‘The young lady,’ said the sergeant, his voice suddenly hard, ‘looks as if she’s been in a prize fight. She works in the first-class ladies’ cloakroom at St Pancras and says she’s sure she won’t be allowed back there until the injury to her lip has healed. She is thinking of pressing charges.’ He leaned back, seeming to relish the silence that followed. ‘In the meantime,’ he added, ‘could you give me a description of the thief, and also of the handbag?’

‘He was wearing a purple jacket,’ said Mattie, stiffly, ‘and he had dark hair, but I barely saw his face. I can tell you nothing useful about his appearance.’ Though as she spoke, she recollected that glance back; a broad face, sharply cheek-boned – almost Slavic; she had been reminded of her Serbian refugees.

‘And the bag?’

‘Black leather. Rather large.’

‘Its contents?’

‘A purse, a 1928 diary, a pair of nail scissors, a fountain pen, a third edition of Fuller’s Worthies of England, volume two …’

‘A large book,’ supplied The Flea, as the sergeant’s pencil hesitated.

‘… an apple, a string bag, a handkerchief, a Jew’s harp and a small wooden—’

Mattie stopped herself just in time.

‘… shoe tree.’

‘And how much is in the purse?’

‘Just over two pounds, but there is also a betting slip which, should Casey’s Bride win the 4.20 at Sedgefield, will yield a further three guineas.’

Beal tucked his notebook and pencil into his pocket and rose to leave.

‘Thank you for the tea, Miss Lee. Miss Simpkin, we may need you to come to the station to give a signed statement. You shall be sent a letter in due course. In the meantime, I’d advise you not to take the law into your own hands. Again.’ He checked his watch. ‘Casey’s Bride?’

‘Three-year-old gelding out of Joe’s Heaven and Penelope. On striking form this season.’

She stayed seated as The Flea showed the sergeant out, and when she heard the front door close she reached for her tea. Her hand was trembling. How ridiculous that a single fairground tune had led to this; for thirty seconds she’d visited Angus, dear Angus, in that dreadful hospital in Weymouth and for that she’d been robbed and threatened with court. Her guard had slipped and the barbarians had come smashing through. Vigilance, she thought, for the second time in as many hours. Vigilance.

‘That poor girl,’ said The Flea, returning.

‘Yes, it was fearfully bad luck for her. For both of us.’

‘Mattie, you could have taken her eye out!’

‘No,’ said Mattie, with certainty. ‘No, I was aiming for the spot between the fellow’s shoulder blades. She would have had to have been frightfully short to be struck any higher.’ She took a deep breath and set her cup down. ‘However, I would rather not be the subject of an assault charge. I wonder …’

‘What?’

‘If the girl might accept payment for days missed at work. Compensation, so to speak. I could go to St Pancras and ask for her address. She’s a redhead, it won’t be hard to describe her.’