‘Then I admire you for sticking to your guns. But let me give you a word of advice. Don’t try to convince Mr Yeomans. He’s not as tolerant as I am. And if you dare to suggest again that he was tricked – along with me and the chief magistrate – he’ll seal you in a barrel of herrings and throw it into the Thames. Besides,’ he went on, sharpening his voice, ‘what are you doing here when you should be continuing your search for Clearwater?’

‘I’ve already found him for you,’ insisted Ruddock.

‘We’d like the real one this time.’

‘Don’t you understand? There is no real one. The name is an alias that someone is hiding behind.’

He was about to develop his argument when the door was flung open to admit Yeomans. The Runner was even more intimidating than usual, and he made Ruddock quiver inwardly. Yeomans gave him a prod.

‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.

‘He’s on his way to resume the search,’ said Hale, gesturing for Ruddock to get out. ‘He called in to apologise for the mistake he made yesterday. He regrets it now, Micah. Don’t you, Chevy?’

Ruddock’s resolve weakened. ‘Yes,’ he said, meekly. ‘I do.’

But he was saying something very different to himself.

It was a complete change of tack for Harry Scattergood. Having spent his entire life dodging magistrates, he was now sitting in the office of the most senior one of them all. Eldon Kirkwood would accept nothing until he’d interrogated his visitor with his customary thoroughness. Scattergood answered every thorny question to the chief magistrate’s satisfaction. Kirkwood gave an approving nod.

‘Is there anything you wish to ask me, Mr Clearwater?’ he said.

‘As a matter of fact, there is.’

‘Go on.’

‘If I divulge the information I’ve taken such trouble to gather, can you confirm that I will get the credit for the arrest of the man?’

‘You have my word.’

‘May I also have your guarantee that I will be able to claim the reward and that you won’t allow any of your Runners to try to take it from me?’

‘I give you my guarantee readily.’

‘Then it’s time to proceed,’ said Scattergood. ‘The man who shot dead Sir Roger Mellanby is named Charles Mifflin. He doesn’t live in London but comes here regularly and always stays at the same hotel.’

‘Do you know which one it is?’

‘I do, sir. Naturally, I’ll make the arrest myself with your men in support. It will need a group of us – perhaps ten or more – to surround the hotel once we know that he’s inside. Can you recommend Runners who are well versed in such operations?’

‘The best men at my disposal are Yeomans and Hale.’