He inclined his head as he spoke. He was pleased that this identity had been established. There were a limited number of people in the neighbourhood who would have their clothes specially made, just as there were a limited number of people who would make use of a solicitor’s services, though more of course would come to Harbinson and Balt than would approach a tailor. On first hearing about the debtor, he had pondered over whom it might be; it interested him that it was Sir Cedric Goff. The initial letter would of necessity require to be delicately couched, since no doubt Sir Cedric would be present on the twenty-sixth. Eugene Prille might be given the task—in two or three lines simply to draw attention to what could be termed an oversight. When the twenty-sixth was safely past, a sterner note might be struck.

‘Some constraint, is there?’ the tailor enquired, buttoning the waistcoat.

Finnamore reassured him. He stood while adjustments were marked on the sleeves of the jacket, his thoughts no longer involved with Sir Cedric Goff but with four fields to which the Rollestons, beyond all possible doubt, had clear title. During all the years of his investigation he had sought a starting point, many times believing he had found it only later to become doubtful. But when recently he had suggested to the family that papers of seizure be issued he had not done so lightly. As he saw it, the Rolleston claim was indisputable; but receiving little encouragement from either his fiancée or her brothers, he had gone over the ground again, testing it for possible loopholes, probing what might be areas of weakness. He had discovered nothing to upset his sanguine view, but even so he had requested Eugene Prille to examine the ground independently. A starting point must by its very nature be indisputable; it was useless otherwise. From it, precedent would be established, and further precedent spawned.

The four fields in question were now in the hands of a woman who was only distantly connected with the family which, three generations ago, the Rollestons had excused the payment of rent. Though it was not an issue—and in Finnamore’s opinion it would be unwise to suggest it ever might be—the woman in question came of fishing stock and could call on no inherited farming expertise. Deterioration of the land had set in over the years and was now continuing at a swifter pace than hitherto, the ill-drained acres separated from the Carriglas estate only by a tangle of brambles, to which the Rollestons had title also.

‘Thank you, Mr Balt.’ The tailor rose from a stooping position, having satisfied himself that the trouser turn-ups rested correctly on Finnamore’s black shoes. ‘Thank you for your patience, sir.’