The fog both helped and hindered. He kept losing him or his eyes would catch on a glimpse of orange which turned out to be someone’s headscarf. But he found him each time. They wound through dingy little back streets, the spire of the cathedral sticking out of the fog on their right. Jack’s boots clopped on the cobblestones ahead of him as they emerged into Cathedral Close. Past the statue of Nelson, Jack exited through the vast gate opposite the cathedral. Arthur watched him cross Tombland and he thought he might have ducked into the pub on the corner, but there he was again, walking west down Princes Street towards the centre of the city. The fog here was lifting. Little wisps still curled around the guttering and the edges of the roofs but Jack’s retreating back was now clearly in sight. Where on earth was he going?

He had his answer almost immediately, as Jack ducked into a shop on the left of the street. Arthur slowed his pace. Above the shopfront it said J. Wilson Esq. Art Dealer. Why Jack of all people would be interested in an art dealer’s, he had no idea. Arthur slipped into a tobacconist’s across the road and, in the guise of deciding what pipe to buy, watched Jack take something in a small paper bag from the shopkeeper and put it into his top left-hand pocket. Arthur turned his back as Jack left the shop and went into the next one, a toy shop. This was even more mystifying.