‘I can’t, Edie. I would if I could – but I can’t.’

‘Well, you know where I am if you need me.’

Edie was about to put on her coat when she stopped and held out her hand to Lydia. Something on her palm shone in the dim light.

‘I took this from Klara when we arrived at the hospital, for safekeeping. I know how easy it is for things to go AWOL in hospitals.’

‘Thank you.’ Lydia took the locket and chain. ‘Apparently it’s the only thing she has from her parents, so it’s very dear to her.’

‘I’ve seen one like it before, actually,’ Edie said. ‘Sweet little things. You think you’ve opened it up and you see the little photo or lock of hair or some other little memento, but then there’s this other tiny secret compartment.’

‘Really? Where?’

Edie took the locket back. ‘Here, this hairline, barely visible. Do you want me to see if I can prise it open? We might need a razor blade or a very finely honed knife.’

Lydia went into the kitchen. She opened a couple of drawers and came up with a slim little fruit knife. She handed it to Edie.

‘Here you are, try this.’

Edie removed her glasses and held the locket up to her eyes. In a few seconds she was holding the locket on the palm of her hand with a wide smile.

‘There we are. Open sesame!’

Lydia took the locket and peered at the new compartment. Something was etched there, but the letters were so tiny she couldn’t work it out. Edie dug into her handbag and produced a magnifying glass.

‘I always carry this thing for small print. My eyes aren’t what they were.’

‘Thank you. Now then, let’s have a look.’

Lydia moved the glass back and forth until she had it precisely focused. Finally, she could see it clearly: two sets of initials in a finely wrought Gothic script. On one side, GR, on the other AH.

*

Wilde slipped out of the back of the college and made his way up to St Andrew’s Street. The snow was swirling but not quite settling. In his rooms he had an officer’s greatcoat from the First World War, a thing he had picked up at Christmas 1939 after so much of his clothing and property was lost in the fire that destroyed his house. The coat was old and tattered, but warm – a handy thing to keep in college for bitter days such as these. Now he was wrapped up in it, his hands deep in the pockets, the gun firmly gripped in one of them. He had checked the chamber; there were two rounds left.