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“Jannie, Jannie, Jannie!” sobbed Zuidmeyer, getting himself into the corner and curling into a ball. “Not one word!”

“What in—?”

Kramer turned. A smooth-looking man, grey above the ears, impeccably dressed and manicured, was approaching the doorway. “Mr. Boyd-Smith? Don’t come in here, it’s a police matter. But I’d like to ask you one question. ” And he held out his warrant card.

“Y-yes, what is it?”

“Do you hold the will of a Mrs. Marie Louise Zuidmeyer?”

“We don’t handle wills; we’re strictly—”

“Thank you, sir, I will be out to explain in a minute,” said Kramer, and shut the door in his face. “It was a complete set-up, Mickey. ”

Zondi nodded and looked out of the window again. “Already there are cameras, boss,” he said. “And a man with a movie one, across there in that window. ”

“Jannnnniiie. …” howled Zuidmeyer. “Why? Why? Why?”

“Major, it’s Tromp Kramer.

Zuidmeyer knelt and looked up, his eyes no longer haunted but lit by a terrible light. “Nothing, Nothing! I came in. I. …”

“Go on, sir. ”

“I said to the boy: ‘Well, I’m here. What’s all this about?’

He looked at me. He said nothing. He—”

“Don’t stop, Major!”

“The boy looked at me. He said not one word. I said: ‘Jannie, I’m asking you a question!’ Then he smiled. Just smiled! Then he turned and he took three big steps and he—” Zuidmeyer pitched forward on to his face and beat the floor with his fists. “Why? Why, why, why? For the love of God, why?”

“It’s a pity you were alone in the room with him, and we have only your word for all this. ”

“What?” said Zuidmeyer, staggering to his feet. “What’re you—?”

“As your wife’s inquest will show,” said Kramer, with a glance at Zondi, “your boy had something he wouldn’t want to confess to you, Major Zuidmeyer. ”