Pa pressed them about what they would do next. They had two theories. The first, and most likely, they seemed to think, was that Eli Chadwick had something to do with it. I protested that I felt sure he would never have lifted a finger to harm Jimmy, but they looked at me as though I was a fool.

The second theory they were working on was that Jimmy had taken Robin, ‘that red canvas craft’ as they called her, to retrieve the toy parrot. To me, it seemed completely implausible that Jimmy would have gone out in a boat on his own at night, however anxious he was to get the parrot back. But I refrained from saying so.

‘We have to explore every possibility. But that doesn’t mean we have given up hope of finding your boy safe and well,’ Weasel Face told us. His intention was to reassure, of course, but each time he said that, it felt like another blow. What if Jimmy wasn’t ‘safe and well’? The alternative was too horrific to contemplate.

By mid-afternoon that second day Pa and I seemed unable even to summon the strength to comfort each other. Our optimism was fading fast. Nearly thirty hours had passed since we’d found Jimmy gone, and he had never been away from us for more than an hour at a time, apart from attending school. The police returned to the vicarage, questioning us again and again. In the absence of any sign of Jimmy at the lake, they seemed to be more and more certain that Eli’s suicide was linked to Jimmy’s disappearance, although their theories were vague.

According to Mrs D, this was also the main topic of gossip in the village. ‘They’re saying he topped himself out of guilt,’ she hinted darkly.

I knew all too well the kind of assumptions people were making. Jimmy liked Eli and was often seen in his company. Soon after Jimmy disappeared, Eli had hanged himself. The conclusion was obvious, except that I was still convinced Eli would never have hurt a single hair on Jimmy’s head.

‘But there was nothing about that in his note, you said,’ I snapped back.

‘There wouldn’t be, would there?’

At dusk the police told us they were calling off the search until the morning. Again Mrs D cooked, but we couldn’t eat a thing.

Dr Mortimer came from Bures in his old Austin Seven. It seemed that he’d been summoned by Mrs D. Pa appeared to be fading more and more, both physically and mentally, with every passing hour. He was increasingly distracted, and the things he said sometimes didn’t make any sense. He seemed glued to the chair in his study, but when he did leave it, he was as unsteady on his legs as a man twice his age. His hands trembled so much that he could barely lift a teacup.