‘Oh, yes.’ Harold glanced at Das curiously. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’m interested in one thing only,’ Das said. ‘Your mother’s welfare. In her present state of health she can’t stand shocks so I thought it better to be on hand.’

They all went into the living-room and Miller said, ‘I wonder whether you’d mind getting dressed, sir? We’d like you to come down to Central C.I.D. with us.’

‘I’ve already been there once,’ Harold said. ‘What is this?’

‘Nothing to get excited about, son,’ Brady said kindly. ‘One or two new facts have come up about the girl and Chief Superintendent Mallory thinks you might be able to help him, that’s all.’

‘All right then,’ Harold said. ‘Give me five minutes.’

He went out and Brady picked up the box of Canbutal capsules from the mantelpiece. ‘These are what she’s been taking,’ he said, holding them out to Miller.

Das took the box, opened it and spilled the capsules out on his palm. He frowned. ‘I gave her the prescription for these at two-thirty yesterday afternoon. She’s taken three since then.’ He put the capsules back into the box. ‘I think I’d better go up and see her.’

‘All right,’ Miller said. ‘I’ll come with you.’

‘Is that absolutely necessary?’

Miller nodded. ‘I must ask her to confirm Harold’s story – can’t avoid it. Better with you here surely.’

‘I suppose so. It might help for the present if you could handle it other than as a police enquiry though. Is there really any need to upset her at this stage?’

‘I’ll do what I can.’

Das obviously knew his way. They went up the stairs and he opened the door that stood directly opposite. The curtains were still half-drawn and the room was grey and sombre. The furniture was many years old, mainly heavy Victorian mahogany and the brass bed had now become a collector’s item if only its occupant had realized that fact.

She was propped against the pillows, eyes closed, head turned slightly to one side, the flesh drawn and tight across the bones of her face. Someone on the way out. Miller had seen it before and he knew the signs. Death was a tangible presence, waiting over there in the shadows to take her out of her misery like a good friend. Das sat on the bed and gently touched her shoulder. ‘Mrs Phillips?’

The eyes fluttered open, gazed at him blindly, closed. She took several deep breaths, opened her eyes again and smiled weakly. ‘Doctor Das.’

‘How are you today, Mrs Phillips. Little bit better?’

The Indian’s slightly sing-song voice was incredibly soothing carrying with it all the compassion and kindness in the world.

‘What day is it, Doctor?’ She was obviously muddled and bewildered, the effects of the drug, Miller surmised.

‘Sunday, my dear. Sunday morning.’