She nodded. “Don’t tell Mr. Eliot we are gone. He’ll find out soon enough.”

“All anyone need know is that I brought Mrs. Dell to her front door.”

Naturally, I was introduced to Alfred, the amiable younger son, but he was in a hurry to be off. He helped his mother into the back seat and smothered her with rugs. Maggie climbed in the other side.

Mrs. Dell beckoned to me. I leaned in to listen, because she spoke so quietly. “Gertrude went to stay with an aunt in Surrey last year, for several months. After she came back, she spoke of a sudden desire to adopt a baby boy.”

As Alfred went round to the driver’s side, she mouthed, “Be careful,” and “Go home.”

The car set off.

She raised her hand in a royal wave.

Chapter 42

Chapter Forty-Two

In answer to Sykes’s question, the young Frenchman had to shout above the noise of the car engine.

“My mother sent me to the funeral of Mrs. Farrar. Now I go back to her.”

“How did she know about Mrs. Farrar?”

“From her enquiries with the Embassy. We came to search for my father.”

Sykes wished he hadn’t asked. He did not want this conversation, and especially not in the noisy motor.

Charles did not mind shouting. “The vicar, he says nothing. He is sympathetic in a way I do not like. He says talk to you.”

Sykes tugged at his left ear, to indicate he was having difficulty hearing. He needed time to think. The bad news would have come better from the vicar, but the vicar didn’t know the circumstances surrounding the death. The Reverend Mr. Branscombe might at least have hinted, Sykes thought. But perhaps he had hinted and Charles did not take it in, and the bad news failed to penetrate through a barrier of misunderstanding.

“We’ll talk when we get there,” Sykes shouted.

Sykes took him to the White Swan and bought him a pint.

Charles showed his return rail ticket. He intended to go back to London. His mother expected him.

“How long will you stay in London?”

Sykes glanced at the window, wishing Mrs. Shackleton would tear herself away from her posh friends. She would know what to say.

He took a drink of bitter, wiped the froth from his lips with the back of his hand. He wondered whether he had chosen wrongly. Had he asked Mrs. Shackleton to meet him at police headquarters, they would have been able to get word to Commander Woodhead straight away, and tell him the man’s identity.

Being in police headquarters would have allowed young Charles Aspinall to know that something was seriously wrong. He was looking at Sykes, waiting, waiting for an answer. He looked at his watch. “I must go for my train. I must know about my father.”

“Where are you staying in London?”

“The Savoy.”

“We will get word to you.”

“What word?”