‘Right down to his Old Etonian tie.’ Miller suppressed a strong desire to burst into laughter. ‘He’s leaning on Chuck Lazer.’

‘He’s what?’ Grant said incredulously.

‘It’s true enough,’ Miller said. ‘I was chatting to Lazer in the Square outside his place when Vernon turned up with a couple of heavies named Carver and Stratton. No comic Vaudeville act those two, believe me. Vernon wants a piece of the Berkley Club. He’ll pay for it of course, all nice and legal, but Chuck Lazer better play ball or else …’

Grant was a different man as he flicked one of the switches on his intercom. ‘Records? Get on to C.R.O. in London at once. I want everything they’ve got on Max Vernon and two men now working for him called Carver and Stratton. Top priority.’

He turned back to Miller. ‘What happened?’

‘Nothing much. Vernon didn’t say anything in the slightest way incriminating. On the face of it, he’s making a perfectly legitimate business offer.’

‘Did he know who you were?’

‘Not until Lazer introduced us.’

Grant got up and walked to the window. ‘I don’t like the sound of this at all.’

‘It certainly raises interesting possibilities,’ Miller said. ‘Those houses Faulkner was running in Gascoigne Square. His call-girl racket. Has Vernon taken those over too?’

‘An intriguing thought.’ Grant sighed heavily. ‘It never rains but it pours. Try and look in this afternoon at about three. I should have heard from C.R.O. by then.’

When Miller went back into the main C.I.D. room a young P.C. was hovering beside his desk. ‘I took a message for you while you were in with the Super, Sergeant.’

‘Who from?’

‘Jack Brady. He said he was ringing from St Gemma’s Roman Catholic Church in Walthamgate. He’d like you to join him there as soon as you can.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Yes – he said to tell you that he thinks he’s traced the girl.’

The lights in the little church were very dim and down by the altar the candles flickered and the figure of the Virgin in the chapel to one side seemed to float there in the darkness.

For Miller, this was unfamiliar territory and he paused, waiting as Jack Brady dipped a knee, crossing himself reverently. The man they had come to see knelt in prayer at the altar and when he got to his feet and came towards them, Miller saw that he was very old, the hair silvery in the subdued light.

Brady made the introductions. ‘Father Ryan, this is Detective Sergeant Nick Miller.’