‘So there’s the motive,’ said Kerridge. ‘That would have been legal enough, and with Madame de Peurey out of the way, he could have got the lot.’

‘I’m puzzled,’ said Harry. ‘What did you make of Jeffrey Biles?’

‘Weak, frightened – but then a lot of killers are like that after they are caught.’

‘It’s beginning to look as if someone might have faked Jeffrey’s suicide. Now, perhaps we have a murderer at large who put Jeffrey up to all this. Say, someone said to him, “I’ll kill your sister and when you inherit, you pay me so much.”’

‘Come on. All the evidence is against Jeffrey Biles. He did his damnedest to pin the murders on Lady Rose. He was in his sister’s house. He took the letters and he took the jewellery.’

‘I wonder if he wrote those threatening letters,’ said Harry, ‘or if someone else did.’

‘You’re making work for me and there’s no need for it. I’ve wasted enough time on this already,’ complained Kerridge.

‘Humour me. Look, written on the back of this photograph is “Me and Betty”. The handwriting looks adult, so he must have written that sometime after the photographs were taken. Why not get some expert to compare it with the handwriting on the threatening letters?’

‘Oh, anything for peace and quiet. I’ll take this box with me.’

‘Wait a minute. I want to copy down the names of the witnesses on that will.’

Harry wrote down George Briggs, driver, and Sarah Briggs, laundress. ‘We’ll take you back to Scotland Yard first,’ said Harry.

* * *

Kerridge was silent on the drive back. He wished with all his heart that Harry had left well enough alone. His boss would be furious with him. Dolores Duval had been a tart, and that put her in the category of we-don’t-care-what-happened-so-long-as-we-can-wrap-up-the-case.

But according to his political beliefs, the lowest in the land were deserving of proper police work just as the highest. He would do what Harry had requested. He insisted Harry follow him to his office to make a statement about finding the box and detailing what it contained.

While Harry was making his statement, Becket went to a phone box and called Daisy.

‘Is this what our life is going to be like?’ complained Daisy. ‘I’ve been mostly alone all day. What have you been doing?’

Becket told her that he had taken Harry to Jeffrey’s old address, how he had found a box there and how he had heard Kerridge grumble that Harry did not believe that Jeffrey had committed the murders.

‘What does Jeffrey say?’ asked Daisy.

‘Nothing. He hanged himself in his cell. He was going to tell Kerridge something important this morning, but when Kerridge arrived, he was already dead. The captain doesn’t think it’s suicide; he thinks it’s murder. I’d better go. We’ll talk tonight.’

‘If you ever come home,’ said Daisy.

Daisy then phoned Rose and told her the latest findings.

‘I wish we could do some detecting like we did before,’ said Rose. ‘I mean, if Jeffrey didn’t do it, who did? I know: If you can find out from Becket the address of that grocer’s shop that their father owned, we could start there. I’ll tell Mama that we are going down the East End to perform charitable works. She’ll agree because she thinks that sort of thing will rehabilitate me in the eyes of society. Come round tomorrow morning.’