“Ooh! Hoity toity! It’s only a game, Dorcas—played by men, I have to admit, to entertain and confound each other.”

“No. I think with Mr. Langhorne it’s more than a pretence. It’s a glittering outer cover—a defence mechanism.”

“Eh?”

“The man’s a chocolate box. One of those expensive ones with a pretty picture on the cover, all tied up with silk ribbons, and when you take the lid off you discover it’s been empty since last Christmas and there’s just one unwanted butterscotch oozing away in a corner.”

“Ah! Now I’ve got it! You describe me exactly.” Joe rolled his eyes and clutched his heart.

“Don’t take it personally. I’m describing most men.”

“All the same, Langhorne was paying you flattering attention. Takes some courage to make up to a woman with his colleagues looking on, ready to scoff, you know. I was impressed.”

And, pityingly: “It’s exactly the reaction he was after, Joe. Consciously or unconsciously. ‘There goes Langhorne, chasing the skirts again. Not to be trusted within a mile of a silk stocking.’ Don’t you see it? He’s covering up the fact that he isn’t the least bit interested in women. He deceives his fellows; he deceives you. He deceives himself perhaps.”

“But he doesn’t fool you? A girl with three years of psychology under her belt.”

“I think I know real interest when I meet it.” This was accompanied by a smile full of regret and mystery.

Joe sighed and decided to ignore this baited hook. “Oh, look behind you! They’ve got a cocktail bar with leatherette-covered high stools. Care to perch on one and sip a ‘Manhattan’ while we’re waiting for the first course? No? Well, I notice our landlord stocks a wide range of champagnes,” he pressed on with a brittle cheeriness. “Fancy a glass of Bollinger, Dorcas?”

“No thanks. Not in the mood.”

“Shame! I was hoping to raise a few eyebrows. ‘That handsome devil at the corner table,’ they’d murmur, ‘the one with the tiger-clawed forehead and the wolfish grin … plying that poor girl with bubbly … it’s Rudolph Roller, and he’s something big in the City. They say he drives a red Royce.’ Pause while the table shudders with distaste and then: ‘D’you see the unfortunate creature with him? It’s Rita Renault, just fished out of the typing pool!’ ”

“It’s no good, Joe; I can’t feel celebratory. I can only think there’s a small boy out there who may have come to harm. I can’t understand why you left quietly like that. Not like you. I’d have expected you to arrest Chadwick, twist his arm, turn the place upside down … question the staff … at least annoy him by demanding to examine the daybook. Instead of which you complete his crossword with a flourish and stalk off.”

“That annoyed him more than anything, if I read him right! But all those options you mention are impossible, or they’re dead ends, Dorcas. You heard the man: If he wanted to hide someone in a place like that, you wouldn’t find him if you had a battalion and a pack of trained hounds at your back. I believed him. I’ve learned when to retreat. I’m not Don Quixote to go dashing in like a fool. There are other ways.”

“Like handing the investigation to Gosling? You don’t like him. You don’t trust him.”

“I’ve charged him with parking my car at the school and then doing a bit of telephoning. He’s to contact the Spielmans for an update on the situation regarding young Harald, then work his way through Rapson’s gallery, checking present whereabouts and, if necessary, availability of death certificates. Routine stuff but, lacking my own men about me, Gosling will have to do. I say this fully realising that he may well be duplicitous. He’s also, before he turns in for the night, to set up an interview with the hospital the doctor mentioned.”

Joe paused for a moment in thought. “You know what the medical profession is like when it comes to solidarity, Dorcas?”

“They don’t shop each other when something’s gone wrong.”

“I need to check on this pediatrics place. Chadwick had only good things to say about it, but there was just something about his delivery, an oddness. It was presented as an afterthought. But I thought it was rather too casually handed to me.”

“I could comment more intelligently if you told me where this hospital is. I probably know of it. The department has contacts with many hospitals. My friends were scattered all around the Home Counties. We compared notes. Let me help you.”

Joe handed the card Chadwick had given him to Dorcas and watched her brows lift in surprise.

“You do know it?”

“Yes, I do. But it’s miles from here. Not on the Seaford–London road at all. To get there, you’d have to travel a further twenty miles north and then branch off to the east and pick up the Tunbridge Wells road. It’s a couple of miles south of Edenhurst village.”

Joe looked at her steadily. “How do you know this? Have you visited?”

“Yes. Joe, this is the hospital where I did my research last term.”

“Ah. The post Truelove wangled for you?”

“I was glad and lucky to have it. It was the plum posting. You must have heard of it? It’s always in the papers.”

Joe nodded. “The sort of showcase establishment eminent foreign visitors are shown around, I understand. Starry German clinicians especially welcome. Pathé News on hand to record the admiration. Dorcas, how long has it been open, this place?”

“Oh, it’s shining new. White brick, plate glass, chrome fittings, the occasional restrained decorative touch. Ah, of course. I see where you’re going with this. Five years? At the most. So, of little interest to your enquiry.”

Joe smiled with relief. “Nevertheless, I don’t neglect a pointer when it’s pushed at me by a bloke as clever as I judge Chadwick to be. Just give me an outline if you can, without being too starry eyed.”

“It’s a research hospital, both surgical and psychiatric. They employ the very best medical staff, and their patients are well-heeled and well-connected. If members of the royal family need a little discreet medical attention, it’s where they come. It’s out of the public eye, and they receive the most modern treatment. James Truelove is a friend of the director. No, it’s a closer relationship than that. Brother-in-law, would he be? I believe he married James’s sister. Byam Alexander Bentink. Professor Bentink. He’s a consultant, a world authority on epilepsy and other brain malfunctions. A brilliant man.”

“So, it’s possible that a chauffeur in distress with a suffering child on his hands might have rung his boss from a telephone box or a post office or a road-house with a request for instructions. Perhaps he’d got further on his journey than we had calculated. A knowledgeable parent would have looked at a map and noted that the best option was to drive him to this centre of clinical excellence. Perhaps the boy was already on their books?”

“Entirely possible.” Dorcas turned a beaming smile at last on Joe. “We’ll find out in the morning. If that’s where Harald Spielman’s been taken he couldn’t be in more professional hands, I know that. Ouf!” She gave an exaggerated gesture of relief. “That’s the first gleam of sunshine we’ve had in this murky case. Do you think I might change my mind and have a glass of champagne now?”

“Of course. But there’ll be a price to pay. I mean over and above the five quid the landlord’s charging.” He summoned a waiter and placed his order. “I want some information. Everywhere I turn I bump into Sir James. He’s here there and everywhere. I’ve only met the bloke once, and he’s taken to haunting me. I’m not happy about it. I’ve made the usual background checks, of course, and I know what he is but I don’t know who he is. I need to understand him. I want to know as much as you can tell me about him.”

Dorcas frowned a frown he had last seen seven years before, and Joe feared she was going to sink into the impenetrable silence that usually followed. Then she came to a decision and spoke dismissively. “You don’t want to hear what I have to tell about him, about his integrity, his intelligence, his oratory, his philanthropy, do you?”