'Just one of you? By himself?'

Sid laughed. 'Not bloody likely. No, we get some of the boys to help us when it's very busy, like weekends. Or even take over for a couple of nights. Some of us are married, you know. But, like I say, weekends the committee man in charge has really got to be here all the time. It's not just the serving, but the stock, and the till.'

'Sounds like hard work.'

'It is. Like now. Getting things set up for the great rush.'

'Popular, is it?'

'Christ, yes. It's our main source of income. Apart from the odd dance or raffle. We've just about paid back our loan now and…' Pascoe turned on his heel. The man was beginning to be at his ease. He stopped talking at the sight of Pascoe's back.

'How many do you get in here on a Saturday night?'

'I don't know. Sixty, seventy, and there's the other…'

'You'd be on last night?'

That's right.'

'Busy?'

'Very.'

'Was Mr Connon in at all, Mr Sam Connon?'

'Connie? No. Well, yes. I mean he was in at the beginning of the evening right after the match. Look, what's all this about? Have you got any proof you really are a policeman?'

'I thought you'd never ask.'

Pascoe produced his warrant card. Sid examined it closely.

'What time did Connon leave?'

'I'm not sure. About five-thirty. Quarter to six, I think. I can't say for certain. He stopped to have a word with Arthur on his way out, but he might just have gone through into the other room.'

'Arthur?'

'Evans. Captain of the Fourths. That's right. Connie had been playing. Got a knock. Wanted a medicinal scotch. Hello, Marcus.' Pascoe looked to the doorway. Standing there was a short fleshy man dressed in slacks and a polo-neck sweater. Pascoe felt that he had been standing there for some time.