‘Names are worth something,’ said Sefton. ‘If you found out who Vincent was down the phone, you found out who the proxy was too. Who was it?’

‘I wrote the name down.’

Ross watched numbly as Costain released Keel, and he went to look in his filing cabinet. They had been played by Russell Vincent. He had given them an ordinary mirror, while he still had a real scrying glass. More than that, he’d employed the man who’d been there when the Ripper had attempted to kill Mary Arthur, who’d bid against them for the Bridge of Spikes. The obvious reason for Vincent to lie was that he was the one who’d been looking into their dreams. The information gained from their dreams had been used to coordinate the Ripper murders and to send Vincent’s proxy after the Bridge.

The overwhelming weight of circumstantial evidence was that Russell Vincent, one of the richest and most powerful men in the world, was, somehow, the new Jack the Ripper. How could they ever prove it?

Keel had found the scrap of paper. ‘His name was Ben Challoner.’

*   *   *

They got out of there. They left Keel waving to them from the shop doorway, asking if the nice ladies and gentlemen could please return his staff as soon as possible, grinning at how he had obviously rocked them back on their heels. Costain felt like punching him.

The Armed Response Unit made their apologies, did the necessary in terms of paperwork and left, presumably for awkward afternoons at home or down the pub. The strike was on. London felt silent, waiting. Costain, inside it, felt wired to the point of exploding.

The three of them marched into the unmarked van and locked the door. Only then did they feel able to talk. It was as if Vincent was already listening. ‘Everything about this operation,’ said Ross, ‘makes sense if the perpetrator is Russell Vincent. I say we now regard him as our number one suspect.’

‘Agreed,’ said Costain.

‘So how does everything fit together if it is him?’ Sefton was looking as strung out as Costain felt. They felt like ants who’d just glimpsed a human being standing above their nest. Mora Losley had had no worldly power, only what her occult abilities gave her. Russell Vincent seemed to have immense power in both spheres.

‘If Vincent has a genuine scrying glass,’ said Ross, ‘he could hack people’s dreams like a phone tap. That could be why the Herald’s so famously clean: they get their stories without breaking the law, from the minds of celebrities and politicians.’

‘It’s no wonder they got the Ripper message story first,’ said Sefton.