The highlight of the menu, however, was the world-famous and enormously popular Great Western Cheeseboard – the result of a hard-fought international legal action preventing other, lesser cheeses being designated as Cheddar. To be followed by coffee and mints. All washed down with only borderline-legal Great Western Cider, specially brewed to an ancient recipe by the farmers of Gloucestershire. Followed by a visit to A&E, presumably.

Yet another attendant murmured at Luke’s elbow. Apparently, his train, the Sir Francis Drake, awaited his presence. There was a brief tussle over who was to carry his newspaper, which the smiling attendant won, and Luke was escorted to his train and seated as carefully as if he were made of the most fragile substance known to man.

On the opposite platform, resplendent in her Great Western livery, the Dame Agatha Christie panted gently, impatient to be on her way.

The seat moulded itself to his contours as he watched the giant clock’s second-hand sweep dramatically to the hour. Doors slammed. Whistles sounded. Station staff windmilled their arms in gestures whose meaning could only be guessed at. At five seconds to go, the locomotive uttered the obligatory warning blast. People stepped back behind the safety line. And then, punctual to the second, the great engines rose to that familiar roar – and they were gone.

Mrs Tannhauser lived in a tiny house only half a mile from the station. The street was full of identical houses, all with lace curtains and faded paintwork and gleaming windows. Because poverty is acceptable when it’s spotless. Cleanliness makes poverty respectable. Luke felt a spurt of guilty anger. What business had someone like Orduroy belonging to a gambling club frequented by people with ten times his annual income? And probably estates in Hertfordshire, as well?

Ms Steel had prepared the ground well. They were expecting him. The door was opened by Orduroy’s sister. Here were Orduroy’s light amber eyes and dark skin, but while Orduroy’s eyes had sparkled with light and excitement, those of his sister were flat and dead.

They looked at each other and for a long moment he thought she wasn’t going to let him in after all. Then, wordlessly, she stepped aside. He carefully wiped his feet and entered.

The tiny house had long since been modernised. The walls had been knocked down to make one large room with access to a slightly overgrown garden at the rear. He wondered if it had been Orduroy who had cared for the garden. Or whether they just couldn’t be bothered any longer. That nothing was worth the effort now Orduroy was gone.

Photographs of Orduroy were everywhere. Orduroy as a baby with his older sister sitting solemnly alongside him. Orduroy in a school uniform. Orduroy slightly older in a different school uniform. Orduroy in cricket whites. Orduroy graduating with that familiar ear-to-ear smile. Orduroy posing proudly outside the city office where he worked. Had worked.