Joe explained what he wanted Mrs Freemantle to do. He outlined his scheme without giving away any information about Alice Conyers, saying simply that he wished to startle one of the sitters at her forthcoming seance into making a revelation. She listened carefully to his requirements, nodding her understanding.

‘Well, Maisie, how about it? Can you do this?’

‘Course I can do it! Piece o’ cake! But I won’t!’

Joe was taken aback. ‘What do you mean, you won’t?’

‘Just that. You heard me. I won’t do it.’

‘May I ask why?’

‘You may indeed,’ she mocked, the elegant, clipped vowels appearing again. ‘But come and sit down while I explain and I’ll give you a drink. At least for old times’ sake.’

She tipped the cat from the chair and invited Joe to sit down. A moment later she pressed a whisky and soda into his hand, saying as she did so, ‘Or should it be – as of old – a brandy and Baby Polly?’

She pulled up a chair opposite him.

‘Before we go any further can we get two things straight as between two old acquaintances on collar-feeling terms? First – that was a put-up job with the watch. The chap who claimed we stole it was an illusionist himself – bugger was trying to get rid of the opposition! And it worked, didn’t it? You couldn’t quite pin it on us but you had a bloody good try and scuppered our career on the halls, damn you! Had to change tack after that but Merl was always sharp. He could see it – after the war with so many loved ones going missing and passing over the demand was there, wasn’t it? The demand for someone to pass messages and receive messages from the newly dead. Sorry, I should say the ones who’ve gone ahead. Mediums! Everybody wanted to consult one. Merl decided that we’d move to Brighton where there was a lot of that stuff going on and cash in.’

Joe interrupted. ‘Interesting to catch up with your life story, Maisie, but can we get back to my problem?’

‘Selfish pig!’ Maisie commented. ‘Hold your horses. This is important. Brings me to the second point. Listen! We set up. Me being the medium – doesn’t always have to be a woman but you remember what Merl looked like? No point frightening off the marks so he did backstage and worked the illusions.’

Maisie paused for a moment. Theatrically, Joe judged, but he didn’t hurry her. He took it as a roll on the drums and waited patiently for the waggle of the backside which had made such an impression on him.

‘The illusions worked. We were bloody good but that’s not the point.’ She paused again. ‘I started extemporizing.’

‘What was that, Maisie?’

‘Extemporizing – cloth ears! I started saying words that weren’t on the scripts. Things just started coming into my head and I said them. Out loud, just like that. And the sitters knew what I was on about, all right. I said things in those sittings I had no idea about before we started. Things that only my clients and the dear departed would know. I heard voices in my head, whispering usually, sometimes shouting, passing on messages – messages full of love and hope and reassurance as a rule. Sometimes they used my voice to make contact. I was scared at first and told Merl I wanted to stop but word got round and we couldn’t keep them off with a stick! We put the prices up – charged double – still they came. Merl never really understood. He thought I was just clever and lucky… Well, I was, but there was more to it than that. Much more.’

Maisie looked at him intently. ‘You see, Joe, it’s a true bill. I can really do it. I have to do it. When Merl died I stopped charging fees. It didn’t seem right. If someone wanted the comfort of a communication with a husband, a wife, a father and I could give it, that’s what I had to do and I couldn’t charge for it. It didn’t stop rich folks giving me presents and some have been very generous but you don’t have to have a brass farthing to ask me for help.’

‘But how did you fetch up here in Simla?’ Joe asked.

‘No mystery. A client who was on home leave from India went back and spread the news. I got an invitation to come here, all expenses paid. I’d never travelled and with Merl gone who was to tell me I shouldn’t? It’s a very spiritually minded place, this, Joe. Ever since that Madame Blavatski lived here they’ve been keen on it. And this town’s full of spirits, not all of them on the side of the light. In fact I’ve directed a lot of lost souls towards the light since I’ve been here. I look on it as my work.’

‘It’s very interesting, it really is, Maisie,’ Joe said with only a trace of impatience. ‘But I can’t see why you won’t help me out.’

‘You can. You’re sharp. I don’t need to spell it out.’

Joe sighed. ‘You would be compromising your art if you descended to the subterfuge I’m suggesting? Something like that?’

‘Put it like that if you like. But – would you spit in church? No? Well, it would be like that if I twisted the truth like you want me to. Sorry, Joe. Can’t be done.’

Joe felt his anger rising. ‘Maisie, can you hear yourself? Know what you sound like? A self-righteous cow who’s forgotten where she’s come from! You hear a few voices, come in for some adulation by credulous idiots who can’t face the truth without a spiritual crutch and you think you’re the next thing to the Madonna! What do you think I’m asking you to do this for anyway? To blacken someone’s character? To bring eternal damnation about their ears? Of course not! Get this into your silly head will you, love? I’m with you on the side of the light! All I want to do is catch a murderer who could well kill again, to right a wrong and solve a puzzle that needs to be solved! The way you go on anybody’d think I was asking you to call up the spirit of Charlie Peace!’

He got to his feet. ‘Well, I did ask nicely. You’ve made your decision. You can bloody well live with the consequences!’

He was at the door and opening it before she called out to him.

‘Consequences? What consequences?’

He stood silently watching her.

‘You’re a shit, Joe Sandilands! You’d blacken my name in Simla, wouldn’t you? A word in the Governor’s ear about those unresolved charges against my name back in London and I’d be finished.’

She got up and paced to the window, her face stiff with resentment. After a moment she turned to him. ‘Oh, all right. For God’s sake, I’ll do it. You’d better come round here for a rehearsal tomorrow afternoon about four. The seance is at eight o’clock sharp.’

‘Right,’ said Joe settling back into the chair again. ‘I’ll tell you how I want you to play it tomorrow afternoon then.’

‘No you won’t! I’m the bloody professional! It’s my reputation at stake! If I’m doing it, you’ll get it done and you’ll know that you couldn’t get it done better.’

Joe nodded his acceptance. ‘I take your word for it, Maisie. Oh, just one more thing and perhaps I should have asked this first -may I see a list of your sitters for tomorrow? Make sure my target is on it.’

Maisie went to a bureau and took a sheet of paper from a drawer.

Joe looked at the list. ‘I want you to go through this list with me and tell me a little bit about each person. And I don’t mean the gossip you’ve collected at that window – I mean the reasons, if any have been given, for wanting to be here. Who are they trying to contact on the other side?’

Maisie knew the list by heart and recited the names from the top in order. ‘The list changes every week. Some people are what you’d call the core of the meeting and we add others for variety. Major Fitzherbert. He’s a regular. Trying to contact the Mem. They were inseparable. He’ll likely succeed because she only died a year ago.’

‘Is that significant – a year ago?’

‘Oh, yes. You tend not to be lucky if the subject passed over more than about four or five years ago. They lose interest, you know – the spirits, I mean. They have work to do on the other side. They don’t particularly want to be called back here all the time to sort things out for their relations. You know – “Aunty Enid – what did you do with Granny’s garnets?” It’s boring for them.’