“I couldn’t say.” According to Aaron’s hasty reading, such luminaries as Disraeli, Sir Walter Scott, and Robert Browning had believed in the power of graphology, but they were a pack of writers and not to be relied on for common sense. “I dare say one can draw some impressions from people’s handwriting, but not to the extent this fellow claims.”

“Mumbo-jumbo crystal ball stuff? Or is he the scientific type, and it’s all jargon?”

“Neither. Presents himself as a very plain, straightforward, normal sort of chap.”

“It’s a good trick if you can pull it off,” Hollis said. “Be a particularly good trick for this one: he’s a queer.”

Aaron took that in with a tiny judder of shock he hoped didn’t show. “Is that so? I wouldn’t have thought it.”

“Well, the magistrates certainly thought it. He was picked up for soliciting in a public convenience a couple of years ago. Did two months.”

That explained a certain amount of the attitude. “Hmph. Anything else?”

“Nothing I could find. Unremarkable war. Ambulance division in Flanders, invalided out in ’17. No other complaints against him. If he’s as good a fake as you say, he’s rather come out of nowhere.”

“Is that unusual?”

“The good ones tend to be splashy. You know, make a hit, get a clientele among the smart set, face in the papers, prices up.”

“He’s reached the smart set already,” Aaron said.

“Maybe you’ve caught him early, and we can pluck him before he ripens. What’s your interest? It’s not CID’s usual hunting ground.”

There was perhaps a bit of an edge to that, since the relationship between the uniformed division and CID tended to be prickly. “It’s not official interest at all. The fellow ruined my cousin’s engagement.” Aaron outlined Paul’s predicament. “I went to see what was what, and found him a bit too clever for my liking. But that was in a private capacity, of course, and as you say it’s not my area, so I thought I’d better bring him to your attention.” And that would teach Mr. Wildsmith to playact his Tell the police! scene.

“Fair enough,” Hollis said. “I’ll keep an eye out. How’s life in CID anyway?”

It was about as positive a result as Aaron could have hoped for, except for the news of Wildsmith’s proclivities. If the man knew who Aaron was—and he must, it was the only thing that made sense—and he was queer himself, and he’d come up with that business about self-control...

That didn’t add up to anything that made Aaron happy. His neck twinged.

He went back to see Paul that evening. “I’ve been following up your fellow. The graphologist.”

“I should hope so. I hope you plan to throw the book at him.”