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“Oh, I am sure that in the deep recesses of his soul he hated him.”

They were both silent for a moment. Then Maisie spoke again. “And you don’t think Robson Headley might be a risk, given that he is something of a headstrong young man?”

Roth smiled and shook his head. “Miss Dobbs, I really cannot see—”

“He is a Nazi, Dr. Roth. Robson Headley and Delphine Lang are members of a group that supports the National Socialist Party in Germany. That may seem rather innocuous at the present time, but I believe—”

“And how do you know this?” Roth’s cheeks were now flushed with color.

“I happened to overhear them talking.”

He regained his composure and appeared to brush off the news. “Well, it will make for an interesting debate, I am sure. Now, if you will excuse me, Miss Dobbs. I would imagine you are using your free time this week to plan your tutorials for the coming weeks. I expect to join one of your classes next week.”

“Thank you, Dr. Roth. I look forward to it.”

“And remember, Miss Dobbs, I have asked you not to reveal any aspect of our conversation to anyone. Even your friends at Scotland Yard.”

Walking back to her lodgings, Maisie found she could hardly remain focused on one element of her work, without another coming to the fore. She wanted to talk to Billy, so she waited by the telephone kiosk while an elderly man shouted into the receiver at whoever it was he had called. Instead of pressing in more coins to extend the call and then pressing button A, the man shoved the coins home and then thumped the button, followed by a clout to the side of the coin box, as if an assault on the inner workings of telephony would yield more minutes for his money. Eventually he ended the call, whereupon he replaced the receiver, took out his handkerchief, and gave his nose a good blow before leaving the kiosk.

“All yours,” he said to Maisie, as he held the door open for her to enter.

She kept the door ajar with her foot to allow fresh air to circulate, pulled her own handkerchief from her shoulder bag, and wiped the receiver from top to bottom. It was still sticky from the man’s heated grasp. She dialed the number and waited, pressing button A as soon as the telephone was answered on the other end.

“Miss?”

“Billy, so glad I’ve caught you—but you’re at the office late.”

“I thought you’d be on the dog and bone to me soon, and I wanted to be here. I’ll leave soon enough. I don’t like to be too late, on account of Doreen being so close to her time.”

“Yes, you should get home as soon as we’ve finished. Not long now before you’ll be in that house in Eltham.”

“Can’t wait, to tell you the truth. Anyway, I’ve spoken to Caldwell.”

“How was he?”

“Not bad, bit of an edge to him, but he softened up when he realized I was calling because we needed help, and that there might be a case in it for him—he’s still on the lookout to make his mark.”

“Ah, so he isn’t as busy as he’d like to be.”

“And I think you were right, he wants to be as well known and regarded as Stratton.”

“Well, I reckon Stratton might be having second thoughts about his move. In any case, what did he say?”

“He’s going to sniff around, but he said something interesting before he even started. Apparently, this bloke who Reg has been doing that work for, the one whose office Sandra broke into, has been kept under surveillance by the watchful eye of the CID for a while—the fraud boys and the flying squad up until now. But word’s gone around at the Yard, mainly because he’s got a finger in so many pies, all cooked up by these supposedly clean businesses of his.”

“Why are they keeping an eye on him?”

“Because he’s been moving in on other manors, and there’s been some—what did Caldwell call it? Something official-sounding, like ‘villain on villain aggravation.’ ”

“I see, but that doesn’t explain what Sandra might have found out about him, except that he might have been trying to make a point with Reg, and it went wrong when Eric was killed. Or perhaps it went right.”

“There’s a bit more than that to it all. Apparently, his mother is Spanish,