The first gate creaked open. I turned to Sykes, who was driving. “It’s not just Alec’s legs that bother him. He feels uneasy about being back here.”

The police report on my accident concluded that the loosening of the steering linkage could have been done deliberately, or may have happened gradually and escaped notice. Like me, Alec believed the damage was deliberate, an opinion reinforced since he knew that Philip maintained my car. He had confided that Eliot had shown an interest in the car and spent some time taking a look at it. I thought that it was more likely to have been Raynor.

Alec opened the second gate. “I’ll walk to the house.” He sauntered ahead, hands in pockets.

Sykes waved an acknowledgement, and drove on, passing the main door. “I won’t come in.”

“That’s all right. This shouldn’t take long.”

Like Alec, I felt slightly awkward. But now it was up to Scotland Yard and Wakefield CID to make the next move, if they chose to act on the information we had supplied.

By the time Raynor opened the door, Alec had caught up.

“The prodigal returns,” Raynor said, giving him a stern look.

“Hello, Raynor. Alec needs to speak to Mr. Brockman. And is Mrs. Brockman at home?”

“She is not, I’m afraid.”

Was this a “not at home to you”, or a genuine not at home?

He answered the unspoken question. “She is visiting old Mrs. Dell.”

In a way it was endearing that Mrs. Dell had become “old Mrs. Dell”, almost in tribute to the younger Mrs. Dell who was no more. I said nothing about seeing Mrs. Dell driven away by her younger son. Perhaps she returned as quickly as she went.

“Then we’ll speak to Mr. Brockman.”

Raynor led us down the hall to Benjie’s study, knocked and entered. “Visitors for you, sir.”

Benjie’s eyes lit up at the sight of us, or rather at the sight of Alec. “Where did you get to, you young rascal?”

Raynor hovered in the doorway, a frown creasing his brow. If he had it in mind to try again at silencing me, he would have to think of something quickly.

“Refreshments!” Benjie called to him.

“Not for me, thank you, Benjie. This is a flying visit. I wanted to see you and Gertrude. I believe she’s visiting Mrs. Dell.”

“I don’t want anything, thank you.” Alec looked around the room, and at the stamp albums on the desk.

“Sit yourselves down then, and you give an account of yourself, young man.”

While Alec lowered himself into a chair as if it might bite his bum, I produced the papers that Martin Yeats had obtained for me.

“Benjie, you know the eight children who are lined up for passage to Canada?”

“Yes there was something about that.”

As if he did not know.