Nick took it off with a slight smile. ‘This, sir? It’s what the Germans call a Schildtmütze. Everyone will be wearing them soon.’

‘God save us from that,’ Grant said, sitting behind his desk.

‘Something wrong, sir?’

‘Oh, no, if you want to go around looking like one of those burks who stands behind the good-looking bird in the adverts in the women’s magazines, good luck to you.’

‘As a matter of fact, that’s exactly how I do want to look, sir,’ Nick replied calmly.

Grant glanced up sharply, suddenly conscious that he was being taken by this supremely confident young man and discovering at the same moment – and this was the most surprising thing of all – that he didn’t really mind.

He started to smile and Nick smiled right back at him.

‘All right, damn you, one point each. Now sit down and let’s get started.’

Nick unbuttoned his coat, sat in the chair opposite and lit a cigarette as Grant continued. ‘Brady’s getting you all the files you’ll need for background on this one, but these are the main facts. Nine years ago, Ben Garvald, one of our better known citizens, went down the steps for a ten stretch. He was released from Wandsworth yesterday morning.’

‘And you’re expecting him back?’

‘His wife is, his ex-wife I should say. That’s Bella Garvald. She divorced Ben and married Harry Faulkner five years ago.’

‘Harry Faulkner the bookie?’

‘Never let him hear you call him that, son. Turf Accountant sounds better. He hasn’t soiled his hands with a ready money bet in years. Got his fingers in all sorts of pies these days. Even runs his own football pool.’

‘That isn’t all he runs,’ Nick said. ‘From what I remember when I was on the pavement in Central Division, he owned half the cat houses in Gascoigne Square.’

Grant shook his head quickly. ‘Try proving it, and in any case, that isn’t what we’re interested in tonight. It’s Ben Garvald we’re after.’

‘He’s in town?’

‘That’s what I want you to find out and in a hurry. Apparently he made the usual threats to his wife when the divorce went through. She’s afraid he’s going to show up and spoil her rich full life. Especially tonight. She’s throwing a big party for Harry at their place in St Martin’s Wood. It’s his birthday.’

‘How touching,’ Nick said. ‘She’s made an official complaint?’

‘Her sister has. That’s a Jean Fleming. She’s a teacher. Runs her own prep school in Oakdene on the York Road near the city boundary.’

Nick had pulled Grant’s desk pad forward and was making rapid notes and now he looked up sharply, a frown on his face. ‘Fleming – Jean and Bella Fleming. I wonder if they could be the same?’