The same, but not the same. For one thing he was noticed to smile more readily. He was still a good tough cop, but now he seemed gifted with a new understanding. It was as if through suffering himself, he had learned compassion for others.

The girl painfully signed her name at the bottom of the typed statement sheet and he helped her to her feet and nodded to the woman P.C.

“You’ll be all right now, love. It’s all over.”

The girl left, sobbing quietly, and Miller came in holding a teletype flimsy. “Don’t waste too much sympathy on her, Jack. I’ve just heard from C.R.O. She’s got a record. Four previous convictions including larceny, conspiracy to steal, breaking and entering and illegal possession of drugs. To cap that little lot, she’s been on the trot from Peterhill Remand Home since November last year.” He dropped the flimsy on the table in disgust. “We can certainly pick them.”

“That still doesn’t excuse what Macek did to her,” Brady said. “Underneath that surface toughness she’s just a frightened little girl.”

“Sweetness and light.” Miller said. “That’s all I need.” He yawned, reaching for a cigarette. The packet was empty and he crumpled it with a sigh. “It’s been a long night.”

Brady nodded, applying a match to the bowl of his pipe. “Soon be over.”

The door opened and Macek entered, escorted by a young probationer constable. The Pole slumped down on one of the hard wooden chairs at the table and Miller turned to the probationer.

“I could do with some tea and a packet of cigarettes. See what the canteen can offer, will you?”

The young constable went on his way briskly, for Miller was a particular hero of his — Nick Miller, the man with the law degree who had made Detective Sergeant with only five years’ service. All this and an interest, so it was rumoured, in his brother’s business that enabled him to live in a style to which few police officers were accustomed.