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was Inspector Bucket. Of the Detective. I believe you know him?’
    It’s like a blow to the gut. Bucket? There are, undoubtedly, people who might have mentioned Charles’ name in Tulkinghorn’s hearing, but the list is not long and Bucket, surely, is at the furthest and most remote end of it. What on earth can possibly have induced him to do anything to advance Charles’ interests? Indeed, Charles would have laid a good deal of money he does not possess on the inspector doing everything in his power in the opposite direction. It was Bucket who’d had him dismissed from the police – Bucket whose judgement he’d questioned with such disastrous consequences. His mind is racing, and he is all too aware that Tulkinghorn is watching him with extreme though concealed attention. Does Bucket, perhaps, feel guilty? Even the famously infallible inspector must have accepted by now that he made a terrible mistake in theSilas Boone case. Perhaps he feels, now, that if he’d listened to Charles, the man might never have hanged. So is this his way of making reparation? Boone is beyond even Bucket’s long reach now, but Charles is alive and has to earn his bread somehow.
    â€˜I am aware, of course,’ continues Tulkinghorn, ‘of your family antecedents. Inspector Bucket was, I believe, something of a protégé of your great-uncle in his youth?’
    Charles nods. ‘He worked for him for a time, before joining the Detective, and I dare say he owes much of his subsequent success to my uncle’s methods. As, indeed’ – this with the slightest bridling that the lawyer does not fail to register – ‘do I. Mr Maddox has been my teacher and mentor since I was a boy.’
    â€˜Indeed so. And now you are a young man. A young man, moreover – or so I have been informed – of intellect and discretion. The matter I wish to discuss with you requires both qualities, but it is the latter that is my paramount concern.’
    â€˜I understand.’
    Tulkinghorn eyes him. ‘Possibly you do. But I shall repeat the point nonetheless. Discretion in this case is all in all. My client in this affair is a man with an unimpeachable reputation. A man trusted with the confidential business of the highest in the land.’
    For one wild moment Charles thinks the lawyer is referring to himself, but Tulkinghorn has not finished.
    â€˜You will have heard, I think, of Sir Julius Cremorne?’
    As Tulkinghorn is to the law, so Cremorne is to high finance. The latest in a long family line to head one of the City’s oldest and most astute merchant banks; a prime enabler of imperial trade, and lender of first resort to the country’s largest corporations. Even – it’s rumoured – an adviser to the Queen. Yes, Charles has heard of Sir Julius Cremorne, but he cannot begin to imagine what such a man could possibly want with him. His bafflement must be legible in his face, becauseTulkinghorn gives the ghost of a smile. It is not an expression that finds an easy home on his impassive features.
    â€˜The case is not, of itself, a taxing one. The need for discretion arises purely from Sir Julius’ rank and repute. In all other respects it is utterly trivial. But it must, nonetheless, be resolved, and with dispatch. I am afraid, Mr Maddox, that there will always be those who seek to besmirch eminent men for their own nefarious purposes. I have seen it happen many times before, and the more spotless the family credit, the more zealous such villains seem to be to compromise it.’
    â€˜I see,’ says Charles, who does not, quite. ‘Perhaps you could—?’
    â€˜Of course. You will want details. It is in the nature of your profession.’
    A noise. So low as to be almost inaudible – little more than the slightest creak of the ancient boards, but Charles is suddenly alert. Is it possible that there is someone else in the room? He’d