He laughed. “Shock the unshockable Shackleton? I don’t think so, but there is a possibility I’ll find a porter with a loose tongue and an empty pocket who likes a drink.”

“That sounds like as good a start as any.”

He caught the uncertainty in my voice. “You have another idea?”

Sykes is an avid supporter of cricket. He once explained how slippery ground might delay play. I felt we were on such slippery ground now, and said so.

“I’m used to slippery approaches, Mrs. Shackleton.”

My next idea seemed as unlikely as some of Mrs. Sugden’s notions. I mentioned my fellow passengers on the train, Mr. and Mrs. Loomis, here for the Ryder Cup. “It might just be that they are friendly Americans, but they did seem over-curious. It set me wondering if the Ryder Cup really is the main purpose of their visit.”

Sykes looked suddenly cheerful. He always does when I become suspicious. “You’re thinking that they could be Russians who learned to speak English in America.”

“It’s more to do with a possible golf connection. The dead man has callouses on his thumb and fingers—my father has the same, from playing golf.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Dad complains of pains in his joints. I’ve made poultices for his knee and elbow. The victim had swellings to his knee and elbow. DC Yeats thought he had been fit and active.”

“A revolutionary who might take time off to watch the golf tournament?”

“You’ve heard about it?”

“The papers are full of it. Will you ask Mr. Hood to call at the golf course?”

“I won’t ask Dad. I’m asking you.”

“Should be interesting. I won’t pass as a golfer.”

“You’d pass as yourself.”

“Anything is worth a try. But if Commander Woodhead believes our unknown man was here with Russian gold, he must have intelligence to that effect.”

“I’m sure he has, but there was no offer to share it.”

“Then I’ll visit the golf club. Given all the secrecy, am I allowed to share the picture?”

“Probably not, but go ahead. We have to do this our way.”

“Extra copies from my discreet printer friend?”

“Indeed.”

What Mr. Woodhead didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. If we succeeded, he would not dare rap my knuckles. If we failed—but I wouldn’t think about that possibility.

* * *

Sykes left before Harriet arrived home from the cinema. She went to bed, blissfully unaware that we were once more on a case. Mrs. Sugden let the dog out for his last stroll about the wood, and then retired for the night. I sat at the dining room table, making a few notes. Jotting down thoughts helped me to keep those thoughts from spinning around in my head.

Finally, I took out my writing case and penned a letter to Gertrude Brockman. She knows I am a keen snapper and that I had an article in the Amateur Photographer. It would not surprise her to know that I intended to take photographs and write an article about Rothwell and the surrounding districts. After all, the place is rich in history. It even has the remains of what some call a castle, where the kings of old came to stay while gathering taxes and hunting wild boar to extinction.