‘It’s more a question of who it is. Look in the mirror and you’ll see him clearly. Yes, Mr Hooper,’ he went on as the visitor gaped, ‘you are that asset. What Yeomans discarded so rashly is a bonus that my brother and I will seize upon. Since you worked hand in glove with him, you can give us crucial details about Sir Roger’s private life as well as about his political activities.’

‘We’ve been close these past six years, Mr Skillen.’

‘Then you have a fund of information on which we can draw.’

‘That’s what I told Mr Yeomans.’

‘Forget him. The Runners are our rivals. Our methods differ from theirs and they usually bear fruit. However, I must issue a warning.’

‘What is it?’

‘This could be a long and difficult case.’

Hooper frowned. ‘That means it could be very expensive.’

‘Have no fear on that score,’ said Peter. ‘If Yeomans and his men track down the assassin, it won’t cost you anything. If, on the other hand, my brother and I solve the crime, we’d stand to gain what could well be a large amount of reward money. The bill we’d present to you will be a very small one.’

‘Thank you so much,’ said Hooper, eyes moistening. ‘That takes a great weight off my mind. I was afraid that you’d turn me down.’

‘We’d never turn down an opportunity to humiliate the Runners. It adds spice to our work. Yet we mustn’t underestimate them. If I know Micah Yeomans, he’ll already be devising a plan to hamper our investigation.’

The Peacock Inn was far more than simply a welcoming hostelry that served excellent ale and delicious pies. It was also the base from which the Bow Street Runners routinely operated. Yeomans had an office at his disposal but he preferred to work in the Peacock where the landlord was a good friend, the atmosphere was friendly and the barmaids were excessively pretty. Other patrons never dared to sit at the table in the corner. It was reserved exclusively for the Runners. At that moment, Yeomans was in his usual chair, munching his way through the remains of his meal. He was a big, hulking, middle-aged man with an unsightly face that struck fear into the hearts of the criminal fraternity. Seated beside him was Alfred Hale, shorter, a trifle younger and of slighter build. He needed a long sip of ale before he had the courage to criticise his superior.

‘You may have made a mistake, Micah,’ he said, quietly.

‘I never make mistakes,’ growled the other.

‘I’m talking about that man, Hooper. You were too quick to send him on his way. He could have been useful to us.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He knew Sir Roger Mellanby.’

‘So?’

‘He might have given us information about him.’