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either Figgy or Clark. The group fell to silence as the stranger approached.
    'I wonder if you could help me,' said the cultured voice. 'I'm looking for John McKirrop.'
    McKirrop was about to say something when Bella dug him in the ribs. 'Depends,' she said.
    'On what?' asked the stranger evenly.
    'On how much it's worth to you,' said Bella.
    The man reached into an inside pocket and brought out his wallet. He brought out a fiver and handed it to Bella saying, 'I really would be most grateful.'
    Bella snatched at the note and pushed it down between her breasts. She turned to McKirrop. 'This is him here!' she announced with a triumphant cackle.
    The stranger smiled weakly and looked at McKirrop. 'You're John McKirrop?' he asked.
    McKirrop was suspicious. There was something about the stranger he didn't like but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Maybe it was simply the fact that the man was well dressed and sober. He had all the trappings of success about him, not that he seemed overbearing or even patronising at the moment but then, he wanted something. He was smiling and spoke politely but there was a look in his eyes that said he was playing a part. 'What if I am? Who wants to know?'
    'My name is Rothwell. I'm from the Daily Mail.'
    Bella broke out in a huge beam. 'I told you, didn't I?' she said to McKirrop and then to the others, 'Didn't I just tell him?' There was a chorus of acquiescence.'
    'I wonder if I might have a private word with you?'
    'Don't see why not,' said McKirrop. We could go for a bit of a walk if you like.
    'You'll miss your tea,' protested Bella. 'Here's Figgy.'
    McKirrop watched as Figgy and Clark arrived back with the hot food. They handed the newspaper wrapped parcel over to Bella to share out.'
    Rothwell watched for a moment before saying, 'I have a suggestion to make. You haven't really got enough there for all of you. Why don't you let me buy you some more? You chaps could go for it while I talk to John?'
    'Sounds good to me,' said Bella. 'Maybe you could chuck in a few pickled onions?'
    'All you want,' said Rothwell, taking out his wallet again. He handed over three notes to Bella and turned his attention back to McKirrop. 'Shall we ...?’
     
    McKirrop and Rothwell walked slowly along the towpath together, neither saying anything until they were well away from the group. Eventually Rothwell said, 'I'll come straight to the point Mr McKirrop. My readers want to know everything about what you saw in the cemetery last night.'
    McKirrop paused before replying. He seemed to like Rothwell less and less by the minute. The man had an air about him, head held high, hands resting easily in the pockets of his expensive overcoat. It wasn't arrogance, just confidence, he supposed as if the man had never had a moment's self doubt in his life. The shine on his shoes was periodically emphasised by the odd street light reflection from up on the road.
    For some reason McKirrop kept thinking that Rothwell didn't look like how the press should look at all but then, as he had to admit, he had never ever met a newspaper reporter before. His expectation had been influenced by how journalists were portrayed on television. He had however, come into personal contact with many policemen in his time and lots of lawyers and solicitors. This is what Rothwell made him think of, a secure man who had the backing of the establishment, a professional man, the kind of man who normally had no trouble in having men like him moved on. 'Oh yes?' he replied. 'Why?'
    'I think the readers would be interested. The current popularity of devil worship is something that concerns all of us.'
    'How interested?' asked McKirrop meaningfully.
    'Shall we say two hundred pounds interested?'
    'Let's say three,' replied McKirrop.
    'Very well, three. Now tell me what you saw.'
    'First the money.'
    'First the story,' replied Rothwell pleasantly and evenly and without breaking the slow, even gait he was proceeding with.
    They had come about half a