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and ordered another, plus a gin and tonic. I was just about to get them, when a lady came up and tapped him on the shoulder and said sorry, her friend had arrived and she couldn’t join him after all, so he cancelled the gin.’
    ‘He didn’t suggest to her that they joined up?’ Webb was thinking of the two visitors upstairs.
    ‘No, just said not to worry, the people he was expecting would be here soon.’
    ‘People? In the plural?’
    ‘That’s right, sir.’
    ‘And did he come back later for more drinks?’
    ‘Not to me, sir, but there were three of us serving.’
    ‘Can you describe this gentleman?’
    ‘Mid-forties, dark curly hair, business suit and a rather classy tie.’
    Webb let out his breath on a long sigh. ‘And the lady?’
    ‘Oh, a bit of all right, sir, if you take my meaning. Blonde hair, green eyes, nice figure. Looked like a model.’
    ‘Have you seen her in here before?’
    ‘Nope.’
    ‘Did you notice who she was with?’
    He shook his head. ‘Honest, sir, I was run off my feet.’
    ‘But you’d know her again?’
    ‘Not half!’ the barman confirmed with a grin. Then suddenly, realizing the direction of the questioning, he sobered. ‘You’re never saying that’s the bloke that died?’
    ‘It seems very likely. What time did all this take place?’
    ‘Sorry, sir, all I can tell you is it was in the lunch hour.’ Their food arrived and Webb nodded to Jackson to take it to an alcove.
    ‘When we’ve eaten I’d like a word with your two colleagues,’ he told the barman.
    When Webb reached the table, Jackson was already tucking into his meal and they ate in companionable silence. Only when they’d finished did Jackson take time to look about him, stroking the rich upholstery on which they sat and gazing admiringly at the bronze horse.
    ‘Lovely statue, that,’ he remarked. ‘Copper Coin, for a pound.’
    ‘Tut, tut, Ken, I didn’t know you were a gambling man.’
    ‘Oh, I’m not, Guv. With a wife and four kids I don’t need any help in throwing money away. But there are three races I put a bit on each year — the National, the Derby and the Cup. And that little beauty’s won me a bob or two over the years.’
    ‘Excuse me, sir.’
    Webb looked up. A man was standing at the table, his bottle-green jacket and bow-tie identifying him as one of the barmen.
    ‘You was asking about a lady in here yesterday? Blonde lady?’
    Webb’s interest quickened. ‘Yes, indeed.’
    ‘Well, sir, she was meeting Mr Derringer, one of our guests. I took their drinks across myself.’
    ‘This Mr Derringer — he isn’t a man in his forties, with dark curly hair?’ (Could Samantha have misheard ‘Ker-ringer’?)
    ‘Oh no, sir. Fifties at least, and balding.’
    Too bad. ‘Is he staying here?’
    ‘That’s right, sir.’
    ‘And the lady?’
    ‘I’ve not seen her before.’
    ‘Did you see the other gentleman, with curly hair?’
    ‘Afraid not, sir. We were very busy.’
    ‘Any idea of the approximate time?’
    ‘Oh, I couldn’t say. Like Bedlam it was, in here.’
    ‘Well, thanks very much, Mr —?’
    ‘Barker, Sid Barker. Me other mate didn’t see neither of them — me and Ted just asked him.’
    ‘I’m grateful for your help, Mr Barker. Thank you.’
    As the man moved away, Webb’s bleeper sounded, loud in the almost empty bar.
    ‘Good timing,’ he continued. ‘Sounds as though Stapleton’s arrived. I’ll go and have a quick word, then we’ll track down Mr Derringer.’
    *
    The pathologist, who was bending over the figure in the chair, glanced over his shoulder with a grunt as Webb approached, then resumed his examination. He would comment when he was ready, and Webb waited patiently.
    Several minutes later, Stapleton straightened. ‘Before you ask, Chief Inspector,’ he said in his clipped voice, ‘time of death could be anything up to twenty-four hours. Rigor mortis is wearing off, as you see, but it would have been accelerated in this heat — the