“But not the only girl who might think about him,” he suggested, and aiming for an impression of efficiency, hauled a name up from the black box file. “One of your pupils, a Miss Amelia Bullen, I believe, was amorously involved with him?”

“Nuts about him! Completely barmy!”

“Do you remember what happened to her?”

“She’d been working here in Cambridge in a bookshop. To get away from a lonely life in the family home in Norfolk. An uncle of hers found her the position. After Chiqui was done to death, her parents insisted that she return home. That’s where she still is, I assume. Under lock and key, I shouldn’t wonder. I send her Christmas cards, but she never replies. We all know her ghastly old father was behind it. But you didn’t wait to hear my question. Are the police ever going to come up with the name of the man who actually stabbed him? I don’t like to think he’s at large out there in the town, perhaps serving me my half pound of cheddar, sitting next to me on the bus, signing on for dancing lessons—”

He cut her short. Tense and eager to be off, he said more than he ought. “Don’t worry, Dorine! Buy your cheese and take the bus with confidence! The most sinister face you’ll have to confront next dancing term will be mine! The knife man is dead. He can do no more damage. But tell me, this uncle of Amelia’s—do you know his name?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think I ever knew it. Sorry.”

As he shouldered his way through the crowd, a quick backward glance revealed the always disquieting sight of Earwig arm in arm with—should he be surprised?—his aunt Henrietta. Now, where had Hetty sprung from, and why had she not greeted him? Oh Lord! Had she seen him tangoing? Good manners stayed his step. He ought to go over and speak to her.

At that moment, the two women were approached by a third, and three heads began to nod and bob in eager exchange. Madame Dorine seemed to have things of import to convey. Ears burning, Redfyre groaned and hurried on.

Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Cambridge, Friday, the 23rd of May, 1924

Back at the station, he dashed into MacFarlane’s office.

“Quick, sir! I want you to take a look with me at the Chiqui file again. I’ve just been interviewing the person who identified the body, and—”

“Dressed like that! Have you been auditioning for the front line of the City Slickers Shoeshine Band? There’s the box. Help yourself.”

“The address of Amelia’s Bullen’s parents, the Earl and Countess of Brancaster . . .” He riffled quickly through. “Here it is. Melton Hall, near Kettlestone. Now, did Miss Wells manage to present the promised list of addresses and contacts for the dining group? She did? Good girl!”