‘It was rash of me, I know. I cannot defend it, Simon, I can only apologise. There are times when I am not … collected. How can I be? The police do nothing, they have not even caught Mr Boyle’s killer yet, and I am expected to trust them with finding poor Cedric! I hear of such clever detectives in London, but here they do not see what is right before their eyes. I am being watched, Simon. Just the other day I stumbled upon the funeral for another one of my clients.’

‘No.’ Simon shakes his head, lays the pen back on the desk. ‘That is not being investigated as murder. The police believe Mrs Campbell tripped and fell onto the railway tracks in front of a train. There is no evidence of anyone pushing her.’ Seeing her astonishment, he goes on: ‘I have been watching you, Miss Darken. Whatever you might think, I did take your claims seriously. I heard through a patient of mine that Mrs Campbell intended to have her silhouette painted by you, and I have made sure to keep an eye on the Campbell family ever since.’ He folds one leg over the other, making his leather chair squeak. ‘The police are not quite as dull as you esteem them. I have spent a good deal of time answering their questions on your behalf. The crime scenes were evidently left by a person of some intelligence. Sergeant Redmayne believes the culprit may have had practise with this sort of thing – concealing the time and method of death, and so on.’

‘But the police do not know the full extent of my involvement: we never told them of my connection to Ned or Commander Hargreaves. They have no idea I took both men’s silhouettes.’

‘True. And it is advisable to keep them in ignorance. That information cannot reflect well upon you.’

She throws up her hands in frustration. ‘But they might be able to discover why this killer targets people close to me, and why on earth they would take Cedric! I have thought it over and over and it makes no sense. The only possible person with a claim on him is … well, you told me yourself, he is deceased. So unless we are proposing that a ghost is behind this … Are you sure I should not give the sergeant the notes I came across?’

Simon bites a fingernail. ‘No. No, I believe those notes may have been old, immaterial scraps that turned up by coincidence. You said that you found one in Cedric’s coat?’

‘You know I did, I showed it to you.’

‘Yes. Well. The writing that I saw … on the note you showed me … That belonged to someone else. Someone we both knew, Miss Darken.’

‘Who?’

‘It was the hand of … my wife.’

Constance.