Free Depths of Deceit by Norman Russell

there, it was not to be.’
    His old eyes filled with tears, and he looked away, so as to hide them from his visitor.
    ‘Mr Knollys,’ said Thelma, ‘why not look at the books downstairs in the laboratory? You’ll be able to see whether any of the jobs going forward yesterday would have involved the handling of paint. Mr Craven, the chief assistant, will be able to tell you.’
    ‘Thank you, miss, I’ll do that, presently. And now, here are Mr Walsh’s reading glasses, folded in their tin case.’
    ‘Glasses? No, they’re not Greg’s,’ said Thelma. ‘Greg had perfect sight. He never wore glasses.’
    ‘Never,’ said Gregory Walsh’s father. ‘If those glasses were in Gregory’s pocket, then they must have been put there.’
    ‘Well, that’s possible, sir,’ said Knollys, ‘though there are other explanations.’
    He rummaged through the valise, and withdrew Gregory Walsh’s wallet. Thelma gave vent to a stifled sob, and held out her hand, but Knollys seemed unwilling for the moment to relinquish the wallet.
    ‘I found the cancelled halves of two tickets for the Alhambra inMr Walsh’s wallet,’ he said. ‘They were dated the 14 July, which was a Saturday. Returning the stubs of tickets to his wallet suggests to me that Mr Gregory Walsh was a meticulous young man – a man concerned with detail.’
    ‘That was clever of you, Sergeant,’ said the elder Mr Walsh. ‘Gregory always paid great attention to detail. He noticed when things were awry, and would put them right.’
    ‘The 14 July – that was the night Greg took me to the music hall,’ said Thelma. ‘Hetty Miller was on, and the Santini Brothers. When we came out into Leicester Square, the heavens opened, and we were both drenched. It was all such fun, you know. But now …’
    The girl shook her head sadly. Knollys glanced at her, and then turned his attention once more to the murdered man’s father.
    ‘Did your son live with you, Mr Walsh?’
    ‘He did, and if things had gone as planned, he would have married Thelma, as I told you, and they would have taken over the top floor. Who could have wished him any harm? He hadn’t an enemy in the world…. Gregory was born in this house, and will be buried from it. When shall we – when…?’
    ‘The body will be released from Horseferry Road Police Mortuary tomorrow, Mr Walsh, so you can begin making arrangements immediately. I can’t tell you how sorry I am, sir, to be plaguing you with all these questions at this time. As your son lived in Clerkenwell, did he ever visit the Mithraeum in Priory Gate Street?’
    ‘Yes, he did. He’d made several visits there, when they were still admitting the public. They stopped doing that about a fortnight ago. I don’t know why. It was something to do with replacing the wooden stairs leading down into the chamber, I think.’
    The old man moved in his chair, and a light of animation came to his old eyes.
    ‘I wonder, Sergeant, whether poor Gregory went to look at the site yesterday, and was attacked by a vagrant? That would explainit all. As I said, Gregory was no stranger to the Mithraeum, and I know for a fact that he’d been allowed in there despite its being closed for the duration.’
    ‘It could be as you say, sir,’ said Knollys, though privately he thought it a very remote possibility. Murderous vagrants didn’t go round with pots of honey in their pockets. ‘Did your son know Professor Ainsworth, the man who discovered the Mithraeum? Did he ever mention having met the professor?’
    The old man glanced at Thelma, who shook her head.
    ‘No, Sergeant,’ said Mr Walsh, ‘I’m sure Gregory didn’t know this professor. He’d have mentioned it if he’d known him. I must confess that I’ve never heard of him. I’m not much interested in ancient things. Are there any further questions that you want to ask? I’m a little tired, you know. I’d like to lie down soon.’
    ‘Of course, sir. There is one other question I’d like to