And there it lay half suspended, yellow flowers on a blue background.

There was no tear in the cloth: Latimer had chosen this one from the wardrobe, from the rack of identical items, a supply for later times, perhaps.

The dress shivered in the old lady’s grip. Her hands were shaking.

Mary Estelle Graves was crying.

She said, or barely said, or tried to say: ‘Adeline.’

Hobbes didn’t catch it at first, and he asked her to repeat the name.

She did so, a little louder: ‘Adeline.’

The name trembled in her mouth, as the dress trembled in her hands.

Latimer made to speak, but Hobbes stopped her with a raised hand, not wanting to break the mood.

So he waited.

Suddenly the rain came down hard, turning the windows into a series of grey sheets. The air inside the lounge darkened. Mary Estelle turned to the sight. Her lips were tightly closed. Her hands let go of the dress, and it fell to the floor.

Then she stood. ‘Inspector, would you accompany me?’

‘Where to?’

‘Just to walk a little way.’

‘Of course.’

He stood up, and Latimer did as well. But Mary Estelle shook her head. ‘Please, the gentleman alone. If you wouldn’t mind?’

Latimer shrugged. She bent down to retrieve the dress and said, in a low voice, ‘You go off and enjoy yourself, Guv. I’ll have a poke around, ask a few questions.’

‘OK. I think you’ve got the better job.’

‘Inspector? If you would …’

A harsh note had crept into Mary Estelle’s usual politeness. Hobbes went to her. She slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow, and they set off at a sedate pace. Hobbes had to take far shorter steps than he was accustomed to. In this fashion, they made their way to a corridor.

‘It would be nice if we could walk around the garden. But this weather … I think God is punishing us.’

‘Perhaps you’re right.’

‘I wonder what our crime is? Pride, I shouldn’t wonder.’ She frowned. ‘I often think of what the coming months will bring.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘At my age, Inspector, every winter might be the last.’

He was tempted to say something of denial, but he stopped himself: he had the impression that this woman had time only for the truth, whatever that might mean, given her current circumstances and the extent of her mind.

They walked on in silence for a while, turning a corner into another corridor. It was a large building, and members of staff passed them, often with other residents in hand. Many of them smiled and nodded at her.

At last they came to a doorway, where she stopped and said, ‘This is my room. Will you come in? It isn’t much, I’m afraid.’ She pushed open the door and entered. Hobbes followed. The smell was evident, as soon as he stepped inside: sweet and tangible, a scent he had experienced before. It took him only a moment to work it out. Midnight In Paris. The same perfume they had found on the table in Leonard Graves’s house. A few bottles of it lined a small shelf next to the bed. Mary Estelle sat down in a wicker chair, and gestured for Hobbes to close the door. He did so, then perched on a stool next to the dressing-table. He noticed that her spectacles were decorated with tiny diamonds along the arched brows.