‘I’m afraid I’ve no idea,’ he said with an apologetic shrug. ‘It appears to be yet another piece Bodley failed to account for, otherwise it would have been marked down in the ledger.’ He shook his head in a world-weary manner. ‘Typical of my father! He was terrible with money. He was always too wrapped up in his art to chase his debtors or handle his accounts himself. He left all that to Bodley, more fool him!’

Putting the ledger back in its drawer, Nathan resumed his painstaking copying of the portrait. But Jack wasn’t willing to give up on the locket so easily. He planted his hands on the desk and leant forward, forcing Nathan to stop his work. ‘Who’s Bodley?’ he asked.

A dark cloud descended over the artist. ‘My father’s former apprentice, Rowland Bodley.’

‘Might Bodley know who commissioned this portrait of my sister?’ pressed Jack.

Nathan blew away his wisps of moustache. ‘Possibly. I dismissed him under suspicion of embezzlement. There was no real proof, though, but I’m sure he was taking commissions and payments off the books. Now that my father’s gone, I’ve no way of knowing what pieces were crafted or sold.’

Jack straightened, eager to follow this new lead. ‘So where can I find this Rowland Bodley?’

Nathan glanced at the afternoon sun slanting through his window. ‘At this time of day, he usually frequents the Globe Theatre. You’ll recognize the pompous idiot by his hat. He always wears an ostrich feather in the brim, dyed red.’ At that, Nathan rolled his eyes. ‘He’s a bit flamboyant that way.’

‘Well, what are we waiting for?’ said Rose, clapping her hands together. ‘Let’s go to see a play!’

Some two thousand people had descended on the Globe Theatre for the afternoon performance of Ben Jonson’s The Alchemist. Working men, shop owners, gentlemen in their finery, housewives and their servants and children, from London and abroad, all rubbed shoulders as they queued outside the timber-framed, three-storey playhouse on the southern bank of the Thames.

‘See! Told you, Jack,’ said Rose with a smug grin. ‘Talking to the artist was a far better idea than wasting our time asking people at random in the street!’

A pained expression passed across Akiko’s face.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Jack.

‘My top is pinching me, that’s all,’ replied Akiko with a strained smile. ‘How does anyone breathe in these clothes?’