She looked anywhere but at Alleyn. ‘You’re still confused,’ she said. ‘You mustn’t worry about it.’

‘But weren’t you, Miss Bracey? Down there? In front? Weren’t you?’

‘I don’t know when you mean, dear.’

‘Neither do I. Not quite sure. But you were there.’

‘I was in the downstairs foyer on Saturday night for a minute or two,’ she said loudly. ‘As I told the superintendent.’

‘Yeah, I know you were,’ Trevor said. ‘But where was I?’

‘You didn’t see me. You weren’t there. Don’t worry about it.’

‘I was. I was.’

‘I’d better go,’ she said and rose.

‘No,’ Trevor shouted. He brought his small fist down on the bed tray and Jeremy’s microcosms fell on their faces, ‘No! You’ve got to stay till I remember.’

‘I think you should stay, Miss Bracey,’ Alleyn said. ‘Really.’

She backed away from the bed. Trevor gave a little cry. ‘There!’ he said, ‘that’s it. That’s what you did. And you were looking up – at him. Looking up and backing away and kind of blubbing.’

‘Trevor, be quiet. Be quiet. You don’t know. You’ve forgotten.’

‘Like what you’re always doing, Miss Bracey. Chasing him. That’s right, isn’t it, Miss Bracey? Tagging old Harry. You’d come out of the downstairs lav and you looked up and saw him. And then the office door opened and it was Mr Morris and Mr Knight and you done – you did a quick skarper, Miss Bracey. And so did I! Back into the circle, smartly. I got it, now,’ Trevor said with infinite satisfaction. ‘I got it.’

‘How,’ Alleyn said, ‘did you know who he was? It must have been dark up there.’

‘Him? Harry? By his flash coat. Cripey, what a dazzler!’

‘It’s not true,’ she gabbled and stumbled across the room. She pawed at Alleyn’s coat. ‘It’s not true. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. It wasn’t Harry. Don’t listen. I swear it wasn’t Harry.’

‘You’re quite right,’ Alleyn said. ‘You thought it was Harry Grove but it was Jobbins you saw on the landing. Grove had given Jobbins his overcoat.’

Her hands continued for a second or two to scrabble at his coat and then fell away. She looked into his face and her own crumpled into a weeping mask.

Alleyn said: ‘You’ve been having a bad time. An awful time. But it will ease up. It won’t always be as bad as this.’

‘Let me go. Please let me go.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You may go now.’

And when she had gone, blowing her nose, squaring her shoulders and making, instinctively he supposed, quite an exit, he turned to Trevor and found him, with every sign of gratification, deep in his comics.

‘Do I have to see the others?’ he asked. ‘It’s getting a bit of a drag.’

‘Are you tired?’