Every morning at eight ashopboy reported for work, and under the eye of Mr Goldspink the boy would scatter damp sawdust on the floor and then sweep it into heaps to be carefully disposed of.

Dressed in an old brown velvet jacket, Goldspink would then dust the counters and chairs and be removing the dust covers when the assistants arrived at nine. Having opened the front door, he would check the change with the cashier in her office. The cashier? She occupied a small glassed-in compartment high up in one corner of the shop. Oh yes, she could see everything that went on in the shop.

There were few customers before ten, but the assistants were busy with their stock, and Mr Goldspink breakfasted and then dressed for the day’s business. His business clothes consisted of a frock-coat and black trousers. Yes, he always wore a waistcoat, a white or light-coloured fancy waistcoat. They were stained a little. The frock-coat was old but presentable enough. The black trousers needed pressing, but Mrs Robinov probably had enough to do as it was. The boy always cleaned the shoes, and they seemed a little too big, but then Mr Goldspink’s feet wanted comfortable shoes to walk about in all day.

Most of all this Bony already knew, but he sat easily and nodded understandingly and for himself created the picture of an elderly merchant conducting his business. There had been no mention in any of the numerous reports he had scanned of the cashier’s glassed-in office and its full view of the entire shop. She had never been questioned.

“I was told he was in quite good health that last day of his life,” he murmured encouragingly.

“Oh yes, Inspector. I don’t remember him ever being ill.”