Ben said, ‘In your message to Abbott you talked about allegations and slander. That means you have to know the names of the people he was denouncing.’

‘He used pseudonyms,’ Seaward said. ‘No real names were mentioned. So, you understand, we really can’t help you. Nor can we possibly be held liable in any way by any of the people mentioned in the book, for the simple reason that their identities were already a secret.’

Ben noticed the way that Seaward’s eyes were darting nervously as he spoke, and suspected the man was lying. The expression on Wolf’s face told Ben that he was thinking the same thing.

But what to do about it? One option was to put a gun to Seaward’s head and make him spill the truth. It was generally an effective technique, except when dealing with a red-faced, portly little man who’d probably drop dead of a heart attack if pressed too hard. Ben didn’t really need a manslaughter charge hanging over him right now.

The second option was to leave now, come back later, break into the agency office and find out for himself whether they still had the manuscript and what it contained. That approach carried its own risks, but Ben opted for it anyway.

‘Fine. Then if you don’t have the book and it’s no use to us anyway, we’re wasting our time here.’

‘Absolutely,’ Seaward agreed, breathing hard and positively melting with relief.

‘Let’s go,’ Ben said to Wolf.

They left the office. The reception area was empty. Ben and Wolf headed down the creaky stairway and back outside into the afternoon sunlight.

‘You do realise,’ Wolf said, ‘that if they’re lying to us and still have that book, they’re gonna delete it the moment we’re gone.’

Ben shook his head. ‘No, I think they’ll want to keep it. Nobody’s going to accept at face value that they don’t have it. They’ll want a bargaining chip to get themselves out of trouble with whoever comes looking for it.’

‘If that happens, they’re dead anyway.’

‘But the likes of Seaward and Laverack don’t realise that,’ Ben said. ‘They don’t live in the same world as us.’

‘You might be right,’ Wolf grunted. ‘Only one way to find out.’

‘So we find a place to hole up, get some rest and some food and wait until nightfall,’ Ben said.

They were halfway back to the car when the sound of clattering footsteps chasing down the street after them and the sound of a woman’s voice calling, ‘Mr Harris! Mr Cullen! Wait!’ made them turn.

Georgie Seaward had emerged from the entrance of the building and was lumbering towards them as well as her out-of-shape physique and clunky shoes would allow. She was out of breath as she reached them. ‘Please don’t go yet,’ she puffed.