“What are you suggesting?” I asked sharply, my temper rising.

“Nothing at all; but your testimony and Acheron’s corpse don’t really add up, do they? You said that you shot him after he killed the young officer.”

“His name was Snood,” I said pointedly.

“Whoever. But the burned corpse had no gunshot wounds despite the many times you shot him when he was disguised as Buckett or the old woman.”

“Her name was Mrs. Grimswold.”

I stared at him. Schitt continued.

“I saw the flattened slugs. You would have got the same effect if you had fired them into a wall.”

“If you have a point, why don’t you get to it?”

Schitt unscrewed the cap of a Thermos flask and offered it to me. I refused; he poured himself a drink and continued:

“I think you know more than you say you do. We only have your word for the events of that night. Tell me, Miss Next, what was Hades planning to use the manuscript for?”

“I told you: I have no idea.”

“Then why are you going to work as a Litera Tec in Swindon?”

“It was all I could get.”

“That’s not true. Your work has been consistently assessed above average and your record states that you haven’t been back to Swindon in ten years despite your family living there. A note appended to your file speaks of ‘romantic tensions’. Man trouble in Swindon?”

“None of your business.”

“In my line of work I find there is very little that isn’t my business. There are a host of other things a woman with your talents could do, but to go back to Swindon? Something tells me you have another motive.”

“Does it really say all that in my file?”

“It does.”

“What color are my eyes?”

Schitt ignored me and took a sip of coffee.

“Colombian. The best. You think Hades is alive, Next. I think you have an idea where he is and I’m willing to guess that he is in Swindon and that’s why you’re going there. Am I correct?”

I looked him straight in the eye.

“No. I’m just going home to sort myself out.”

Jack Schitt remained unconvinced.

“I don’t believe there is such a thing as stress, Next. Just weak people and strong people. Only strong people survive men like Hades. You’re a strong person.”

He paused.

“If you change your mind, you can call me. But be warned. I’ll be keeping a close eye on you.”

“Do as you will, Mr. Schitt, but I’ve got a question for you.”

“Yes?”

“What’s your interest in Hades?”

Jack Schitt smiled again.

“I’m afraid that’s classified, Miss Next. Good-day.”

He tipped his hat, rose and left. A black Ford with smoked-glass windows pulled up outside the cemetery and drove him quickly away.

I sat and thought. I had lied to the police psychiatrist in saying I was fit for work and lied to Jack Schitt in saying that I wasn’t. If Goliath was interested in Hades and the Chuzzlewit manuscript, it could only be for financial gain. The Goliath Corporation was to altruism what Genghis Khan was to soft furnishings. Money came first to Goliath and nobody trusted them farther than they could throw them. They may have rebuilt England after the Second War, they may have reestablished the economy. But sooner or later the renewed nation had to stand on its own and Goliath was seen now as less of a benevolent uncle than a despotic stepfather.