She blinked away the tears, sniffed and faced Rollison.

“I wish I knew why you’ve come,” she mumbled.

“I want to find Jim.”

“Are you—a policeman?”

“I don’t want to find him so that he can be handed over to the law for what they call taking his medicine. I think there’s real doubt whether he killed that man and the police don’t think there’s any doubt at all. I’d like to know the truth but even that isn’t so important as finding Jim.”

“But—but why, if he’s a stranger to you?”

“I’ve been looking for him for some weeks. Before he disappeared.”

“Why did you want him?”

“I didn’t want him,” said Rollison and paused, as if weighing every word. “His father did. His father is a sick man and by way of being a friend of mine. Let’s say a friend, anyhow.” His eyes were very bright and he seemed to be challenging her to reject all this. “And yet, I do want to find him for myself because I made a shocking mistake over him. I talked too much to his father. Ever paused to think you can never take back any word you’ve said? Trite but true and worth remembering.”

Until Rollison said “his father,” Judy had felt more relaxed than she had for twenty-nine days. From then on she had started to tense up again and now her nerves and her muscles were taut and her hands were clenched; she still held the letter.

She said: “Will you please go, Mr Rollison?”

“Not yet.”

“Then will you tell me the truth.”

“I have.”

“That’s another lie. Jim had no father.”

“That’s an illusion; he didn’t know he had a father living.” Rollison smiled faintly. “There’s something wrong about that “a father”, isn’t there?”