So they were now on first name terms. Sykes was glad. As they passed under a street lamp, he glanced at the tiny writing. “Thank you very much, Niall.” They had reached the car. Sykes felt suddenly awkward. “I should offer you a lift but I’m going to drive straight to Rothwell.”

“I don’t need a lift. I took the tram and I could do with the walk back. But is it a good idea to go tonight? It’s getting dark.”

“I’ll take that chance. I know my way to Rothwell.”

That was not entirely true. Sykes knew the general direction: south and east.

He drove along unfamiliar streets, on the eastern outskirts of the city. At a crossroads, he took out the road map and shone his torch. Yes, he was on the right track.

Street lamps became less frequent. By the light of the moon, he found his way to the village. It occurred to Sykes that it would have been extraordinary if Aspinall hadn’t let one single person know he was coming. But perhaps someone did know he was coming, and that someone had been waiting for him.

He knew he must have a story ready and thought of possibilities. Pass himself off as a fellow golfer who met Mr. Aspinall at a course outside Paris. He could do that. He had seen pictures of the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe. He knew how many golfers make a team.

Now that he thought about it, he didn’t know how many golfers made a team. If he knocked on a door and started spouting about birdies and holes in one, he’d be unmasked as a fraud in two minutes.

He saw the church first, a fine building framed against a darkening sky. But he wasn’t here to admire the church. The clock struck nine as he glanced at the churchyard and wondered where the vicar lived and how he would find his way to Rothwell Manor House.

He asked a man walking a dog. Rothwell Manor was nearest. He was directed up some stone steps on the opposite side of the road.

The iron gates to the Manor House were padlocked. Someone had made attempts at keeping the grass to ankle length and the bushes and trees from turning into a petrified forest. Whatever happened here in some murky past to turn this house into something so unloved that its younger son escaped across the channel and its elder son died here?