I decided not to tell Dad everything. At present he did not need to be alarmed by my having been fastened in the dark room. Certainly, I would not mention the incriminating items in the eaves of the house. He’d pass that on to CID, and swing the noose closer to Stephen.

“Stephen Walmsley is convinced that Mrs. Farrar was expecting a visitor. If he was right and we could find out who, there might be more to go on.”

“But don’t forget, Mrs. Farrar’s murder isn’t your case. Best not to try and ride two horses at once.”

“Dad, I’m not planning to join the circus. I’m thinking there may be someone or something we haven’t thought of yet. Do you know when Mrs. Farrar’s body will be released for burial? It might be enlightening to see who turns up for her funeral.”

Although he showed no great interest in my theory, Dad obligingly picked up the telephone. “I’ll find out.”

While he made the call, I went to look through the window at the street below. A police van drove into the yard. A delivery boy went by on his bicycle. I listened to Dad’s end of the conversation, the pause, and his thanks.

I went back and sat down.

He put his hand over the mouthpiece. “The vicar of Holy Trinity, Rothwell is back at his post. He has arranged for the local undertaker to collect Mrs. Farrar’s body. They’ll let me know when a funeral is arranged, though you’ll probably hear that before I do. Anything else you want?”

“Please check that they will send information to DC Yeats at Scotland Yard.”

He asked for that to be done, and then put down the telephone. “All settled.”

“Why is Mrs. Farrar being buried in Rothwell when she lived in Thorpefield? Ardsley church is nearer.”

“Is that important?”

“Probably not.”

The telephone rang. Dad picked it up. “CS Hood.” He listened. “Put her through.” Dad placed his hand over the mouthpiece. “Mrs. Sugden.”

“Hello, Mrs. Sugden. I’ll pass you over to Mrs. Shackleton.” He handed me the receiver.

Mrs. Sugden sounded a little perturbed, and excited. “I said they should get a telephone.”

“What is it?”

“A call just came through from the steward at Moortown Golf Club for Jim Sykes.”

“What did he say?”

“An American golfer by the name of Espinosa claims to recognise the man from the train.”

“How do you spell that name?”

“E-s-p-i-n-o-s-a.”

My hopes rose. I tried to flatten them, just in case. “Where does Mr. Espinosa know him from?”

“France. Says they met at a golf course in Paris.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Sugden.”

Dad interrupted, “Tell her to ring the steward back and ask her to keep the man on the premises.”