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Sergeant. How's it going?'
    Hopkins nodded a surly greeting. 'Not too bad, sir. We managed to track down a couple of names on your list, with leads to the others.'
    'Anything of interest?'
    'Hard to tell. They don't seem unduly worried. Think she's probably gone off on a whim and will turn up when it suits her.'
    'Has she done that before?'
    Hopkins shrugged, but the young constable spoke up, blushing as he did so. 'I think it's just that she's such a cheerful girl, sir. People can't imagine anything happening to her.'
    'Let's hope they're right,' Webb said grimly. 'You going back to May bury Street?' Hopkins nodded. 'Tell DI Ledbetter I've seen Duncan and Lightbody, and will be in touch later.'
    There was nowhere near the barge to park the car. They left it by the viaduct and walked back along the riverside, enjoying the sun on the water and the warmth of it on their backs. Children ran, calling, along the narrow path towards them, a small dog yapping at their heels, and on their left some half-dozen cottages nestled into the hillside, their neat little gardens blazing with flowers. On the far side of the river, the grass bank reached up towards the buildings they'd just left, its green expanse dotted with colour as groups of students relaxed in the sunshine or ate an al fresco lunch.
    As they neared the pub, the path widened into biscuit-coloured cobbles and there were tables with umbrellas and groups of people eating and drinking.
    'We'll hear more if we go inside,' Webb murmured, and they walked together up the gangplank and into the little boat.
    A wide, polished staircase led below into what had once been the hold of the barge. Jackson followed Webb down and looked about him approvingly. The conversion was imaginative, keeping a nautical flavour while providing a pleasant and unique bar, with tables round the walls beneath the small round portholes. On the walls were framed prints of barges and steamboats, and at the end hung a lifebelt with the name Barley Mow painted on it, flanked by port and starboard lamps. The room was filled with a laughing, chattering crowd of customers.
    Webb and Jackson hitched themselves on to bar stools, ordering beer and Cornish pasties. A burst of laughter sounded from the table immediately behind them as some ribald joke reached its conclusion. The average age of the clientele was well below thirty, Webb guessed, and he felt more conspicuous than he'd have liked. Then, as the crowd behind lapsed into brief silence, a girl's voice reached them from another table.
    'The fuzz were up at the Uni this morning—did you know?'
    Webb slid off his stool and moved further down the bar, ostensibly to help himself to cruet.
    'About Arlette?' asked another voice. 'Do you think something's happened to her?'
    'God knows. If it has, my money's on Jane! I thought she'd kill her there and then, when she waltzed off with Mike!'
    'You can laugh,' said the second girl, 'but it sounds pretty serious to me. Someone said her parents are coming over.'
    The noisy table had started up again, blotting out any-further comment. Webb caught the bartender's eye, saw that his eavesdropping had been noted.
    'You know this girl that's gone missing?' His hand moved to his breast pocket for identification, but the man waved it aside.
    'I know who you are, mate. Yes, I've seen her. She's often in here.'
    'When was the last time?'
    'Sunday, I reckon. Lunch-time.'
    'Was she with anyone in particular?'
    The man shrugged. 'Hard to tell. There was a crowd of them. Six or seven, mostly blokes.'
    'Any names?'
    'Didn't register any—except Daisy, a little dark girl who's usually with them.'
    'And you've not seen the French girl since?'
    'No. Monday's my day off and she wasn't in Tuesday. Two lads were talking about her, though. One of them had seen her in the town, and said she wasn't coming.'
    Webb leant forward. 'He'd seen her? On Tuesday?'
    The barman looked surprised. 'That's right.'
    'You're quite sure?'
    'Yeah. It was quiet in