“You’ve been in the wars, missus.”

Not wanting to waste time, I said, “Eliot Dell did this when he threw me down his cellar steps and left me for dead.”

He knew the name, but made out he didn’t. “Eliot Dell?”

“You applied to him for work after you’d finished the demolition job on the children’s home. I’m wondering if you wish you hadn’t.”

“What’s that to you?”

“I’ve brought the photograph Josh Whitwell took of you.”

He looked at the envelope but made no move to take it. Perhaps he thought this was not a photograph, but blood money, or a blackmail note.

Holding the envelope in my left hand, I withdrew the picture and showed it to him. “It’s a fine likeness.”

A look of relief came over the red face that was smudged with coal dust but he said nothing.

He stared. “Someone stole my soul after this was taken.”

I looked from the picture to him, and saw what he meant, but contradicted him. “I would say your soul is intact.”

“What do you want, missus?”

“Not to cause you trouble. How did it come about that you helped Eliot Dell?”

“I didn’t help him, not with—It wasn’t like that.”

“Then tell me. Trust me. I’m guessing you weren’t there when the murder happened.”

Had he been there, Valerie Pennington would have seen him. He was too big to miss.

“What’s behind your asking?”

“Just to know what happened.”

“Who will you be after telling?”

“Talk to me and I’ll do what I can for you. Talk to the police and there’ll be no end to this.”

He sighed. “My pay went flying. Bets, sweepstake, the boozer called out for my wage packet. That kind of job sends a feller doolally. Watching a grand house fall, when there’s souls sleeping in alleyways. We all knew kiddies had been turned out. My foot flattened the face of a little rag doll. My sister was after a dolly like it. Whatever demon got to me, it emptied my pockets.”

“So you went looking for work.”

“Honest work.”

“You were unlucky.”

“Foolish.” He picked up the envelope with the photograph, and put it down again. “The mammy will love this, if I see her again, this side of the grave.”

Now he was overdoing it. “The work you took on?”

“The boss at the farm on Dell’s land got me lifting the last of the rhubarb. I was set to go on the tramp after that. Mr. Dell said he had something to go onto a train, bound for the London markets. Only it was hush-hush because killing wild boar breaks the law.”

“There are no wild boars.”