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me,’ said Marmion. ‘He wanted the nearest lavatory.’
    ‘When he saw the body, he very nearly threw up.’
    ‘Was it that bad?’
    ‘Somebody didn’t like Cyril Ablatt. They not only smashed in his skull, they battered his body as well.’
    ‘What about Mr Ablatt?’
    ‘He almost keeled over when the shroud was drawn back.’
    ‘Was he able to identify the body as that of his son?’
    ‘Oh, yes,’ said Keedy. ‘There was a birthmark on his shoulder and a long scar on his arm that he’d picked up as a boy. Besides, I think he knew in his heart that it had to be his son. We didn’t even have to show him the deceased’s effects.’
    ‘Poor man!’ sighed Marmion. ‘He’ll need support.’
    ‘His only close relative is a sister. She lives not far away.’
    ‘Then we’ll call on her after we’ve taken him home. We can visit the scene of the crime afterwards.’
    ‘What about the press?’
    ‘The superintendent is going to issue a statement and say that we’ve been assigned to the case. That means they’ll be dogging our heels from now on.’
    ‘A dead conchie won’t arouse much compassion, I fear.’
    ‘He’s a murder victim, Joe – nothing else matters.’
    ‘It does to the press.’
    ‘Then we may have to educate them.’
    They chatted on for several minutes, reviewing the information they’d so far gathered and discussing the form that the investigation would take. Eventually, they saw Cyril Ablatt coming slowly along the corridor towards them with his eyes on the floor. When he reached the detectives, he gazed up at them.
    ‘I’m very sorry about that,’ he murmured.
    ‘There’s no need to apologise,’ Marmion told him with a consoling hand on his arm. ‘It’s a perfectly natural reaction. Your son’s effects belong to you now. When we’ve collected them, we’ll give you a lift home. Then we’ll make contact with your sister. At a time like this, you’ll need family around you.’
    Ablatt looked surprised. ‘But I have to open the shop.’
    ‘Nobody will expect you to do that, sir.’
    ‘I hate to let customers down.’
    ‘People will understand,’ said Keedy. ‘In the circumstances, they’ll respect your right to mourn in private.’
    ‘There are so many things to do – funeral arrangements and that.’
    ‘The body won’t be released until after the post-mortem.’
    Ablatt shuddered. ‘They’re going to cut him open?’ he said, aghast. ‘Hasn’t Cyril suffered enough already?’
    ‘It’s normal procedure in cases like this, sir,’ said Marmion. ‘A postmortem might yield some valuable clues – what the murder weapon was likely to be, for instance. We’ll let you know as soon as your son’s body is ready for collection. And there’s something else we’d advise.’
    ‘What’s that, Inspector?’
    ‘Don’t talk to the press. Newspapers have no right to hound you but that won’t stop them trying to do so. If they pester you, we can always put a constable outside your house to keep them at bay.’
    ‘It’s not the newspapers that worry me,’ said Ablatt, grimly. ‘It’s them.’
    ‘Who do you mean, sir?’
    ‘I’m talking about the people who painted those things on our wall. When they hear what’s happened, they’ll be back again.’ His face crumpled. ‘What kind of cruel things will they say about Cyril this time?’
     
    Of the three friends, Fred Hambridge was the one who relied most heavily on the young librarian. Price had a more independent mind and Leach’s main emotional commitment was to Ruby Cosgrove. It was Hambridge who hung on every word that Cyril Ablatt uttered. He was in awe of his friend’s superior education and assurance. In their discussions of religion, Ablatt had even made the carpenter look afresh at his Quaker upbringing. Because he wanted to attend the second session of the NCF, Hambridge got to the workshop an hour earlier than usual to compensate for the time he intended to take off in the afternoon. There was