‘ “By the time the jurors had retired to consider their verdict, we, hardened pressmen no less than the ordinary spectators, were enthralled by what we had witnessed and sat, conscious of the further drama now being enacted behind the closed doors of the jury-room where Arthur Howard’s life hung in the balance. To our astonishment, the accused stood up, turned round and smiled broadly at Vickers of the Daily Mail and myself. Howard stretched himself, then indicated the hard wooden bench he had been sitting on. ‘Why,’ he said, ‘am I like a railway engine? Answer: because I’ve got a tender behind.’ ” ’

Meredith paused.

‘The cracking of this schoolboy joke at such a moment, indicating his arrogant confidence and insensitivity, was quite characteristic of the man. Well . . . the jury returned after one hour forty-two minutes. The verdict was the Scots one of “not proven”. His counsel had managed to instil that reasonable doubt in the minds of the jurymen. Howard rose in the dock, glanced round the court as much as to say “What else?” and bent forward to shake hands with his counsel. The two juniors shook hands with him, but his chief counsel for the defence, it was noted, avoided doing so. Perhaps he had less doubt than the jury.

‘That same day, Friday, eleventh December eighteen-ninety-one, Howard, his secretary and those other members of his household who had testified, came back here.’ Meredith let his eyes roam slowly round the big dilapidated room. ‘One wonders what happened. It was scarcely an occasion for celebration – after all, Howard by all convention was still in mourning for his wife and there was always the well-known cynical sneer to be attached to that Scots verdict of “not proven” – “you’ve been found ‘not guilty’ but don’t do it again!” ’

The Wilsons found themselves speculating on the events of that December day so long ago when the acquitted man and his employees returned to Ardvreck House. Carol tried to visualize the heavy, overcrowded late Victorian décor, ornaments everywhere, walls covered with pictures in ornate frames, gas-light hissing gently – would there be gas up here? She didn’t know. Paul, intrigued by Meredith’s story, wondered what its relevance was.