Farnham's lips moved as he skimmed through the story.
"Good Lord! How terrible. I never knew…" He paused as the penny dropped. "You think she's here? You want to search because you think she's here?" The relief was overwhelming. "Go on then, search. I've got nothing to hide."
A nod from the inspector and Clive sidled out of the room. Frost settled back in his chair.
"You left Mrs. Uphill's about half-past four, sir. I sup pose you didn't meet Tracey coming out of Sunday school?"
"I didn't meet her.'I saw her, though."
Frost jerked forward excitedly. He'd seen her! They'd found someone who'd actually seen her! "Where was this, sir?"
"Walking away from the Sunday school."
"Toward her house?"
Farnham sucked more salt from his lip. "No. The opposite direction. She was with a woman."
Frost wriggled in his chair. They could have done with this information hours ago. He'd radio it through to Allen the minute they were back in the car.
"Can you describe this woman?"
"Well… I didn't take an awful lot of notice. I was in a hurry, and it was dark. Medium height, wearing a white fur coat."
A white fur? Well, that was something.
"How old was she?"
"No idea."
"Did you see where they went?"
"No. 1 soon out-paced them. I didn't particularly want Tracey to see me. As I said, I was in a hurry."
"Why were you in a hurry, sir?"
The questions came bouncing back hard on his answers, but his brain was working quicker now. They'd obviously checked at the railway station and found he hadn't taken the first train out.
"I had to visit my aunt. She's an old lady of seventy-eight, or so. Lives in the senior citizens' bungalows on the Southern Housing Estate. I was due there for tea."
The inspector sniffed. "Your Sundays are one Long round of pleasure, sir. First Mrs. Uphill, then tea with your aunt. I'd like her address if you don't mind."
Farnham was startled. "You won't go round worrying her. She's an old lady, and her heart's not too good."
"I specialize in old ladies with weak hearts, sir-have no fear."
Frost wrote the address down on a scrap of paper he found in his pocket, then he tried to dig a hole in his cheek with a finger. Something was worrying him.
"Do you own a car, Mr. Farnham?"
"No."
"A red car?"
"No."
"Some time ago we had reports of a bearded man in a red car trying to pick up young kids outside that Sunday school.", His eyes bored into Farnham. "Have you ever owned a car?"
"Yes, once. I couldn't afford to keep it."
"Yes. Red cars are expensive to run. It was red wasn't it, sir?"
"No!" shouted Farnham.
"Then you've got nothing to worry about," said Frost unconvincingly. He stood up and stretched his arms. "I'd better go and see what that detective constable of mine is doing."
Barnard was in the bathroom, shirt-sleeves rolled up, his jacket hanging from the door. The bath panel had come off all right but was refusing to go back on again. With a couple of bangs in the right place from Frost, it was eventually coaxed into place.
"Not a very good fit, I'm afraid," said Farnham.
"Don't say that, sir," cried Frost. "It cost him one hundred and seven quid."
They went at last. Farnham watched through the curtains until their car turned the corner. He slumped back in his chair and pleaded with God not to let them check with his aunt. He'd never touch another woman again, he'd never send for another catalog, but please, don't let them check with his aunt.