Jackie held his hands out, his eyes wide with horror at the memory. “His front was sopping wet. I thought he’d been out in the snow and got wet through but it was blood! He was dead and all bloody! I’d killed him! I’d pushed him down the stairs and killed him! Broken his neck? I don’t know. People do break their necks when they fall downstairs, don’t they?”

“Well, yes, they do,” said Joe, “but I don’t think that can be what happened to Rappo.”

Lydia edged back into the room with a tray. “Here we are!” she said in the cheery tone of one bearing cocoa and ginger biscuits. “I floated some cream on top as they do in Vienna. Thought we all deserved a treat. Do go on. I heard what you were saying, Jackie. Poor old thing! What a dreadful experience!”

“Thank you, Auntie Lydia.” He sipped and gave a shaky smile. “Well you see, then I thought: Now I really am in trouble! They’ll all know I’ve killed Rappo! I must run way. Bring my plans forwards, you could say. So I ran to the cloakroom and washed my hands, then I got my cycling cape and put my bag round my shoulder. It was about a quarter to seven and I thought if I hurried I could catch the seven o’clock train—the train to London—and come to you.”

“Jackie, I’m very glad you’re here, but why me?”

“Well,” said Jackie, “There was Uncle Dougal in Scotland but I hadn’t enough money for the fare, and the aunts in Brighton but they’d soon catch up with me in Brighton. And there are people in Camberley but I don’t really know them and then at the end of the letter Mum gave me—I’ve got it here.…” he said and went to feel in the pocket of his cycling cape. “Here you are, you see, here are the telephone numbers and addresses and at the end—look.…”

He handed the much crumpled paper list to Joe, who read it and passed it on to Lydia. The list of names concluded: In emergency only, Joe Sandilands, 2, Reach House, Chelsea, London. Flaxman 8891. Uncle Joe is a policeman. He will take care of you.

“That’s not Mummy’s writing,” said Joe, puzzled.

“No,” said Jackie, “it’s Dad’s. He added you just when I was saying goodbye to him. I’m glad he did!”

“Yes, by God!” said Joe. “I’m glad he did too! I don’t like to think of you loose in London without a bean.”

Jackie sat between them on the sofa, empty mug in his hand, blinking owlishly from one to the other.

“I think that’s enough,” said Lydia. “Come and see the bed I’ve made up for you. Quite cozy, you’ll find. I’ll tuck you in.”

“Will I be by myself, Auntie?”

“Yes. In splendour and state. Well, not much splendour—it’s only a box room. But there won’t be twenty other boys fussing about to keep you awake.”

“Lydia,” Joe called after her, and then, hesitantly: “I think you’ve misunderstood. He mightn’t want to be alone … nightmares and all that. If you look in the bottom drawer of the pine chest, you’ll find something you’ll recognise. You can offer it to Jackie. It may help.”

“Go and climb into bed, Jackie. I’ll be with you in a minute.… What are you on about, Joe?”

“Hector. You can give him Hector.” He frowned to hear her peal of laughter.

“Your disgusting old horse? He was declared unhygienic and mother threw him out years ago. Anyway,” she whispered, “the boy’s nearly ten. I don’t want to insult him.”

“Do it anyway, Lydia.”

Joe sat and listened for a while to the soft voices coming through from the box room, first Lydia then Jackie in reply. There was a shared laugh. Probably greeting Hector’s appearance. These were the most natural of sounds, friendly and domestic. Impossible to believe that there was a bloody background to these moments of peace, hard to believe that they sat in the outfall of manslaughter at the very least.

“Well, Joe,” said Lydia when she returned, “what now? Worked out your next move, have you?”

“Yes, my immediate next move, said Joe, “but beyond that I can’t see. My next move has to be to ring up this wretched school. I should have done it hours ago but this has been rather a precious moment for me and I didn’t want policemen clumping all over the place. Or headmasters. I didn’t want Jackie to be in any kind of trouble whatever and we can keep him safe and warm and fed here. I even had a sort of mad idea that he might go back home with you for a bit at least. Was that so daft?”

“Well I have to say I think it was a bit daft. Of course he’d be totally welcome and for as long as you can manage—you know that. But there are others involved, aren’t there?”

“Quite a few,” said Joe. “Quite a few.”

He picked up the phone and dialled directory enquiries. Lydia heard him say in a very police voice, “St. Magnus School, Sussex please.” And after the delay, “St. Magnus School? Please put me through to someone in authority.” And then, “My name is Sandilands. I’d like to know to whom I am speaking.… This is important and confidential. I would prefer to speak to the headmaster. You may tell him it concerns a boy of his. Jack Drummond.”

Almost at once a worried and angry voice: “Hullo? Hullo? You have something to tell me about Drummond? Do you know where he is? I say, do you know where he is? And, incidentally, who are you? Are you saying you’ve got Jack Drummond there? How did this happen?” The voice was anxious, hostile. “The police are looking for him you know.”

“I didn’t know but I thought it was possible. But I need to know who I’m speaking to—is that the headmaster?”

“Yes. Farman here. Where are you speaking from?”

Carefully and succinctly Joe gave his name, address and telephone number.

“London! How the hell did he get there?” said Farman, clearly not in any way reassured. “Who’s holding him?”

“No one’s holding him,” said Joe. “He’s in my care.”

“What’s it got to do with you? How did you get in on this?”

Patiently Joe explained. “Mr. and Mrs. Drummond gave Jackie my name and address as a contact if he was in any sort of trouble. I met him at Victoria Station and brought him back to my flat here. I’ve fed him and he’s now in bed. I do not want him disturbed or worried in any way tonight. He’s obviously been through an alarming experience. Now—you said the police were looking for him. Can you explain to me why?”

“There’s been a bit of … an accident here. It is apparent that Drummond was in some way involved. The police need to interview him. Perhaps you’d better speak to them. Come back to me when you’ve finished—we must arrange for Drummond’s return as soon as possible. I consider that of paramount importance. I am, after all, in loco parentis.”

“And, by the same token,” said Joe, “I find myself in loco patris.” He delivered the invention with all the gravitas of a lawyer. “Which is to say, the boy has been transferred to my care, in writing, by Andrew Drummond. I have the document to hand. I have assumed paternal responsibility for him.”

“I shall need to see your proof. I have a list here that his parents gave me of relations and friends he might contact and I don’t see your name on it.”

“I don’t think I’m going to like this man,” Joe thought. “Do I play my trump card now? Yes, I think I do.”

“Before we say any more or make any plans for the immediate future,” he said frostily, “I want to speak to the officer presently in charge of this case.”

And Farman’s voice distantly, “He wants to speak to you. Some interfering blighter called Sandilands. I’m not getting much sense out of him myself. Will you take this? That might be best.”

An efficient police voice took over. “Detective Inspector Martin.”

“Good evening, Martin,” said Joe. “My name is Sandilands. You may possibly have heard of me. Assistant Commissioner Sandilands, Scotland Yard.”

There was a grunt at the other end. “Would you mind saying that again?”

Joe did so.

“And may I ask what has been your involvement so far, sir? This is a complicated case, as you probably gather, but I wouldn’t have thought it warranted the full attention of.…”