"Do you want to examine the wallet, General?" she asked.

"No, just take out what you find."

She did. There was cash, forty-five pounds in banknotes, a driver's license, a national insurance card, a Premier credit card, and a cheaply printed business card that she found in one of the pockets and handed over.

Ferguson examined the business card. "'Henry Pool, Private Hire, 15 Green Street, Kilburn.' " He put it down on the towel, and, as he did, she extracted another card from the wallet.

"This is interesting," she said. "'Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, we who are ourselves alone.'" Ferguson took it from her. "Is it important?" she asked.

"It certainly is, my dear." Ferguson put the card down, took out his Codex, and called Roper. "It's here," he said when the Major answered. "Also a business card: 'Henry Pool, Private Hire, 15 Green Street, Kilburn.' Check it out, and let Dillon and Miller know. And here's an interesting point that I just remembered. Pool had a slight cockney accent, but when I was following him along the pavement from the Garrick and a limousine drove past and splashed him, he got very angry and abused them. I remember what he said because his accent suddenly sounded a little Irish. He said, 'Holy Mother of God, you've soaked me, you bastards.' Then he turned to me as if embarrassed and said he was sorry-but with the cockney back again."

"Curiouser and curiouser, especially since his address is in Kilburn, the Irish quarter of our city since time immemorial. I'll see you soon." Doyle brought Roper a mug of tea as the man in the wheelchair worked his keyboard. "Making progress, Major?"

"I think so. Look at this: Henry Pool, born in London in 1946, mother Irish, Mary Kennedy. She came to England in the Second World War, worked as a cook, married a Londoner named Ernest Pool, who served in the army, was wounded in April 'forty-five, and received a medical discharge plus pension. They moved to 15 Green Street, Kilburn."