With a polite smile, Judith went and sat down in a chair by an empty fireplace. The receptionist, seeing that Judith wasn’t going anywhere, got up and went through a nearby door.

She was back less than a minute later.

‘Mrs Potts?’ she said, clearly puzzled. ‘Mr Bishop will see you now.’

‘Thank you.’

Judith allowed herself to be led into a tastefully decorated office. There were two leather armchairs by a coffee table and faded oil paintings of hunting scenes on the walls. But Judith couldn’t help noticing that although the room was on the ground floor and had a lovely sash window with views of the bustling High Street, it also had a window on the other side that overlooked a tatty piece of tarmac and the office car park.

Andy Bishop was sitting behind a desk covered in papers, and, as he stood up to greet her, Judith was thrilled to see that he wasn’t very tall at all. Maybe less than five feet five inches. And what he lacked in height he made up in girth. In fact, he was so round that the fabric of his waistcoat was stretched tight, the buttons seemingly about to burst at the seam.

There was no doubting it in her mind. This was the ‘very short, very fat man’ Iqbal had pointed out to his imam. The man who had apparently stolen Iqbal’s inheritance. Judith felt a thrill at the danger of it all as she introduced herself. Andy indicated that they should sit down in the leather armchairs.

‘You wanted to see me about Mr Harrington’s will?’ he asked.

‘That’s right. He was a friend of mine.’

‘Yes, and mine as well. He was a rather splendid gentleman, wasn’t he? Sorry about the heat,’ he said, getting out a handkerchief and mopping his shiny forehead before indicating the windows. ‘We don’t have any air conditioning, all I can do is open the windows.’

‘That’s no problem.’

‘Anyway, how can I help you?’

‘I just wanted to check, you’re the same Andy Bishop who drew up Ezra’s will.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Or rather, changed it.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Only I know that originally Ezra left his estate to his neighbour, Iqbal Kassam.’

Andy looked slightly embarrassed.

‘I’m afraid I’m not allowed to comment on a client’s private financial affairs.’

‘But it’s true, isn’t it? Ezra told me yonks ago that he was leaving his estate to his neighbour, Iqbal. Because Iqbal was being so helpful, you see. When Ezra got ill. Taking him to the hospital in his taxi for his tests. And so on.’

‘I’m sure he did. I don’t much remember Iqbal. But, and I wouldn’t want to stress the point too much, Iqbal wasn’t the only one who helped Ezra.’

‘I’m sorry?’