“We identified this one quite quickly. His wife came to the desk at the station and reported him missing by lunchtime. Ernest Jessup. Working for a London firm of accountants. Big one. Ernest had brought his wife up with him on a remembrance weekend. A sort of keep-their-memories-bright reunion with old army pals. Cambridge this year because of the unveiling of the monument, which he’d duly attended that morning while his wife visited the shops. Mrs. Jessup was distraught, of course, and keen to be of assistance, but not very helpful. She didn’t know her husband’s army friends, wasn’t interested in that part of his life at all. Couldn’t consign the war and all who fought in it to the dust soon enough! She’d been lured to Cambridge with the promise of a trip to the theatre. She’d chosen a ‘Music Box Revue’ at the playhouse. It started at six. The husband left her half an hour later, sliding out, saying he felt a bit queasy. He’d come back before the end to walk her back to their hotel, he promised her.

“No surprises there—he’d done it before. He got bored and fidgety after five minutes. Claimed he couldn’t stand confined spaces. But Mrs. J. claimed the only confined space that affected her husband was the one between his ears, though other parts of his anatomy came in for their share of criticism. Mrs. Jessup had remained at the show because she was having a good time and preferred to stay there on her own rather than have her gloomy husband ruin a perfectly good evening. Strapping lass, well able to take care of herself. Bit of a good-time girl before matrimony set in, I should judge. I gathered that all was not well in that ménage.

“Before you ask, Redfyre—yes, she did stay on for the whole performance. No chance she followed him out and did something lethal to him round the back of the war memorial.” He paused for a moment, mouth twisting briefly in distaste. “Ahem! We know that because she ordered up two gin and tonics for the interval and the steward delivered them to her seat.”

“The other seat remained unoccupied?”

“Oh yes. Right through from conjurer to audience sing-along finale, she was alone. The steward was quite certain on that point. He’d been keeping an eye out. Probably fancied his chances . . . Anyhow, the husband didn’t reappear. She stomped off back to the hotel for a gin-induced good night’s slumber and came to report him to us as missing next morning. She identified him from one of the prints we’d had rushed through. Shrieks and screams!”

“Did she give anything away at all?”