‘Yes, Martin?’

‘Have you discovered what went wrong with Zephyr?’

‘Not yet. I’m just thankful we didn’t lose her altogether.’

‘Yes, so you keep saying.’ Hepton rose from the chair. ‘It couldn’t have anything to do with whatever else was up there, could it?’

Fagin smiled quizzically. ‘How do you mean, Martin?’

Hepton shook his head. ‘No, maybe not. I just thought that whatever it was that was up there interfering with Zephyr’s airspace might have caused the satellite to malfunction temporarily.’

‘There wasn’t anything else up there.’ Fagin seemed bemused. ‘What made you think there was?’

‘Oh, just Paul’s data. Have you checked it yet?’

‘I told you, the disk—’

‘Oh yes, the disk malfunctioned too, didn’t it?’ Hepton shook his head. ‘Well, these things happen, don’t they, sir?’ he commented archly.

‘Yes, they do, Martin,’ said Fagin coolly, watching as Hepton walked to the door and made his exit.

Hepton descended the metal stairs to the ground-floor level and walked along the corridor towards where two telephone booths were situated. As usual, one of these had a notice taped to it saying OUT OF ORDER, to which some wag had prefixed the single word BANG. But the other telephone was working. Hepton dialled directory enquiries. His call was answered immediately.

‘Hello,’ he began. ‘I’d like the number of a hospital in Grimsby. It may be the only hospital, I’m not sure.’

A few moments later, he had several numbers in the back of his diary. He drew lines beneath them all with his pen, thanked the operator and rang off. Then, finding more change in his pocket, he dialled the first number.

‘Hello,’ he repeated, when the call was finally answered. ‘Could you put me through to Dr McGill, please?’

It took the receptionist a little time. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last, ‘there’s no Dr McGill working here.’

‘Thank you,’ Hepton said, ringing off. He felt actual relief: it would be something of an anticlimax if Vincent’s Dr McGill were to exist outside of the young man’s imagination. He called the other two numbers with the same negative result.

So there was no Dr McGill. Had Paul Vincent ever even been taken to hospital in the first place? Or had he been at the Alfred de Lyon all the time? It was a question Hepton couldn’t yet answer. He took his pen and wrote the name VILLIERS in his diary. Another figment of Vincent’s imagination? A second visit to the nursing home was becoming absolutely necessary.

Two hours later, Hepton was playing pool with Nick Christopher when the internal note arrived. He read it out aloud.

‘“Leave can begin at once. Send us a postcard. Henry.”’

Christopher came to see. ‘Jesus,’ he said, ‘he really signed himself Henry. Fagin never uses his Christian name. Never.’