They both contemplated that for a moment. Hollis took a long gulp of beer, and grimaced. “Hell’s bells, Fowler. Is he the real thing?”

“Do you have a better explanation?”

“Not at the moment. Well, well, well. Do you suppose we could use him in court?”

“I wouldn’t like to try it,” Aaron said. “No professional qualification, and the defence would insist on proof. As well they should.”

“Still, a useful man to have in the back pocket, as a consultant,” Hollis mused. “Off the record.”

Aaron had his doubts as to whether Wildsmith would do it. Then again, he needed the money, or at least wanted it. He didn’t voice that to Hollis, and they talked a little longer about Wildsmith’s accuracy, circling repeatedly back to any way he could have fixed it, concluding there simply wasn’t one.

Aaron wasn’t paying full attention. There were two thoughts occupying his mind to the exclusion of all else. One was that Joel Wildsmith was—impossibly, gloriously—the real thing. Not a liar or a manipulator or a fraud, but the bizarrely gifted, outrageously frank man he seemed.

The other was number seven.

“Well, this has been damned interesting,” Hollis said at last. “More things in heaven and earth, and all that.”

Aaron agreed with the sentiment. They finished their beers, and left the pub. Hollis walked off with a wave. Aaron went in the direction of the next pub that didn’t look crowded, bought himself a half he didn’t want, and sat at the table with the envelope in his hand.

He’d been assuming, or making himself assume, or perhaps simply praying, that either the case was a murder and number seven the guilty party, or that Wildsmith would be proved to be fraudulent, deluded, wrong. Either of those outcomes would be better than this one, which was that a terrifyingly accurate graphologist had identified one of Aaron’s colleagues as a moral imbecile and a probable murderer.

He’d told Hollis he’d taken number seven’s sample from a file. He’d lied. In fact what he had done was to ask Challice for a sample of her handwriting, and have her copy out a passage from the novel she was reading at lunch. A few colleagues had demanded what they were up to, and Aaron had given them a cover story since he had not wanted to explain the test to his colleagues. Wildsmith called him honest, and he hoped he was, but he wasn’t stupid.