He wouldn’t be done, though. His house in Scotland was waiting for him. He owed it to the Chief and Monty to get that house. All that money wasn’t going to be given up just because she’d gone and got things wrong again. There were ways. Like putting the dog on the leash and taking him back across the road by the Whitestone Pond. He’d be safe then. And so by that time, thought Dick, would his owner who was already stirring and moaning. Or he could put him in the car. God knew, he was gentle enough, utterly trusting, not suspecting what Dick had done, was going to do . . . And then? Kill the man and take the dead man’s dog home? Be seen with the dog in his car? That was a laugh. Tie him up to a lamp-post? He’d never in his life tied up a dog and he wasn’t going to start now.

A cold despair took hold of him. He bore the dog no malice, felt for him no anger, nothing more than the helpless resignation of a father whose child has come into a room and interrupted his love-making. The child comes first – inevitably.

Slowly he put away the cord. He lifted the silver head roughly and the man groaned. There had been a hard metal object in the pocket where the leash was, a brandy flask. Dick uncapped it and poured some of the liquid down the man’s throat. The hound watched, thumping its tail.

‘Where – where am I? Wha – what happened?’

Dick didn’t bother to answer him.

‘I had a – a bang on the head. God, my head’s sore. I was mugged, was I?’ He felt in his pocket and scrabbled with a wallet. ‘Not touched, thank God. I’ll – I’ll try to sit up. God, that’s better. Where’s Bruce? Oh, there he is. Good boy, Bruce. I’m glad he’s all right.’

‘He’s a fine dog,’ Dick said remotely, and then, ‘Come on, you’d better hang on to me. I’ve got a car.’

‘You’re most kind, most kind. What a blessing for me you came along when you did.’

Dick said nothing. He almost heaved when the man clung to his arm and leant on him. Bruce anchored to his leash, they set off down the steps to the car. It was a relief to be free of that touch, that solid weight that smelt of the sweat of terror. Dick got Bruce on to the back seat and stroked him, murmuring reassuring words.

The house he was directed to was a big one, almost a mansion on the East Heath. Lights blazed in its windows. Dick hauled the man out and propelled him up to the front door, leaving Bruce to follow. He rang the bell and a uniformed maid answered it. Behind her, in the hall, stood a tall young woman in evening dress.

She spoke the one word ‘Father!’ and her voice was sick with dismay. But it was the same voice. He recognized it just as she recognized his when, turning away from the glimpse of wealth in that hall, he said, ‘I’ll be off now.’