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seemed very confident of his security. But if they didn’t get what they wanted, I’ll wager they’ll have another go within the week. Can’t solve crimes before they’re committed.” He drew the pudding towards him. “One other notion. Is our thief a dolt or a fool?”
    I felt more confident now. “Well, he left no trace, and he has the household thrown off the scent. Smart enough, I’d say.”
    “Who is the cleverest man in that house?”
    “Mr Pearson, I imagine. Sir! You’re not suggesting that–” I looked around, and lowered my voice. “That Mr Pearson is our thief? He’s stealing from himself?”
    He stirred his pudding around with quiet relish. “I was chasing a theft a few years back. Irish financier, dabbled in politics. Two hundred and thirty thousand pounds went missing from a Tipperary bank he happened to be manager of. Tricky one, that.”
    “He did it himself?” I stared at my pudding. “Did you get him, sir?”
    “In a manner of speaking. He took prussic acid on Hampstead Heath before we could send him down. It was me that found the suicide note tucked away with his papers.”
    I blinked, trying to imagine it all. “But, sir, Pearson?”
    “Keep an open mind, son. Like as not, we’ll never know.” He saw my look of surprise. “Don’t misunderstand me, son. Nothing we can do, that’s all. I’ve forty years of cases in my head. What does it help to fret about them? Drive yourself barmy.”
    The second sharpest mind in the country started shovelling pudding into his mouth. I sat spooning at mine, agog at his way of thinking, blunt and incisive.
    “Like being a copper, do you?”
    Taken aback by the question, I hesitated.
    He coughed, and spat a lump of pudding back on to his plate. “That bad, is it?”
    “It isn’t quite what I was expecting, sir.”
    He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out an object wrapped in canvas. The bone. His face clouded over a moment, then he thrust it back in his pocket, unopened, and looked at me squarely. “What did you expect? Violence? Mystery?”
    He was right, of course, however I would have liked to deny it. If he could tell as much from my hesitations as he’d gleaned about the crime, there was no point in hiding anything. But I had rid myself of illusions now, trying instead to find some kind of dignity, or satisfaction at least, in my everyday tasks. I sighed. “I may have had a few foolish notions, yes.”
    He thought for a moment, picking strands of ginger from his teeth. Then he smiled, which caught me quite off guard, and raised his glass. For a moment I thought he was about to propose a toast, but he simply finished his beer and said, “Thought of joining the Yard?”
    After that lunch, I was tired. I had started my shift at Brunswick Square before six, which meant rising at four, near enough. The walk from Lambeth back to Scotland Yard wasn’t so far, but the examination Wardle had put me through in the pub left me exhausted, and I was glad that he kept silent most of the way. He led me to his office, sat me down and gave me some paper.
    “Don’t need a literary masterpiece, mind.” He sat down at the larger desk and prepared his pipe.
    I was enthralled to be there, in his office, if a little confused as to what was going on. But, as I tried to focus on my task, I felt muddle-headed and stupid. I glanced over at him every so often. He had gone into a kind of reverie. So that was genius at work. I sat there dumbly, struggling to get the pen to work.
    The thing seemed so unresolved. At Brunswick Square, things always seemed clear-cut. Someone damaged this, someone stole that. Anything more complex was sent up to the Superintendent. Now, although I had been to the scene of the crime myself, everything seemed temporary. I forced myself to jot notes before attempting to put anything coherent on paper. Three times I started and bungled. My greatest achievement came near the day’s end, when I worked up the courage to ask him where