“I’d been suspicious of my father’s business methods over the years and the way things always tipped magically in my favour. It seemed a callous thing to do to interrogate him on his deathbed, but I went for it. I had to know the truth before he slipped away. He admitted he’d been pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes for the last few weeks concerning his state of health. He’d been bed-bound indeed, but lively enough to use the services of one of his secretaries who was allowed in every morning to ‘complete my plans before I pop my clogs,’ as he put it. When I pressed him, he admitted he’d paid an assassin he’d used on previous occasions to get rid of Fanshawe. ‘The go-between, the know-it-all lightweight who could be the biggest menace of them all,’ he said. ‘He’d have you dangling on his watch chain forever more, my lad. You’d never be clear of the scandal.’ He’d ordered Hardy to kill Fanshawe first, then deal with Dickie Dunne.”

“Leaving Hardy at liberty?” Redfyre was incredulous. “Your father can’t have been thinking very clearly.”

“My father was sharp right to the last. It would have entertained him no end to envisage a man-to-man fight to the death between the two men he most hated. He had calculated that, as ever, the captain would beat the lieutenant. If that was the outcome, he was home and dry. Captain Dunne had known the truth for twenty-four years: the theft, the betrayal, the false witness . . . The scandal would have sunk my father, but it would especially, in his eyes, have ruined any prospects of a political career for me, or indeed any place in civilised society. Blackballing from clubs, cold shoulders, invitations refused . . . You can imagine. Yet Dunne had taken no steps to share his knowledge with anyone. He was no threat. I think my father probably had it right, judging by the size of the knuckleduster Dunne was wearing on his right hand when he charged up to Hardy. He’d arrived prepared. Pity I hadn’t known.

“The last thing my father did was hand me this. He lifted the shopping bag. ‘You’ll lack for nothing, son,’ he said. ‘But I want you to have this. There’s a note inside.’ A note that turned the world upside down for me! Would you like to see it, Inspector?”

Would he refuse?

Digby emptied the contents of the bag on to the desk. Out slid a battered red-and-gold commemoration tin bearing the head of Queen Victoria.

“Take the lid off,” Digby told him.

On top was a folded sheet of paper, and underneath it, four chocolate bars. Not the original Fry’s, but a later Cadbury’s version of the queen’s largesse. Solemnly, Digby passed Redfyre a penknife. “Will you do the honours?” he said.