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to a club.”
    â€œMr Rogers was on it. The man I gave the key to 66 Mountjoy Avenue. He’s gone missing.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œI gave him the key, right? Then Mr Cleat went after him, and brought the key back. But Mr Rogers was supposed to go to a business meeting at two o’clock, but he never showed up. They found his car by Streatham Common station, with hisbriefcase in it and everything. And I turned on the news this morning and he hasn’t been home, either.”
    â€œSo what?”
    â€œSo Mr Cleat was probably one of the last people to see him, wasn’t he?”
    Lucy frowned. “I suppose so. But what would Mr Cleat want to kidnap anybody for?”
    â€œWell, I don’t know. But you said yourself that Mr Vane has a terrible, terrible secret, and that every one of his houses contains a different part of it. Supposing Mr Rogers went to 66 Mountjoy Avenue and discovered part of the secret? Supposing that Mr Cleat was told to keep him quiet?”
    â€œYou’ve been watching too much television,” said Lucy. “Now, how about a cup of coffee? That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”
    â€œIf Mr Rogers isn’t at 66 Mounjoy Avenue, where is he then?”
    â€œWhat?” Lucy demanded, wrinkling up her nose. “You think he’s still there?”
    â€œWell, he could be, couldn’t he? I mean, tied up or something. Or dead.”
    â€œWhat? You don’t think that Cleaty could
kill
anybody, do you? He puts wasps out of the window in his handkerchief.”
    â€œBut if this secret’s so terrible—”
    â€œI was making it up,” said Lucy. “Mr Vane isprobably just as ordinary as you or me. Well,
me
, anyway.”
    â€œBut supposing you’re right? Supposing it’s true? And supposing Mr Rogers went into the house and found out what it was?”
    â€œJohn, you’re letting your imagination run away with you.”
    â€œWell, yes, perhaps I am. But all I know is that I gave the key to Mr Rogers, and Mr Cleat went to the house to collect it from him. He
must
have met him at the house, because he didn’t know where Mr Rogers was going afterwards, did he? Mr Rogers didn’t turn up to his first afternoon appointment, which was two o’clock, and that was the last that anybody saw of him.”
    â€œBut what about his car? That wasn’t outside the house, was it?”
    â€œOf course not. Mr Cleat drove it away and abandoned it and then he walked back to pick up his own car.”
    â€œOh, come on, John. This is silly.”
    â€œNo, it’s not. I think we ought to go up to the house and have a look around.”
    â€œI can’t. I’ve got a client at eleven.”
    â€œThere’s plenty of time. It’s only half-past nine.”
    Lucy hesitated, but then she saw that John was deadly serious. He had stayed awake almost all night thinking about Mr Rogers and Mr Cleat, and the more he thought about it, the more convincedhe was that Mr Cleat must have had something to do with Mr Rogers’ disappearance. It was the way that he had panicked, and the way that he had come back from 66 Mountjoy Avenue looking so grim-faced. It was the way that he had danced round Mr Vane, so nervy and obsequious.
    Lucy went straight to Mr Cleat and said, “Is it all right if I take John to look round The Rookery?”
    Mr Cleat looked up and said, “Any particular reason?”
    â€œWell, yes. I think he ought to see how we evaluate blocks of flats. Leasehold, service charges, all that stuff.”
    â€œAll right, then. Good idea. I don’t see why not.”
    â€œThanks, Mr Cleat,” said John, with a wide, artificial smile, and he could tell by the look on Mr Cleat’s face that he didn’t know whether to be highly pleased or deeply suspicious.
    â€œI think this is totally mad,” said Lucy, as they drove past Streatham