Fair said she wouldn’t, and Dark said she would, so I went off into the kitchen to fetch a mug, all the time wondering what on earth had led two police constables to be sitting in my living room, side by side on my sofa. I delivered the tea and sat in the armchair facing them. ‘What’s this about?’ I asked.

‘Are you acquainted with Mrs Verbena Clarke?’ Fair did the talking, whilst Dark clutched her tea.

I felt a stirring of disquiet immediately. ‘Yes, I’ve known her for about two years. I clean for her once week.’

‘It’s just that there appears to have been a robbery. Certain valuable items have gone missing from Mrs Clarke’s home, and an amount of cash and she—’

‘Hold on, just a moment!’ I held up a hand. ‘She’s not accusing me …?’

‘Not at all! Let’s be absolutely clear about that,’ Fair said hastily, so hastily in fact, that I didn’t believe her for a moment. ‘It’s just that Mrs Clarke can’t be certain exactly when these items went missing, and as you were there on … Tuesday, was it …?’ − she glanced down at her notebook − ‘She wondered if you might be able to help.’

I wondered why, if she wanted my help, Mrs Clarke couldn’t have phoned and asked me herself, but I didn’t say so. ‘You said there appeared to have been a robbery?’

‘There was no sign of a break-in but a quantity of cash was taken from her wallet.’

‘She does leave it lying around.’ Whenever we went through the ritual of my payment, Verbena had to search for the blasted thing and it was usually to be found lying on the coffee table, or the breakfast table, or one of the kitchen worktops. ‘She never locks her back door, either.’

‘She did admit to that fact,’ the blonde officer went on. ‘She thinks that the thief might have stolen it whilst she was working in her studio. I understand it’s separate from the main building, across the courtyard, in what was the old stable block.’

‘And those windows don’t face the courtyard,’ I added. ‘It would be easy enough for someone to sneak in without her seeing them. But it doesn’t make sense, does it? Why take the cash, not the whole wallet?’

The constable shrugged. ‘Credit cards aren’t much use to a homeless person. Drug addicts are only interested in cash. But also,’ she went on, ‘certain items were taken from upstairs.’

‘Can you tell us, Juno,’ Dark Hair spoke up, leaning forward and fixing me with grey eyes, her mug still clutched in her hand, ‘whether you noticed anything unusual on Tuesday?’

‘Well, a new dresser had just been delivered,’ I told her.

‘The man who delivered it didn’t go upstairs,’ she responded, staring at me. ‘You did.’