'Great,' said Pascoe. He didn't sit down immediately but strolled around the room, hoping he didn't look too like a policeman but not caring all that much if he did. Haggard was right. He was very comfortable. Was the room rather too self-consciously a gentleman's study? The rows of leather-bound volumes, the huge Victorian desk, the miniatures on the wall, the elegant chesterfield, the display cabinet full of snuff-boxes, these things must have impressed socially aspiring parents.

I wonder, mused Pascoe, pausing before the cabinet, how they impress the paying customer now.

'Are you a collector?' asked Haggard, handing him a glass.

'Just an admirer of other people's collections,' said Pascoe.

'An essential part of the cycle,' said Haggard. 'This might interest you.'

He reached in and picked up a hexagonal enamelled box with the design of a hanging man on the lid.

'One of your illustrious predecessors. Jonathan Wild, Thief-taker, himself taken and hanged in1725. Such commemorative design is quite common-place on snuffboxes.'

'Like ashtrays from Blackpool,’ said Pascoe.

'Droll,' said Haggard, replacing the box and taking out another, an ornate silver affair heavily embossed with a coat of arms.

'Mid-European,' said Haggard. 'And beautifully airtight. This is the one I actually keep snuff in. Do you take it?'

'Not if I can help it.'

'Perhaps you're wise. In the Middle Ages they thought that sneezing could put your soul within reach of the devil. I should hate you to lose your soul for a pinch of snuff, Inspector.'