Unless the Snowman had ditched one of the many tenets he often boasted had served him well for fifty-odd years—which struck Simon as unlikely—then it had to be the other man who smelled as if he’d fallen into a bath full of aftershave. Proust disapproved of scented males. Simon guessed he wouldn’t make an exception for one who reeked of seaweed mixed with acid.

The man wore a toffee-coloured suit with a white shirt and a green tie that was silk or some other shiny material. He looked to be in his late thirties, and had the eyes of a jaded Las Vegas croupier, out of place in his pink, unblemished face. Human Resources? The Snowman didn’t introduce him. ‘Where were you yesterday afternoon and evening?’ he asked Simon.

No way he can know. ‘I went up to Newcastle, made a start on the Beddoes—’

‘I’ll ask you again: where were you?’

The croupier looked nearly as angry as Proust. Simon tensed. Was this trouble of a different order of magnitude? It was hard to tell; around the Snowman, he always had the impression that his marching orders were imminent. Was he about to make the biggest mistake of his career? Had he already made it? ‘I followed Aidan Seed to London, sir.’

The inspector nodded. ‘Carry on.’

‘Sergeant Zailer and I spoke to Seed and Ruth Bussey yesterday afternoon, sir. The exchange left us both feeling even more concerned . . .’

‘Skip the justifications. I want your movements, from when you got into your car to follow Seed until you arrived home.’

Wishing he knew who the croupier was and why he was there, Simon did as instructed. When he got to the part about following Seed to Friends House, the Snowman and his anonymous guest exchanged a look. When he told them he’d eavesdropped on the Quaker Quest meeting, the croupier asked him to report exactly what he’d heard. He had a Cockney accent. Simon waited for Proust to say, ‘I’ll ask the questions,’ and was disconcerted when he didn’t.

He told the two men everything he remembered: Olive Oyl, the fat, sweaty bald man, Frank Zappa, the Immense Something Other, the quote about cutlery not being eternal. ‘How many of the people in that room do you think you could describe with any degree of accuracy?’ asked the croupier.

‘The two speakers, no problem,’ Simon told him. Was he job? ‘There were three tramps there too. I think they went for the free grub. I could probably describe them, though not as precisely. ’

‘You left Friends House before the meeting ended?’ said Proust.

‘Yeah.’

‘What time was that?’

‘I don’t know—eight-ish.’

‘And you went where?’

‘Back to Ruskington Road, where I’d left my car.’

‘Was Mr Seed’s car still there, outside number 23?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Did you drive straight home?’