Faulkner looked as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He stood in front of the desk, trenchcoat draped from his shoulders like a cloak, hands pushed negligently into his pockets.

Mallory busied himself with his pipe. When it was going to his satisfaction, he blew out the match and looked up. ‘Mr Faulkner, I have here a full and complete confession to the murder of Grace Packard signed by Harold Phillips. What have you got to say to that?’

‘Only that it would appear that I must now add a gift for prophecy to the list of my virtues,’ Faulkner said calmly.

Morgan came forward quickly. ‘Is this true, Superintendent?’

‘It certainly is. We’ve even managed to turn up the ten-pound note your client gave the girl. Young Phillips changed it at the station buffet before going home.’

Morgan turned on Faulkner, his face white and strained. ‘What in the hell have you been playing at, for God’s sake? You told us that you killed Grace Packard.’

‘Did I?’ Faulkner shrugged. ‘The other way about as I remember it. You told me.’ He turned to Mallory. ‘Mr Morgan, like all lawyers, Superintendent, has a tendency to believe his own arguments. Once he’d made up his mind I was the culprit, he couldn’t help but find proof everywhere he looked.’

‘Are you trying to say you’ve just been playing the bloody fool as usual?’ Morgan pulled him round angrily. ‘Don’t you realize what you’ve done to Joanna?’

‘She had a choice. She could have believed in me. She took your road.’ Faulkner seemed completely unconcerned. ‘I’m sure you’ll be very happy together. Can I go now, Superintendent?’

‘I think that might be advisable,’ Mallory said.

Faulkner turned in the doorway, the old sneer lifting the corner of his mouth as he glanced at Miller. ‘Sorry about that promotion – better luck next time.’

After he had gone there was something of a silence. Morgan just stood there, staring wildly into space. Quite suddenly he turned and rushed out without a word.

Miller stood at the window for a long moment, staring down into the rain. He saw Faulkner come out of the main entrance and go down the steps. He paused at the bottom to button his trenchcoat, face lifted to the rain, then walked rapidly away. Morgan appeared a moment later. He watched Faulkner go then hailed a taxi from the rank across the street.

Miller took out his wallet, produced a pound note and laid it on Mallory’s desk. ‘I was wrong,’ he said simply.

Mallory nodded. ‘You were, but I won’t hold that against you. In my opinion Faulkner’s probably just about as unbalanced as it’s possible to be and still walk free. He’d impair anyone’s judgement.’

‘Nice of you to put it that way, but I was still wrong.’

‘Never mind.’ Mallory stood up and reached for his coat. ‘If you can think of anywhere decent that will still be open on a Sunday afternoon I’ll buy you a late lunch out of my ill-gotten gains.’