Other than that, it had been a waste of time. He felt like a man trapped in a carriage, pushed onto a sidings and left to wait for a coupling that would never materialise.

In spite of raised hopes and suppressed excitement, he drove back to Leeds at his usual cautious speed, rehearsing questions, imagining a successful outcome, warning himself against expecting too much.

A name, that was all he needed. Not too much to ask.

Once more, he drove into the golf club car park. This time he paid no attention to the other motors but went straight to the clubhouse. Of course, Mr. Espinosa may be on the course, or back at his hotel. Sykes hoped not. He had waited long enough.

He liked this bar, this clubroom. It might even be worth learning to play golf in order to come in here for a pint.

A young steward took his coat.

“I’m Jim Sykes, here to see Mr. Braithwaite.”

“He’s expecting you, sir.” He signalled to the steward who was seated at a table with an attractive woman, dark-haired and vibrant. She could be a film star.

Jack Braithwaite rose and came across.

Sykes offered his hand. “Thank you for coming back to me, Mr. Braithwaite. You have some information. A Mr. Espinosa?”

“Yes, Mr. Sykes. Mrs. Espinosa is the person who has information for you. Mr. Espinosa is on the course. Come and meet his lady wife.”

The steward introduced them. “And what will you have to drink, Mr. Sykes?”

“Pint of bitter please. May I get you something, Mrs. Espinosa?”

The steward intervened. “Leave that to me, Mr. Sykes. This is on the house.”

As Sykes sat down, he began to think that he had the best job in the world. The woman was smiling at him. “It is so nice to meet a British policeman. I think you are wonderful.”

“Thank you.” Sykes did not trouble to correct her. “Are you enjoying your stay, Mrs. Espinosa?”

“We are having the most interesting time. You see, we decided to make a real vacation of this. We started in Spain, came all the way up through France, visiting courses, and then to Paris. Don’t ask me the name of the course, I’ve forgotten.”

Sykes spoke quietly. “And where did you meet the gentleman whose sketch you saw?”

She was quick on the uptake. This was a public place and she was talking confidentially to a policeman. She lowered her voice. “Why at the course in Paris. Mr. Sykes, would it be impertinent if I gave you a tip?”

Usually quick on the uptake, Sykes did not quite follow her meaning.

She laughed and made a “money” gesture with thumb and fingers. “Not that kind of tip.”

Sykes smiled. “Then yes, by all means please do.”