‘I took a sleeping draught,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid I wouldn’t have woken up if you’d set me down in the weaving shed.’

Given that the weaving shed contained twelve hundred power looms, all thrumming and clattering at once, I suspected Caroline of hyperbole, but she got her point across.

‘Believe me,’ she went on, ‘I have been tormenting myself ever since… If I hadn’t taken the sleeping draught. If I had noticed he hadn’t come home. If I had tried to find him…’

‘It wouldn’t have helped, Caroline,’ I said. ‘His death must have been very swift. There was nothing you could have done. There’s no use torturing yourself.’

‘You’re very kind, but even so…’

‘When did you notice that Richard hadn’t come home?’

‘Not until George Walker from the office came to tell me.’

I paused before going on, uncertain how to soften my line of enquiry. ‘Caroline, believe me, I don’t mean to pry unnecessarily or to cause you any distress, but do you have any idea where Richard went that night?’

She seemed puzzled at my question. ‘Went? Why, he went to the Travellers’ Rest, of course, out on the Otley Road.’

It was my turn to be surprised. I thought I had known Richard Ellerby, but I didn’t know he was a frequenter of public houses; the subject had simply never come up between us. ‘The Travellers’ Rest? Did he go there often?’

‘Not often, no, but he enjoyed the atmosphere of a good tavern on occasion. According to Richard, the Travellers’ Rest was a respectable establishment. I had no reason not to believe him.’

‘Of course not.’ I knew of the place, and had certainly heard nothing to blacken its character.

‘You seem puzzled, Dr Oulton.’

‘Only because your husband never mentioned it to me.’

Caroline summoned up a brief smile. ‘Richard comes from humble origins, as I’m sure you know. He has worked very hard, both in Bradford and here at Saltaire, to achieve the elevated position he has attained. He is a great believer in Mr Samuel Smiles and his doctrine of self-help. Despite his personal success and advancement, though, he is not a snob. He has never lost touch with his origins. Richard enjoys the company of his fellow working men in the cheery atmosphere of a good tavern. That is all.’

I nodded. There was nothing unusual in that. I myself ventured to the Shoulder of Mutton, up on the Bingley Road, on occasion. After all, the village was not intended as a prison. It was beginning to dawn on me, though, that Richard probably assumed I was above such things as public houses because I was a member of the professional classes, or that I disapproved of them on health grounds because I was a doctor. I felt a pang of regret that we had never been able to get together over a pipe and a pint of ale. Now that he was dead, we never would.

‘Did he ever overindulge?’ I went on. ‘I ask only because I’m searching for a reason for what happened. If Richard had, perhaps, had too much to drink that night and missed his footing…?’

Caroline pursed her lips and frowned, deep in thought for a moment. ‘I’ll not say he’s never had a few too many,’ she admitted, ‘but I can say that he was not in the habit of overindulging.’

‘And there was nothing on his mind, nothing that might tempt him to have more than his share that night?’

‘There were many things on Richard’s mind, especially as regarded his work, but nothing unusual, nothing that would drive him to drink, of that I can assure you.’ She paused. ‘Dr Oulton, is there anything else? I’m afraid I’m very tired. Even with the sleeping draught… the past couple of nights… I’m sure you can understand. I’ve had to send the children to mother’s. I just can’t handle them at the moment.’

I got to my feet. ‘Of course. You’ve been a great help already. Just one small thing?’

She tilted her head. ‘Yes?’

‘Did Richard have any enemies?’

‘Enemies? No. Not that I know of. Surely you can’t be suggesting someone did this to him?’

‘I don’t know, Caroline. I just don’t know. That’s the problem. Please, stay where you are. I’ll see myself out.’

As I walked back to the hospital, I realized that was the problem: I didn’t know. I also found myself wondering what on earth Richard was doing by the weir if he was coming home from the Travellers’ Rest. The canal tow-path would certainly be an ideal route to the tavern and back, but the river was north of the canal, and Richard Ellerby’s house was south.

On my way to the Travellers’ Rest that evening, I considered the theory that Richard might have attracted the attention of a villain, or a group of villains, who had subsequently followed him, robbed him and tossed his body over the weir. The only problem with my theory, as far as I could see, was that he still had several gold sovereigns in his pocket, and no self-respecting thieves would have overlooked a haul that big.

As it turned out, the Travellers’ Rest was as respectable a tavern as Richard had told his wife, and as cheery a one as I could have hoped for after my gloomy thoughts. It certainly didn’t seem to be a haunt of cutpurses and ruffians. On the contrary, the gas-lit public bar was full of warm laughter and conversation, and I recognized several groups of mill workers, many of whom I had treated for one minor ailment or another. Some of them looked up, surprised to see me there, and muttered sheepish hellos. Others were brash and greeted me more loudly, taking my presence as an endorsement of their own indulgence. Jack Liversedge was there, sitting alone in a corner nursing his drink. My heart went out to him; poor Jack had been severely depressed ever since he lost his wife to anthrax two months before, and there seemed nothing anyone could do to console him. He didn’t even look up when I entered.

I made my way to the bar and engaged the landlord’s attention. He was a plump man with a veined red nose, rather like a radish, which seemed to me to indicate that he was perhaps a whit too fond of his own product. He nodded a crisp greeting, and I asked for a pint of ale. When I had been served, noticing a slight lull in business, I introduced myself and asked him if he remembered Richard Ellerby’s last visit. Once I had described my late colleague, he said that he did.

‘Proper gentleman, Mr Ellerby was, sir. I were right sorry to hear about what happened.’

‘I was wondering if anything unusual happened that evening.’

‘Unusual?’

‘Did he drink too much?’

‘No, sir. Two or three ales. That’s his limit.’

‘So he wasn’t drunk when he left here, unsteady in his gait?’

‘No, sir. Excuse me a moment.’ He went to serve another customer then came back. ‘No, sir, I can’t say as I’ve ever seen Mr Ellerby inebriated.’

‘Were there any rough elements in here that night?’

He shook his head. ‘Any rough elements I send packing, up to the Feathers on the Leeds Road. That’s a proper rough sort of place, that is. But this is a respectable establishment.’ He leaned forward across the bar. ‘I’ll tell thee summat for nowt, if Mr Salt won’t have public houses in his village, there’s no better place for his workers to pass an hour or two than the Travellers’ Rest, and that’s God’s honest truth.’

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ I said, ‘but surely things must get a little out of hand on occasion?’

He laughed. ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’

‘And you’re sure nothing strange happened the last night Mr Ellerby was here?’

‘You’d be better off asking him over there about that.’ He nodded towards Jack Liversedge, who seemed engaged in a muttered dispute with himself. ‘I’ve as much pity as the next man for a fellow who’s lost his wife, poor beggar, but the way he’s carrying on…’ He shook his head.

‘What happened?’