‘It might now live up to its name,’ said Gunson.

Webster laughed. ‘’Twill be the first time.’ He turned to the men in the corridor behind him. ‘Gentlemen. We have seen enough, I believe, and I’d like to suggest we return to the court where we have bereaved witnesses waiting to give their evidence. Then we may allow the town to bury its dead.’

A couple of the men with whom Gunson had a loose acquaintanceship nodded to him as they walked away. Webster lagged behind. He clearly had more to say.

‘The cause of death is a foregone conclusion. The cause of the catastrophe less so. I’m organising a visit, John, to Dale Dyke to take place as soon as practicable. So I shall probably see you next at the scene of the crime.’

Gunson stuttered, ‘There was… there was no…’

‘It’s merely a turn of phrase, John.’

‘It seems as though you are trying to rile me.’

‘Not at all. But I should inform you I have been told – and very confidently told – the reservoir was in a dangerous state. I wonder also whether this dreadful loss of life could have been prevented by a timely warning. In any event, I’ll be setting an adjournment so the matter can be thoroughly investigated and we shall see whether there is any criminal liability. Good afternoon, John.’

He watched Webster walk away.

‘Mr Gunson.’ It was Millicent. ‘Louisa’s not in there either. Where else can we try?’

Gunson peered up at the longcase clock in his study. The plain white face decorated with black Roman numerals rested a few inches above head height on a slim and unornamented case of varnished oakwood that concealed the pendulum and weights from view. Charlotte thought the thing rather plain and ugly – it was why it stood behind the door of this room – but Gunson was not concerned with its beauty or otherwise. The casing might not be fancy, but the mechanism inside was renowned for its accuracy, if correctly wound, a weekly task he preferred to carry out himself.

So, he had to admit that the time was correct. A few minutes before nine o’clock in the evening. Less than one full rotation of the Earth about its axis had passed since the torrent exploded onto the valley below. In that time, he had been plucked from the flood’s path, seen with his own eyes the extent of the devastation in the valley and on the industrial east end of town, met with his employer and the company’s lawyer, accompanied Millicent Leigh on a fruitless quest to find her daughter, and eaten a light supper with David Craven that was interrupted by the town clerk calling by to arrange a visit to the scene – ‘of the crime’, as Webster would have it – with the inquest jury. This would take place first thing Monday morning, two days hence. Tomorrow he would collate all the relevant paperwork and specifications, for he had been assured that although this was no criminal trial, the waterworks company was very firmly in the dock.