The young constable, old before his years and hardened to the vagaries of C.I.D. men, left without a word, slamming the door so hard that the house shook. Brady went and stood at the bottom of the stairs, but heard no sound until a door opened and Harold appeared buttoning his jacket on the way down.

‘What was all that then?’ he demanded. ‘Thought the house was falling down.’

‘Just my driver on his way out to the car. I think the wind caught the door. Ready to go?’

‘Whenever you are.’ Harold took down his raincoat and struggled into it as he made for the door. ‘Fame and fortune here I come. Who knows, I might be selling my story to the Sunday News before I’m finished.’

With an effort of will, Brady managed to stop himself from assisting him down the steps with a boot in the backside. Instead he took a deep breath and closed the door behind him with infinite gentleness. He was beginning to feel sorry for Harold’s mother.

It was chance more than anything else that led Miller to The King’s Arms after leaving Joanna Hartmann’s fiat. His quickest route back to Central C.I.D. took him along Lazer Street and the pub stood on the corner. It was the light in the rear window which caused him to brake suddenly. The landlord would have to be interviewed sooner or later to confirm the circumstances of Grace Packard’s meeting with Faulkner and Morgan, but there was no reason why that couldn’t wait till morning.

The real truth was that Miller was more interested in the disturbance that had taken place, the trouble with the girl’s boyfriend which Faulkner had hinted at. ‘Nothing I couldn’t handle,’ he had said. The sort of phrase Miller would have expected from some back street tearaway, indicating a pattern of violence unusual and disturbing in a man of Faulkner’s education and background.

He knocked on the back door and after a while it was opened on a chain and Harry Meadows peered out. He grinned his recognition for they were old friends.

‘What’s this then, a raid?’

Miller went on as Meadows unchained the door. ‘A few words of wisdom, Harry, that’s all.’

‘Nothing stronger?’

‘Only if you’ve got a cup of tea to put it in.’

‘Coming up.’

Miller unbuttoned his coat and went across to the fire. The kitchen was large, but cluttered with crates of bottled beer and cases of whisky. It was warm and homely with the remains of the supper still on the table and the old sofa on the other side of the fireplace looked very inviting.

‘See you’ve got another killing on your hands,’ Meadows said as he came back into the room with a mug of tea.

‘Where did you hear that?’