It was a full hour before the receptionist walked over to him and woke him gently with a tap on his shoulder. “That’s Mr. Trenchard ready for visitors now.”

Maxwell pushed himself to his feet. “Thank you. Which way do I go?”

The receptionist gave him directions and he set off hurriedly along the corridor towards the ward. Not only was he desperate to see Trenchard’s reaction to his revelations, but he was also keen to get back to the office before Bentwood saw fit to move him to a “lesser” office.

The staff nurse waylaid him at the entrance to the ward. “The doctor has requested that only family should be visiting Mr. Trenchard for the time being,” she said.

“I quite understand that. It’s just that I’m a very old friend and I was just passing through Inverness on my way up north. I promise that I’ll only stay for a couple of minutes.”

The staff nurse smiled and led him to Patrick’s bed.

Maxwell was delighted to see just how ill Patrick Trenchard was. He lay prostrate on the bed, his mouth and nose covered by an oxygen mask, and his eyes flickered open and shut in synchronisation with the effort of his breathing. He was a mere shadow of the loud-mouthed braggart with whom Maxwell had had dealings in the past. He leaned over Patrick and grinned into his face. He saw a stirring of recognition in the wrinkles on his forehead.

“I bet you’re surprised to see me, aren’t you, Trenchard?” he said in a quiet voice.

He detected a slight narrowing of Patrick’s eyes.

“I am really sorry to see you like this, Trenchard. Never mind, you’ll soon be up and about, won’t you?”

Patrick turned his head slowly as if trying to look for the bell.

“No, no, we don’t want to call the nurse, do we? Not yet anyway.” Maxwell looked around and saw a chair against the wall opposite. He went over and picked it up and brought it over to Patrick’s bedside and sat down.

“So how is your friend Dan Porter? Been stacking any more cars recently, has he?”

He witnessed a slight stretching to Patrick’s mouth.