Deep down, I knew that I’d been offered the job more out of pity for a now-crippled former champion jockey rather than in any expectation of me doing any real detecting. However, with the dramatic intervention of Charles Roland, I had been thrown into a situation where I’d had no choice but to investigate and, furthermore, I’d discovered that I had a flair for it.

Jump jockeys are renowned for accepting risks—without taking them they would never win anything—and that was the same attitude I employed in my pursuit of the wrongdoers, with no real concern for my own safety. So much so that, in fact, I had earned a bit of a reputation. In the criminal underworld it became well known that attacking Sid Halley in an attempt to stop him investigating something would be counterproductive—the harder you hit him, the harder he would come after you.

Only with the arrival of Marina in my life had things begun to change, and that was because the criminals had started hitting her instead. Whereas I could bear injuries to my own body—I had got used to those from racing falls—I couldn’t stand by and watch my girlfriend having her head split open.

So I had stopped my investigating and spent my time sitting at a desk, risking only my money rather than my own body, and those of my loved ones.

Only once had I come out of this self-imposed isolation, to deal with the Irish terrorist, and then I had immediately returned to my hermit-like existence. It’s what Marina had wanted—at least she had said so, loudly and often. She had constantly urged me to quit my investigating for the safety of her and Saskia.

So I had.

But it had obviously made Sid Halley rather a dull boy, and now Marina had left me. Would a return to the risk-taking, swashbuckling, superman-like Sid Halley, the ultimate symbol of truth, justice and hope, be more attractive to her as a mate?

Only one way to find out.

‘All right, I’ll come,’ I’d said, wondering if I was doing the right thing. ‘But I make no promises. If I feel that the police are more appropriate to carry out the investigation, we’ll leave it to them, okay?’

‘Attaboy.’

I could almost hear his smile coming down the line.

‘So how do I find you?’

‘How well do you know Middleham?’

‘Not at all. I went there a couple of times when I was riding but haven’t been since.’

‘Come to the marketplace and then take the road signposted towards Coverham. About three-quarters of a mile out of town there’s a big pond on your right. It’s called Pinker’s Pond. You can’t miss it. I’ll meet you there at noon. What sort of car do you drive?’

‘A dark-blue Discovery Sport.’

‘With that fancy number plate of yours?’