I made a mess of the lecture. I was nervous and distracted. I couldn’t remember much of what I’d said the first time and kept getting my sentences tangled up. I was on the lookout for Paula Wilberforce and didn’t relax for the whole time. I was impatient with the questioners. Altogether an unimpressive performance. No applause. When, to everyone’s relief, it was over, I apologised to Sanderson.

‘That’s OK,’ he said. ‘Happens. Is it to do with Ms Wilberforce?’

‘Yeah. I really need to get in touch with her. That Lindfield address you gave me’s a frost. It’s up for sale and the agents won’t tell me a thing about her.’

I’d telephoned Climpson amp; Carter at five minutes past nine and drawn a complete blank. I asked Sanderson if he knew anything at all about the woman that might help me. I told him that Dr Maurice had been helpful up to a point, and this seemed to encourage him. He said he might have something and went to his office which was a small, narrow, cell-like room with a window looking out over Crystal Street. The window was too dirty to look through, but Crystal Street isn’t much to see. Dan opened drawers in a filing cabinet and banged them shut. Then he opened the same drawers again. It seemed to be his way of finding things.

‘Thought so.’ He held up a card. ‘She was sick and got me to post her essay back. I remember that it was a different address from the one on her enrolment. Cliff, I’m not sure I should be doing this.’