‘Oh, yes. It was late by then. I’m surprised he let me in, but he did. Only this time, I lost my temper. I told him I wouldn’t be cheated, I threatened him with the police. He laughed. He said I couldn’t prove it. I couldn’t prove that the netsuke was mine …’ He shook his head. ‘If there had been any doubt in my mind up until that moment, now I knew he had stolen it deliberately. And he dismissed me … in that way he had … as if I was nothing, and turned his back on me. We were standing by the fireplace and—Dear God, Juno,’ he stared at me wretchedly. ‘I don’t even remember picking up the damn candlestick.’

I took his hand and squeezed it. ‘Go on.’

‘I must have hit him. Just once, that’s all it took. I stood there, clutching the thing, looking down at him, at his skull. I knew that I’d killed him. It was as if I’d turned to stone, standing there watching blood spreading out from under his head. Then I took a step back, before it could touch my shoes.

‘I backed out of the room, tried to remember what I’d touched. There was a handkerchief in my pocket. I began rubbing at the bannister, and at the door and then I realised, I’d been in the flat so often that my fingerprints couldn’t incriminate me, unless …’

‘Unless they were covered in blood.’ I had to look away.

‘I had to be careful.’ He smiled, almost innocently. ‘I used the handkerchief on the lock when I opened the front door and let myself out. It wasn’t till later I realised I’d no memory of the door clicking closed behind me. But it was too late then. I couldn’t risk going back.’

‘What happened to the candlestick?’