‘Looks like a hit and run. We had an anonymous 999 call, but that doesn’t mean anything. Probably some good citizen who didn’t want to dirty his hands by getting mixed up in police business.’ He sighed. ‘What a night. A factory break-in at Maske Lane that’ll push the crime figures up by £7,000 at least. God knows how many smash and grabs in the fog, three robberies with assault, obviously the same artist, and one attempted rape. On top of that, this Brady business.’

‘How is he?’

‘There’s the preliminary report if you’re interested.’

‘It doesn’t look too good, does it?’ Nick said, handing the casualty report back to Grant.

‘They turned out a consultant and I had a word with him after his examination. Apparently the skull fracture’s the only really serious part. The rest is just trimmings. As things are at the moment, he doesn’t see why Jack shouldn’t pull through.’ He sighed and applied another match to his pipe. ‘I’d like to know what he was doing in Canal Street, though.’

Nick crushed his cigarette into the ashtray. ‘Did you know that after leaving here, he went looking for Ben Garvald?’

Grant stared at him blankly, a look of genuine amazement on his face. ‘What in the hell are you talking about? Ben Garvald is your pigeon.’

‘Which didn’t stop Brady visiting the Flamingo before me to ask Fred Manton if Garvald had been around.’

‘You’re sure about this?’

‘Manton told me himself.’ Nick shrugged. ‘I can’t see any reason for him to lie.’

Grant frowned heavily, his teeth clamped hard on the stem of his pipe. ‘I wonder what Jack was playing at?’

‘I think it’s simple enough,’ Nick said. ‘He finds me pretty hard to take. Perhaps he thought he’d be proving something if he got to Garvald first.’

Grant sighed heavily. ‘You could be right. In any case, we won’t know anything for sure until he regains consciousness.’

‘What about the car that hit him?’

‘A needle in a haystack on a night like this, but we’ll find it, never fear.’ Grant applied yet another match to the bowl of his pipe. ‘You’d better fill me in on what you’ve been up to. You’ve certainly stamped good and hard on somebody’s toes when they go to the expense of putting Charlie Foster and his gallant band on to you.’

Nick filled in the details quickly, leaving nothing out. When he was finished, Grant sat there, a frown on his weatherbeaten face.

‘What do you think?’ Nick asked after a while.

‘I think it stinks,’ Grant said, ‘to high heaven. When you get cautious birds like Fred Manton and Harry Faulkner allowing themselves to be dragged down, there must be a reason.’ He stood up abruptly. ‘Find Ben Garvald, Miller. He’s the key.’