Sharrock turned to the still nervous Wylie. ‘And you, sir. The truth if you please. When you last saw Mr Edwin Antrobus in Bristol, was he wearing this ring?’

Wylie trembled. ‘I hardly like to say: supposing I make a mistake? An honest mistake – it’s very easily done. It was a long time ago, and I am not sure if I would even remember such a thing. He might have worn gloves – the weather was quite cold for the time of year, I think – or possibly I might be confusing it with another time, but perhaps —’ he shook his head. ‘No, no, I really can’t say.’

‘Well, thank-you Mr Wylie, that is very clear.’ Sharrock took a deep breath as if making an effort to moderate his voice. ‘The ring, please, Mrs Antrobus.’

‘May I not keep it?’ asked Harriett, plaintively.

‘No, it’s evidence. And it isn’t your property in any case.’

Reluctantly, Harriett handed it to him.

‘When you no longer require it please return it to me,’ said Antrobus. ‘I will keep it safe for my brother should he return, or for his elder son if he does not.’

Charlotte sat beside Harriett and took her hand. ‘Please, everyone, this has been more disturbance than my poor sister can tolerate for one day. I beg you all to go and leave us in peace.’

They obeyed her wishes, Wylie rushing away as fast as he could, clearly wanting to place as much distance between himself and the Inspector as possible. Sharrock headed east to the police station, and Frances and Antrobus briefly and silently shared a cab travelling in the other direction.

‘I trust you will not be concerning yourself with any murders, Miss Doughty,’ warned Antrobus as she alighted outside the home of Dr Goodwin.

‘On the contrary,’ she could not resist replying. ‘I am about to interview a man suspected of murder.’ His shocked expression was reward enough for the discomfort of his company.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Frances had not had the opportunity to send a note to Dr Goodwin announcing her visit but she felt that her work had reached that position when speed was more important than custom, so she rang the doorbell and presented her card to the maid. As she expected, the doctor bowed to the inevitable and agreed to see her.

Dr Goodwin showed every appearance of a man living a nightmare. He was clearly trying to go through his daily routine in a vain attempt to delude himself that everything was as before, but his eyes had the dry staring look of a man who had been without sleep, his crescent of grey hair was uncombed, and he was moving about in an uncharacteristically vague and disorganised manner. When Frances was conducted to his study he looked both worried and hopeful. ‘Are you looking into Eckley’s death?’ he asked, waving her to a seat.

‘No, that is the concern of the police.’ She prepared to take notes. ‘I am still pursuing my enquiries on the disappearance of Mr Edwin Antrobus, and to that end I am looking into everything that happened to him and his family and associates in the months before that occurred. Anything out of the ordinary. Rivalries. Arguments.’ She paused. ‘Secrets.’

Goodwin gave a thoroughly dejected and weary sigh. ‘I have already told you all I know.’

‘I am not so sure of that.’

He stared at her but uttered no denials.

‘First of all I wish to know if Mrs Pearce, the mother of Mrs Antrobus and Miss Charlotte Pearce, was a patient of yours?’

He was surprised by the question but not alarmed. ‘Yes, that is not a secret. She had been hard of hearing all her life and had grown increasingly deaf in the years before her death. I did all I could for her.’

‘How did she converse?’

‘Her speech was not affected. She could lip read some common words, but in the main it was best to communicate in writing.’

‘You met with a lady by Mr Pearce’s tomb in Kensal Green. That was a secret, I think.’

It was a risk to be so blunt, but Frances knew she had to declare it as a fact and not a rumour, and certainly not as a story emanating from Mr Dromgoole, which could all too easily be denied.

Goodwin was silent for a time. ‘A gentleman may meet a lady in full view of any passer-by without there being anything wrong in it,’ he said at last.

‘You met more than once,’ she persisted, ‘and I am not implying that anything was wrong, only that others might have thought so and made false allegations which incurred the wrath of Mr Antrobus. Also something might have been discussed at your meetings which could be of importance.’

He shook his head. ‘No, nothing.’

‘And the lady’s identity? The location of these meetings cannot have been chance.’

‘How do you know of this?’ he suddenly demanded.

‘I cannot reveal the source of the information.’

Dr Goodwin stared at the papers on his desk without seeing them and passed his hands over his head, his fingers burrowing down into the fringe of hair at the back. At length he took a deep breath. ‘As you have correctly surmised, the lady I met was Mrs Pearce. She was a patient and a friend. Nothing more. She was extremely anxious about the health of her daughter, Mrs Antrobus, and naturally we talked on that subject. Our first encounter at Kensal Green was chance – I had gone to visit the grave of my parents – but after that we agreed to meet from time to time.’

Frances closed her notebook and looked at him keenly. ‘In the last year of her life Mrs Pearce was unable to walk more than a few steps unassisted and could not have made the journey to her husband’s tomb alone. And you were observed talking to the lady, not passing her writing.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I am saying that you are lying to me.’

He looked uncomfortable, even a little afraid.

‘I would like the truth now, please,’ Frances went on, as if that was the simplest request in the world and not, as she so often found, the hardest.

He took a deep breath and placed his hands firmly palm down on the desk, a gesture of new resolve. ‘I apologise. You are correct and I ought to be ashamed of myself, but sometimes it is necessary to tell a harmless lie for the greater good. Very well. You shall have the truth. The lady in question was Mrs Harriett Antrobus, and we met in secret in a quiet place because she wished to talk about her difficulties without her husband or anyone else being present. He was not, I am sorry to say, sympathetic to her hardships, and she wished to speak freely and openly to someone who understood them. Since she is a married lady I attempted to deceive you just now in order to protect her reputation.’

‘How often and how many times did you meet there?’

‘Not very frequently, perhaps five or six times.’

‘How many times after Mr Antrobus disappeared?’

‘There was one occasion, which I have already mentioned, when I called at the house as a mark of sympathy. Mrs Antrobus was a patient, nothing more.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘I am very weary, Miss Doughty, is that all?’

Frances rose to leave, although she could not help feeling that Dr Goodwin had not told her everything. Recalling the expression Cedric had used to the sergeant at Paddington Green, she approached the desk and leaned forward confidentially. ‘I know your secret.’

It was there, the sudden loss of colour from the cheeks, the look of terror behind his eyes. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he gasped. ‘I did not harm Mr Eckley, the police have found the cabdriver who was conveying me at the time he was killed. I did not conduct an intrigue with either Mrs Pearce or Mrs Antrobus. Isaac is not my natural son, in fact I have no natural children.’ He recovered his composure. ‘Please leave me now.’

‘Very well,’ said Frances, more pleasantly. She made to go, but at the door she turned to face him. ‘Oh, by the bye, I have read your booklet on the subject of sign language, it is a fascinating art.’

‘Yes, indeed it is,’ he agreed, looking relieved that the subject of the conversation had changed.