give you her address?'

She looked blank. 'He had no need to.'

'No, I suppose not. But, as you'll understand, I'm anxious to find her. Effie Kellow is his next of kin. She needs to be told that he's been…' He stopped to rephrase what he was going to say. '…that he met with an unfortunate accident.'

'My husband will be distraught when he hears,' she said, blowing her nose into the handkerchief. 'He's not in the best of health. I don't really know how to break it to him.'

'I'd wait until you get used to the idea yourself, Mrs Jennings,' advised Leeming. 'I can see that it's been a terrible shock for you.'

'It has, Sergeant. It's almost like losing a son.'