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have been at home at this time. He doesn’t open his shop until nine. Talking of which,’ he added, glancing over his shoulder, ‘I’d better get back to the oven or Dad will be after me.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Price, ‘and I’ve got to feed the travelling public. Not that I can cook them much of a breakfast since they brought in food rationing. They’ve even watered the beer. There’s just no pleasure left in this country.’
    Leach gave a half-smile. ‘There is if you find yourself a girlfriend.’
    ‘Wish I could, Gordon. But girlfriends cost money I just haven’t got. In any case, what girl wants to go out with a conchie? They’d run a mile.’
    ‘Ruby didn’t.’
    ‘She’s different.’ Price saw the clock on the wall. ‘Got to go, I’m afraid. Changed your mind about today’s meeting?’
    ‘No,’ said Leach. ‘I promised to see Ruby this evening.’
    ‘But Cyril might turn up there.’
    ‘I hope he does.’
    ‘So do I,’ said Price, brightening. ‘He’s probably the one person who can tell me what a Muggletonian is.’
     
    In spite of the countless times he’d been there, Harvey Marmion had never become sufficiently accustomed to the morgue to feel at ease inside it. He was therefore grateful when Joe Keedy volunteered to take Gerald Ablatt in to identify the body of his son. Marmion remained outside in the corridor. He was not squeamish. Unnatural death created some grotesque corpses and he could look on them without a tremor when they lay at the scene of the crime. Once they were naked on a slab, it was a very different matter. They were dehumanised, robbed of their dignity, at the mercy of the pathologist’s sharp and unforgiving instruments. Marmion hated to see someone who was so utterly defenceless.
    While he was waiting, he took out the photograph they’d found at the Ablatt house and wondered who the attractive woman was. She wore a pretty dress and her hair was swept up at the back so that her facial features were completely exposed. There was a bewitching dimple in both cheeks. Could she be a lover or simply a close friend? The message on the back suggested the former but the age gap between Cyril Ablatt and her might have been a deterrent. There was also the obstacle posed by what appeared to be his devout Christianity. Acquainted with the Beatitudes, he would also be very much aware of the Ten Commandments. One of them expressly forbade adultery. Yet the telltale photo had been concealed in the Bible rather than in any of the other books. Marmion saw it as a case of the sacred harbouring the profane.
    He and Keedy had agreed that they wouldn’t show the photograph to the father. Since it was hidden, it was clearly not meant for his eyes. Besides, he had enough to cope with as it was. He was still mourning the violent murder of his son. It would be cruel to introduce proof that his own flesh and blood had kept something from him. The important thing was to identify the woman and that would be fairly straightforward. The name of the photographer was franked into the corner of the photo. They would be able to find out who she was, when the photo was takenand, possibly, where she lived. She would need to be approached with discretion. Marmion didn’t want to cause a violent domestic upset with her husband but the woman obviously meant a great deal to Ablatt. She could be an important witness.
    When he heard the door open, he quickly put the photo away in his pocket. Keedy emerged with an ashen Gerald Ablatt by his side. The detectives had both been touched to see that the father had taken the trouble to put on his best suit to visit the corpse of his son. The experience had patently had a profound effect on him. His eyes were glazed, his mouth agape and his movements uncertain. Keedy had to help him along with a hand under his elbow. They walked past Marmion in silence, went down the corridor and turned a corner. A minute later, Keedy came back to the inspector.
    ‘Don’t tell