“You’re telling me this, why?”

“I’m telling you because you might think you’re a very clever man and a big player in their game, but in reality you’re not. You’re not a match for these people, and you could get yourself very badly hurt, or even killed, if you continue playing at their table. To put it simply, they eat people like you for breakfast.”

Blaydon stood. He wasn’t very tall, Banks noticed, and quite slight in build, but he possessed a kind of wired, nervous energy. “Thank you for your concern, Superintendent,” he said, then bowed toward Annie. “And DI Cabbot, too, of course. I will certainly bear what you said in mind should I find myself approached by any of the people you mention.”

“You do that, Mr. Blaydon,” said Banks. “And there’s no need to bother Jeeves. We’ll find our own way out.”

THE PUB was separated from the houses on both sides by narrow alleys that led through to the next street, and it stood a short distance back from the pavement. There were a few benches and wooden tables with umbrellas out front, for those who wished to enjoy their drinks and have a smoke in the sunlight. By the doors, a blackboard listed the specials of the day. The sagging roof and weathered beams that framed the whitewashed facade showed the pub’s age, and colorful hanging baskets and window boxes gave it a welcoming atmosphere. As it happened, the inside was just as pleasant, with its light pine tables, brass and polished surfaces.

The young barman smiled as Zelda approached the bar and picked up a menu. She asked him for a small glass of Pinot Grigio while she studied it. By the time he delivered her drink, she had decided on the grilled sole and Greek salad. By the way he blushed when he handed her the drink, Zelda could tell he was in love with her already. Well, perhaps not love. She waited at the bar and sipped her wine while he passed her order on to the kitchen. He seemed surprised to see her still standing there when he returned and asked where she wanted to sit. There were plenty of empty tables, and she pointed to one behind her, in his direct view.

“I notice there’s been a fire,” she said, gesturing over her shoulder. “Just up the street there.”

“Yes,” he said. “Terrible business. Poor fellow died.”

“Did you know him?”

“I wouldn’t say I knew him, but he came in here often enough to be called a regular.” He pointed to a small corner table. “That’s where he used to sit. Mr. Hawkins. Terrible business.”

“What happened?”

“Nobody knows. Rumor has it there was a chip-pan fire, but . . .” He shook his head slowly. “Like I said, I didn’t know him well, but I can’t see it.”

“He didn’t like chips?”

The barman laughed. “It’s not that, though I can’t say he ever ordered any. No. He just wasn’t much of a drinker.”