“It won’t take a moment,” I urged, only to regret neglecting to mark the place in the book. How long might it take me to find it again? “It’s more than important,” I said, trying to restrain my voice. “You’ll see.”

Very little like an invitation Julia said “Just tell me, Patrick.”

“You have to see for yourself. You won’t believe otherwise.”

Julia gave a shrug that appeared to pump out an equally fierce sigh of resignation. “For heaven’s sake show me, then.”

She marched back to the search room and held the door open barely long enough for me to follow her in, and then she swung to confront me. “Where is it?”

“I told you, in the book,” I said and dodged around her, only to falter. On the table in front of the chair I’d shoved away at an angle, the cushion lay indented as though it had supported a sleeper’s head, but now it held nothing at all. “Where’s the book?” I demanded.

“That’s what I asked you, Patrick.”

“I left it there, right there. Mr Lister knows I did. He made me. He saw me do it.”

Lister stared at the table and rose halfway to his feet to confirm what he was seeing. “I’m afraid that’s not the case.”

“How can it not be? What are you trying to suggest?”

“I’m saying you asked me to go after your wife and so I wasn’t looking.”

In a dangerously neutral tone Julia said “Did you really call me that, Patrick?”

“I was in a hurry to catch you, and if you recall, Mr Lister, I immediately said she only used to be.” I felt reduced to nerves again. “I’d think you would be more concerned about finding the book,” I said.

Julia gazed at me as Lister did. “We are,” she said.

“If that look’s supposed to mean you think I’ve got it somewhere, come and search.” Not far from hysteria I said “After all, this is the search room.”

“I won’t be going near you, but perhaps Derek should.”

“Examine me by all means, Derek. Really, pat me to your heart’s content. Feel wherever you like.”

Too late I realised this might sound like a clutch of homophobic comments. Perhaps that was why Lister rendered his face blank before approaching me. I emptied my pockets – phone, wallet stuffed with plastic cards, comb, handkerchief as crumpled as a schoolboy’s – onto the cushion, and Lister responded to my invitation by patting me pretty well from head to foot with a fastidiousness that might have conveyed disdain or distaste. The process worked on my nerves so much that I had to restrain more than one twitch. At last the librarian said “Mr Semple appears not to have the book.”