Chapter 6

August and Gooding walked back to the Wolseley, and as they turned into Ash Tree lane they were passed by a cyclist who turned right onto the main road. Half a mile further on the cyclist turned off the High Street and into Cambridge Row. He lifted himself from his saddle, swung his right leg to trail behind his left, and free-wheeled to a halt beside the lamppost in front of number twenty-six.

All of the houses here presented directly onto the street and so most of them had their front ground floor windows dressed with heavy lace curtains to provide privacy from passers-by. The window to number twenty-six was one of the exceptions, however, and from his place at the kerbside the resting cyclist could see directly into the downstairs front room.

As he angled his bicycle against the lamp post, he stared into the room and saw no signs of life. He crunched through the snow up to the front door and made a pretence of ringing the doorbell. He then deftly inserted a lock pick into the lock and worked it around to open the door.

When the lock clicked open he stepped through the doorway and without turning closed the door behind him. He glanced at his wristwatch, re-pocketed his lock pick and walked down the hallway to the door that communicated with the back downstairs room. The door was already slightly ajar. He took a couple of steps forward and pushed gently on the door so that it swung open more widely.

Looking into the room he saw a small bookcase arrayed with a motley collection of hardbound books, and two armchairs angled to either side of a tiled fireplace that had an ornamented mantle shelf above. When he stepped into the room he suddenly felt uncomfortably hot. He started to loosen his collar and tie but then his vision became blurred and he developed an overwhelming sense of nausea. A few seconds later, he crumpled to his knees and fell face down on the floor.