“You mean—” she was baffled.

“His name wasn’t—isn’t—Mellor. It’s the name of the family which finally adopted him. Oh, he was known as Jim Mellor, in the eyes of the law he was Jim Mellor, but his real name is Arden. You know it as his second name. His father came to me some time ago and asked me to find him and to prove his identity and afterwards I talked too freely. When I thought I’d found Jim I told the old man and mentioned what name he was living under. There’s quite a story. The family who looked after him for the old man passed him on to these Mellors. After I’d talked, there was a story in the newspapers about the murder and the hunt for Mellor. There was also panic among the old man’s friends for, as a result, he had a seizure. He’s over it now— or as much over it as he’ll ever be. He has an odd notion: that his son isn’t a murderer. He’s as stubborn and illogical about it as you are, with even less reason, because he hasn’t seen his son for twenty-six years. He wants to find him and prove himself right. Old men are like that. So, for different reasons, you and he are after the same thing. As I’m helping him, I don’t see why I shouldn’t help you.” He smiled again and leaned back against the desk. “Why did you go downstairs?”

*     *     *

Judy told Rollison, and showed him the letter, and explained about “Punch and Judy.” It was surprisingly easy to speak freely, to pour out the whole story. He was a good listener, intent on every word; and he let her finish before making any comment. She felt more relaxed than she had for nearly a month; this man’s visit was good for her. She wasn’t wholly convinced that he’d told her the truth because the story seemed fantastic: but she was glad he was here and that she could talk.

She said: “I’d just realised that Jim would never have written “Judy” when you rang the bell. There isn’t any doubt, he didn’t write that letter.”