The strength of enjoyment derived is inversely proportional to the quantity of words on the page.

Page 14 contained no text at all; my joy was unbridled.

But I continue to persevere: my long-term future at book group depends on it. Also, I can’t help thinking that somewhere in this book is the key to help me unlock the mystery of Toby Salt’s disappearance.

Wednesday October 24th

While they rummaged around in my shed, I continued my online scavenging for clues. I became distracted and was in the middle of creating a poem out of suggested Google searches when they returned.

Sergeant Tuck, in particular, seemed most interested in what I’d written so far:

How can a poet make money?

How far can the human eye see?

How can I fill my dog up?

How soon is now? Search me.

Why does Gatsby stop giving parties?

Why am I always hungry?

Why is the carpet all wet, Todd?

Why do goats faint? Search me.

‘These are all Google searches, you say?’ he asked.

‘Yes, that’s right. If you type in the first couple of words, Google offers you a list of previous searches other users have made that begin with those same words. I’m selecting the lines for my poem out of those.’

‘That’s quite experimental.’

‘It’s called a “found” poem,’ I told him. ‘That’s when you apply words from a non-poetic context and—’

‘Right, that’s enough!’ shouted DI Lansbury. He looked fed up. His beard was looking slightly bedraggled today. The search of my shed had obviously not gone quite as he’d hoped.

‘Well, your shed all seems to be in order, sir.’

Inwardly I breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Although there were a couple of things . . .’

Inwardly I unbreathed my sigh of relief.

‘It appears you’ve recently had a window repaired. I notice that the glass does not match the frames of the others. Glass broken in some kind of struggle, perhaps? A violent altercation?’

‘Gibbon.’

DI Lansbury laughed contemptuously. ‘With all respect, sir, do you really expect me to belie—’

‘Edward Gibbon, sir,’ interrupted Sergeant Tuck. ‘Author of The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Mr Bilston threw it at the window on 20th June. It’s in his diary. It was Volume III, if I remember correctly.’

‘Thank you, Sergeant,’ said DI Lansbury, even more peeved. ‘Just one more thing. On the subject of books, we found this on your shelves. We thought it a somewhat unusual addition to your garden library.’

From out of his pocket, he produced A Surgeon in her Stocking by Tina Solomon.

My stomach lurched.

‘An unusual book,’ he continued, ‘for someone so apparently erudite as yourself, sir.’

‘Well, we all need a day off occasionally,’ I replied, with a nervous laugh. The inspector eyed me closely.