A spook? Caught up somewhere? Had the RAF done someone a favor by bringing him home? The mystery seemed bound to the absence of anyone to receive him. But it didn’t solve the problem they faced. Hughes replaced the lid, then opened the cardboard box and looked through the dead man’s belongings.

They were divided into clear evidence bags marked POLICE PROPERTY. No indication which police. Included among them were several meters of thin yellow cable. It took Hughes a second to realize what it was. The cable had been severed twice: once above the knot, once across the noose, exposing copper wiring inside. He tutted.

Other bags contained more clothes, a small guitar that Trafford said was a ukulele, and finally a wallet. Governmental ID in the wallet gave them an identification at last: Rory Bannatyne, Engineering Consultant, UK Government Infrastructure and Projects Authority.

“Works for the government,” Hughes said.

“On time travel?” Trafford asked. “Look at this.”

Money had spilled from the clothing: small change and one crumpled note. Trafford flattened the note in his palm.

A young Queen Elizabeth II gazed up. The paper was cherry red. It looked like money from the 1940s or 1950s: Elizabeth II with her life and half the twentieth century ahead of her. On the reverse, the ten-pound note bore a technicolor sunset and two old sailing ships cruising toward the watermark.

“He’s come from the past.”

The coins, likewise, were definitely sterling, but unlike any Hughes had seen before. The ten-pence piece was larger than current ones, and had dolphins on the tail side. A two-pence piece bore the image of a donkey carrying wood on its back.

Finally, among some books and toiletries, they found a postcard, stamped and addressed to a “Nicola Bannatyne” but with no message written. The front showed a landscape of black rock and the name Ascension Island.

“Where’s Ascension?” Trafford said.

But his colleague had been distracted by the rapid clip of a woman’s heels. They turned to see her enter: tall with an air of civilian seniority, her long brown hair tied back, flanked by two Force Protection officers.

As she drew closer you could see she was flustered, looking ahead of her to the coffin as if late for an appointment and ready to burst into apology.

None came their way. The older of the accompanying officers told Hughes and Trafford they were dismissed. Trafford raised an eyebrow at Hughes and marched off. Hughes looked at the coffin for a final time. He didn’t feel confident the body was about to get the respect it deserved. But this was not his problem anymore.