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when we’ve really done all our homework by also going through Clement Hamlyn’s and Daniel Coates’ criminal records we’ll head back to London and take a look at Miss Smythe’s house.’
    â€˜And she was still working on it, wasn’t she?’ I persevered.
    Patrick nodded soberly. ‘Looks like it.’
    The work – altogether there was a lot of it – and in between necessary family matters, never mind eating and sleeping, took another thirty-six hours. But I was content for I had written not just a précis of the letters but also clarified the Met’s report on the murder inquiry so far, it being thorough but the English lumpy in places, the kind of thing that I knew irritated Greenway. I appended my version to the original because of course it could not replace it, having been endorsed by senior officers.
    DI Branscombe had noted that although the killer had apparently endeavoured to make it look like a break-in, he, or she, had not found the two hundred and fifty pounds or so concealed in one of a pair of Chinese vases in the living room, which would have been one of the first places a professional burglar would have looked. Drawers under the murder victim’s bed had been pulled out, the contents scattered but more money hidden between the pages of an old photograph album had not been discovered. Branscombe thought whoever had killed Miss Smythe had then hurried around the house knocking a few things over, opened most drawers and cupboards, pulled out the clothes and other possessions within on to the floor, ransacked a jewellery box, scattering the contents, and then made their escape through the back door, which had been forced to gain entry and left open. The niece was fairly convinced that a few of the best pieces of jewellery were missing but had pointed out that her aunt may have given them away or put them in a bank. The DI emphasized that one of his priorities had been to try to discover the truth behind this but, so far, he had got nowhere. If SOCA had no objection, and he himself had the time, he would continue working on this aspect of the case as he had a contact who knew the whereabouts of several fences.
    As was routine, the murder victim’s clothing and various samples taken by scenes of crime personnel in the house had been sent to a forensic laboratory, but it would be a while yet before any findings were known. The murder victim had apparently employed a cleaning lady, who must have been dedicated in her work as early results showed that the only clear fingerprints found, so far, were hers, those of her employer, Miss Smythe’s niece and those of a friend, another elderly lady, who had all been eliminated from the investigation. But work was still underway as the house was quite large and there were signs of disturbance in every room but the attics. No doubt delighted to be able to give away the greater part of one of his cases, Branscombe had attached a note to the file assuring Commander Greenway that all outstanding forensic reports would be sent directly to him.

FIVE
    T he view from Richmond Hill along the River Thames to distant Windsor is preserved by an Act of Parliament and regarded as an icon of beautiful English scenery. This might have been the attraction when she retired for Rosemary Smythe who, we were shortly to discover from her niece, Mrs Jane Grant, had taught English and art. She had been a Londoner by birth having been brought up in nearby Mortlake, an only child who had inherited more than modest wealth on the slightly premature death of her parents. She had not taken early retirement on the strength of this and I could imagine her, having begun to understand her character from reading the letters, feeling that it would be selfish to abandon her young charges for this reason.
    The house, one of a terrace in a quiet side street, was obviously still a crime scene, traffic cones preventing the general public from parking their