Our gaze fixed on the blood on them. It was daubed over his palms in a spider’s web of scarlet runnels, but how do you get blood on your hands if you shoot someone with a gun? It doesn’t happen. Unless you put a hand on them. To check that they’re dead.

‘What happened here, Isaac?’

‘I didn’t shoot him. I swear I didn’t, Eloïse.’ He pushed his hands away from him as if he couldn’t bear to have them near. He was shaking his head back and forth, denying their existence.

I had to get him out of this room. I took hold of his arm and propelled him out the door. The bathroom was at the end of the landing and I swept him inside, turned on the washbasin taps and pushed his hands into the flow of water. The basin turned pink.

‘Tell me exactly why you are here,’ I said. ‘We have to be quick. The police will be on their way.’

In the mirror I could see his face as white as the wall tiles, his lips unsteady. I leaned my body against him to offer comfort.

‘Please, Isaac.’

He kept his eyes down, his pale lashes shutting out the world and me with it. ‘I was given instructions to come here,’ he said. ‘To come to this house. I was told the door would be unlocked and I must go upstairs to wait for a message from someone.’ His gaze flicked briefly to my face in the mirror. ‘It’s not you, is it?’

‘No, Isaac. It’s not.’

‘I came here and found . . .’ The words dried up.

‘Was anyone else here?’

‘No. I felt the man’s chest to see if he was breathing but . . .’ He shook his head.

‘Do you know who he is?’

‘No.’

‘What happened next?’

‘I heard the front door open. I snatched up the gun because I thought it was . . .’

I turned off the tap. ‘You thought it was the killer returning? For you?’

He nodded, one sharp terrified jerk of his head. I lifted my skirt, it was a full circular navy-blue one, and I dried his hands on the underside of it. I didn’t want any sign of him left on the towel.

‘So you saw no one?’

‘No.’

I wiped the taps and washbasin with my skirt. ‘Tell me who gave you the instructions to come here.’

For the first time he looked at me, blue eyes dark with confusion. ‘I can’t.’

‘Isaac,’ I raised my voice, ‘this is not the time to be secretive about your Communist affiliations. You’ve been set up. Someone wants you accused of murder. Can’t you see that? The police will be here any moment. You have to get out. But first,’ I buttoned up his jacket to hide the smear of blood on his shirt, ‘first, tell me who sent you here?’