‘It’s a perfect hideaway for getting up to no good, isn’t it? No one would ever know about this room, unless they went down into the pit, and with that carpet, you wouldn’t even know it existed unless you were told. We’ve both looked through the windows before but we never realised that there was an inspection pit, did we?’

Matt shook his head. ‘I had no idea. And how many garages do you know that have one?’

‘Exactly. So, it’s the perfect place to hide your stolen goods or print your counterfeit money.’

‘I wonder who knows about it, other than Emilia herself?’ mused Matt.

‘I think I will have to ring her back and ask her, don’t you?’

‘Come on, Will, let’s get home. And act casual with our media friends. We can’t get lucky twice in one night.’ They returned the keys and locked up the old cottage. Contrary to Matt’s expectations, they walked past the gathering producing no reaction other than a few raised eyebrows.

To Will’s surprise, they arrived back at Holland House to be greeted by Philip Fauve, with Swifty Fleet at his side.

‘Will! I hope you don’t mind. I couldn’t stay at that hotel a minute longer. They told me that they were concentrating on Whisper Fen and, well, I had to come.’

Will accepted the outstretched hand and smiled at him, noting the hollow eyes and the lost expression on the man’s face. ‘You’re welcome, Philip. Come on inside. And, Swifty, how are things going? Anything new?’

‘Nothing else since the farmer saw the girl answering Sophie’s description. I can’t make head nor tail of it, Will. She must have been within half an hour of here, then she just disappears!’

Will took hold of Swifty’s arm and held him back. ‘There is something I need to tell you, strictly off the record. I’ll get the others a drink, then perhaps we could have a quiet word somewhere out of earshot?’

Swifty nodded, giving him a quizzical look.

The kitchen was bustling with men and women, some in civvies and some in uniform. Swifty introduced Will to his new commanding officer, Inspector Michael Fenner. He was a tall, spare man with a slight stoop, which, together with his pronounced hook nose, made Will think of the grey heron that so often stood on the edge of the sluice.

He studied Will over the top of a pair of wire-rimmed half glasses, making him feel like one of Gerald Grove’s rare specimens. He had the distinct impression that the inspector didn’t like what he saw.

The man thanked him politely for his hospitality and offered his regrets that they had not made more headway in the search for his niece. All the while, that cold, steely stare bored into him.