arm on the first day of grouse shooting. Her lucky bullet.’
He took it from me and slipped it into a bag. ‘Lord Fotheringham has a good idea who fired the shot. The man is so inept that he was unaware of causing an injury.’
‘Will that be all, Marcus?’
‘Do you have something planned? You said you were coming into town.’
The cheek of the man. He wanted to know would I step on his toes.
‘You know me and my hobbies. I always have something planned.’
We were interrupted by Sergeant Wilson, and I took the opportunity to bid Marcus goodbye and be on my way.
I hurried to the offices of the Herald, where I had parked the motor. With a little luck, I would catch Len Diamond before he set off for his assignments and ensure he remembered his promise to show me his photographs of the shoot, and of Deirdre.
George was on the desk, taking possession of an advertisement from an anxious-looking gentleman who wished to announce soothing pills for sale at a shilling a box. I hung back, waiting patiently.
When the man had gone, George said, ‘Sorry, Mrs Shackleton. No sight nor light of Mr Diamond this morning.’
‘That’s too bad.’
‘But Mr Duffield asked if you would go up.’
‘Thank you.’
I took the lift up to Mr Duffield’s domain, his library with its high windows and gentle light. Mr Duffield nodded a greeting. ‘You’ll have heard that Mr Diamond hasn’t come to work.’
‘Yes. Is he often late?’
‘I’m afraid so, especially recently.’
That was a relief, because I had wondered whether Len Diamond had been and gone, having come in early so as to avoid me.
Mr Duffield offered me a seat.
‘I expect he’ll roll in shortly.’
I did not sit down. ‘He said he would let me have copies of some of his photographs.’
‘I have some on file, if that would help. Do you want to take a look?’
‘Yes please.’
‘They’re not top secret. I don’t see why not.’
Mr Duffield led me to a corner of the room shielded from view by tall stacks of shelving. From a drawer, he took a cardboard document case, tied with red tape, set it on the desk and began to untie it carefully. The case was labelled, “August, 1923, L Diamond.”
Len had been busy. I sifted through the photographs until I came to two of Leeds Bridge, and of Joseph Barnard on the bridge. There were no photographs of Deirdre.
Mr Duffield was explaining how, within a day or two, the month’s pictures would be filed according to subject. He watched as I picked out the photographs of the first day of grouse shooting. There was the picture that had appeared in the paper: a surprised Caroline Windham, clutching her arm, Everett Runcie beside her.
There were photographs of Philippa with Lord Fotheringham, and Lady Fotheringham, sitting at an outdoor luncheon table between two men I did not recognise.
‘You’re looking for something in particular, aren’t you?’ Mr Duffield asked.
I picked up the photographs of the bridge, and of the singer. ‘I thought there may be another figure on the bridge.’
Mr Duffield looked at the clock. ‘I left a message for Mr Diamond to kindly call up here. Let me go see whether anyone has sighted him. Between you and me, he had better buck his ideas up. He is a good photographer but he puts people’s backs up. A little too intrusive, and not reliable.’
I looked at another photograph of the shooting party, half a dozen guns striding out. Len had caught a sense of purpose and anticipation. The picture was clear and clean.
It was a good ten minutes before Mr Duffield returned, frowning.
‘No sign of him. We have a mole in the cellar who develops the photographs. He does remember one of a couple on the bridge recently.’
So Diamond had chosen what to put on file in the library, and what to retain. Nothing unusual in that, but I wondered what lay behind his selection process.
Mr Duffield sat down. Together we began to gather up the photographs, which had been of no help whatsoever.
Mr Duffield said, ‘I would hate to see Diamond sacked. The editor has brought in a young chap as an assistant. Anyone else would see the writing on the wall.’
‘Do you think Mr Diamond may be ill?’
‘No. I think he may have been drinking. He had several assignments yesterday, one featuring the lord mayor. He did not turn up for any of them.’
‘Has someone telephoned his house?’
‘We do not have a telephone number for him. He lives alone