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'Where？' I called。
'London。'
'Thanks。'
He went out of sight。 Under Mrs Lane's inhospitable gaze I picked up my rag； smiled placatingly and departed。
I found Saul Marcus first in the telephone directory and then in white…bearded person in an airy artist's studio near Chiswick in west London where he created fabric patterns。
He looked with interest at my rag but shook his head。
I urged him to search the far universe。
'It might be Patricia Huxford's work；' he said at length； dubiously。 'You could try her。 She does…or did…work like this sometimes。 I don't know of anyone else。'
'Where would I find her？'
'Surrey； Sussex。 Somewhere like that。'
'Thank you very much。'
Returning to Pont Square I looked for Patricia Huxford in every phone book I possessed for Surrey and Sussex and； for good measure； the bordering southern counties of Hampshire and Kent。 Of the few Huxfords listed； none turned out to be Patricia； a weaver。
I really needed an assistant； I thought； saying goodbye to Mrs Paul Huxford； wife of a double…glazing salesman。 This sort of search could take hours。 Damn Chico； and his dolly…bird protective missus。
With no easy success from the directories I started on directory enquiries； the central puterised number…finder。 As always； to get a number one had to give an address； but the puter system contemptuously spat out Patricia Huxford； Surrey； as being altogether too vague。
I tried Patricia Huxford； Guildford （Guildford being Surrey's county town） but learned only of the two listed P。 Huxfords that I'd already tried。 Kingston； Surrey： same lack of results。 I systematically tried all the other main areas： Sutton； Epsom； Leather…head； Dorking 。。。 Surrey might be a small county in square…mile size； but large in population。 I drew a uniform blank。
Huxfords were fortunately rare。 A good job she wasn't called Smith。
Sussex； then。 There was East Sussex （county town Lewes） and West Sussex （Chichester）。 I flipped a mental coin and chose Chichester； and could hardly believe my lucky ears。
An impersonal voice told me that the number of Patricia Huxford was ex…directory and could only be accessed by the police； in an emergency。 It was not even in the C。O。 grade one class of ex…directory； where one could sweet…talk the operator into phoning the number on one's behalf （C。O。 stood for Calls Offered）。 Patricia Huxford valued absolute grade two privacy and couldn't be reached that way。
In the highest； third grade； category； there were the numbers that weren't on any list at all； that the exchanges and operators might not know even existed； numbers for government affairs； the Royal Family and spies。
I yawned； stretched and ate cornflakes for lunch。
While I was still unenthusiastically thinking of driving to Chichester； roughly seventy more miles of arm…ache； Charles phoned from Aynsford。
'So glad to catch you in；' he said。 'I've been talking to Thomas Ullaston； I thought you'd like to know。'
'Yes；' I agreed with interest。 'What did he say？'
'You know； of course； that he's no longer Senior Steward of the Jockey Club？ His term of office ended。'
'Yes； I know。'
I also regretted it。 The new Senior Steward was apt to think me a light…weight nuisance。 I supposed he had a point； but it never helped to be discounted by the top man if I asked for anything at all from the department heads in current power。 No one was any longer thanking me for ridding them of their villain： according to them； the whole embarrassing incident was best forgotten； and with that I agreed； but I wouldn't have minded residual warmth。
'Thomas was dumbfounded by your question；' Charles said。 'He protested that he'd meant you no harm。'
'Ah！' I said。
'Yes。 He didn't deny that he'd told someone about that morning； but he assured me that it had been only one person； and that person was someone of utterly good standing； a man of the utmost probity。 I asked if it was Archibald Kirk； and he gasped； Sid。 He said it was early in the summer when Archie Kirk sought him out to ask about you。 Archie Kirk told him he'd heard you were a good investigator and he wanted to know how good。 It seems Archie Kirk's branch of the Civil Service occasionally likes to employ independent investigators quietly； but that it's hard to find good ones they can trust。 Thomas Ullaston told him to trust you。 Archie Kirk apparently asked more and more questions； until Thomas found himself telling about that chain and those awful marks 。。。 I mean； sorry； Sid。'
'Yeah；' I said； 'go on。'
'Thomas told Archie Kirk that with your jockey constitution and physical resilience he said physical resilience； Thomas did； so that's exactly where Kirk got that phrase from with your natural inborn physical resilience you'd shaken off the whole thing as if it had never happened。'
'Yes；' I said； which wasn't entirely true。 One couldn't ever forget。 One could； however； ignore。 And it was odd； I thought； that I never had nightmares about whippy chains。
Charles chuckled。 'Thomas said he wouldn't want young master Halley on his tail if he'd been a crook。'
Young master Halley found himself pleased。
Charles asked； 'Is there anything else I can do for you； Sid？'
'You've been great。'
'Be careful。'
I smiled as I assured him I would。 Be careful was hopeless advice to a jockey； and at heart I was as much out to win as ever。
On my way to the car I bought some robust adhesive bandage and； with my right forearm firmly strapped and a sufficient application of ibuprofen drove to Chichester in West Sussex； about seven miles inland from the coast。
It was a fine spirits…lifting afternoon。 My milk…coffee Mercedes swooped over the rolling South Downs and sped the last flat mile to the cathedral city of Chichester； wheels satisfyingly fast but still not as fulfilling as a horse。
I sought out the public library and asked to see the electoral roll。
There was masses of it： all the names and addresses of registered voters in the county； divided into electoral districts。
Where was Chico； blast him？
Resigned to a long search that could take two or three hours； I found Patricia Huxford within a short fifteen minutes。 A record。 I hated electoral rolls： the small print made me squint。
Huxford； Patricia Helen； Bravo House； Lowell。
Hallelujah。
I followed my road map and asked for directions in the village of Lowell； and found Bravo House； a small converted church with a herd of cars and vans outside。 It didn't look like the reclusive lair of an ex…directory hermit。
As people seemed to be walking in and out of the high heavy open west door； I walked in too。 I had arrived； it was soon clear； towards the end of a photographic session for a glossy magazine。
I said to a young woman hugging a clipboard； 'Patricia Huxford？'
The young woman gave me a radiant smile。 'Isn't she wonderful？ she said。
I followed the direction of her gaze。 A small woman in an astonishing dress was descending from a sort of throne that had been built on a platform situated where the old transepts crossed the nave。 There were bright theatrical spotlights that began to be switched off； and there were photo