Harry Faulkner’s house was in St Martin’s Wood, an exclusive residential area not far from Nick’s own home. It was a late Victorian mansion set back from the road in a couple of acres of ground. The whole place was a blaze of lights and there were so many cars in the drive he found difficulty in parking.

He mounted the wide steps to the porch and rang the front door bell, but there was no reply. After a while, he tried the ornate bronze handle. The door opened to his touch and he went inside.

The house seemed to be full of people. The hall was crowded with them and couples sat all the way up the stairs, most of them with glasses in their hands.

And every bed occupied, he thought to himself wryly.

He took off his cap and coat, left them on a walking stick rack in the porch and pushed his way through the crowd towards the sound of a driving piano with rhythm and bass accompaniment that was somehow familiar.

He found himself in the entrance to a long, narrow room flanked by French windows to the terrace outside.

It had a beautifully polished parquet floor, obviously specially laid for dancing and was as crowded as the hall outside.

Chuck Lazer sat at a baby grand in a corner opposite the bar at the far end. Nick was just about to push his way towards him, when he felt a tap on the shoulder and turned quickly.

A tall, heavily built man in his thirties faced him, a polite smile on his face. He wore a dinner jacket that had been cut by someone who knew what he was doing, but the slightly crooked line of the nose and the hard eyes made Nick immediately wary.

‘I saw you come in, sir. Is there something I can do for you?’

‘And who might you be?’

‘Craig, sir. Mr Faulkner’s manservant.’

Nick almost laughed out loud. ‘I’d like to see Mrs Faulkner. Do you know where she is?’

‘She’s rather busy right now, sir. Was it something important?’

Nick took out his warrant card. ‘I think you’ll find she’ll come running when you tell her who it is.’

The smile disappeared, the eyes seemed harder than ever. ‘If you’d come this way.’

Nick followed him through the crowd along the hall. Craig paused outside a door, took a key from his pocket and opened it. ‘Mr Faulkner’s study, Sergeant. If you’ll wait in here, I’ll fetch Mrs Faulkner. I believe she’s in the kitchen checking on the supper.’