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Marriott.
    â€˜You and Watkins take up the observation at six o’clock, and if that turns out to be too late, you can tell the guv’nor that was when I told you to take it up.’ Marriott had much more faith in Catto than did Hardcastle. He knew that he was a good hard-working detective, and only ever lost his self-confidence when confronted by the DDI. Apart from which, he was irritated that the DDI had not given Catto specific instructions. Not that he would say as much to a junior officer. Before dismissing the detective constable, Marriott gave him a description of Haydn Villiers and drew a rough sketch of the cap badge that the army officer wore.
    â€˜Thanks, Sarge,’ said a relieved Catto.
    â€˜And the rank is sergeant, not sarge, Catto,’ said Marriott, and returned to the DDI’s office.
    Hardcastle glanced at his watch, briefly wound it and dropped it back into his waistcoat pocket. ‘Time we were getting up to Paddington, Marriott. Dr Spilsbury’s conducting the post-mortem on Gosling this afternoon.’
    â€˜I’ve just finished, Hardcastle.’ Spilsbury took off his rubber apron and tossed it on to a side bench. ‘I haven’t found anything that you don’t know already, my dear fellow. And that is that Gosling died as a result of several severe blows to the head causing multiple cranial fractures of the skull associated with contusion of the brain. I found six lacerated wounds on the scalp showing dents from one to two inches long, some on the front and some on the back of the head.’ The pathologist paused. ‘I would say that your attackers intended to kill the poor man.’
    â€˜D’you think it was the sash weight we found that did for him, Doctor?’
    â€˜Almost certainly,’ said Spilsbury. ‘If you care to let me have the weight, I’ll be able to tell you for sure. I’ve also analysed the blood sample that was found on the showcase, but I’m sorry to have to tell you that it was blood group O-plus.’
    â€˜Is that no good, then?’ Hardcastle was not too well versed in medical matters.
    â€˜I don’t think that it will be of any assistance to you. It’s the most common blood group there is. Probably forty per cent of the population have it running through their veins.’ Spilsbury paused, smiling. ‘And their arteries of course.’
    â€˜If he used a sash weight, he must’ve brought it with him,’ said Hardcastle. ‘And that, to my mind, shows intent to murder.’
    â€˜Very likely,’ said Spilsbury, ‘but that’s your province rather than mine, Hardcastle.’
    It was a tortuous journey from Whitehall to Battersea by public transport, but Henry Catto and Cecil Watkins knew that they would not be reimbursed for a cab fare just to get there. To make matters worse it had started to rain by the time the two detectives arrived at Prince of Wales Drive, and a quite sharp breeze was blowing across from Battersea Park.
    Dispirited, they hunched their shoulders beneath their overcoats and began to amble up and down trying to appear inconspicuous. There was no cover and no shop doorways in which they could shelter and be hidden from any curious eyes that might be watching them from the mansion flats. But at least their umbrellas shielded their faces. For what good that was.
    For an hour and a half the two detectives wandered disconsolately up and down the street, grateful that it was now dark and that, thanks to wartime restrictions, some of the street lamps were unlit; those that were alight had been dimmed.
    Their enforced patience was rewarded at half past seven when they saw an army officer emerge from one of the grand entrances.
    â€˜D’you think that’s him, Henry?’ asked Watkins.
    â€˜I hope so, Cecil. Is he a captain?’
    â€˜Yes, he’s got three pips on the shoulder straps of his greatcoat and what looks like an artillery badge on