Sidney Chambers and the Perils of the Night by James Runcie

taking photographs at the second marriage of one of his best friends. He had been renting the summerhouse from the Bells for around three years, using it as his studio while he lived in what had once been his mother’s flat off Hills Road. He was divorced (his wife had since died, although not in any suspicious circumstances as far as the inspector was aware) and he had a son who lived abroad.
    ‘One wonders why Morden came here in the first place?’ Sidney asked.
    ‘He said something about avoiding the temptations of London. He’s led what’s known in the trade as “a colourful life”. You know what photographers are like around women. They’re like vicars only with sex appeal.’
    Sidney was about to protest when he realised he was being teased. ‘He could keep himself to himself here,’ Geordie continued. ‘None of the distractions of Soho that you’re all too keen on.’
    Sidney let this reference to his love of jazz and seediness pass. ‘I imagine he lived in his mother’s old flat for free. Do you think he had money worries?’
    ‘Divorce is always more expensive than people anticipate,’ Keating replied with an air of disinterest that surprised Sidney. ‘But there’s no sign of a lady friend. Perhaps she scarpered too.’
    ‘You mean his first wife left him ?’
    ‘Women do leave as well as men, Sidney. Sometimes they can’t stand it any more; as my wife keeps warning me.’
    ‘We can’t really suspect Daniel Morden of burning down his own studio?’
    ‘Except it isn’t his. It belongs to the Bells.’
    ‘And you’ve spoken to them?’
    ‘They’re angry, although they could be acting up. They’re bound to have needed the money and, besides, the fire’s a way of getting Morden out of there.’
    ‘So they could have been the arsonists?’
    ‘I don’t see why not.’
    ‘And they had the insurance, you say?’
    ‘The Bells had the building insurance. Morden was covered for contents. Although there’s not likely to be any pay-out until we tell them what happened.’
    ‘It can’t be a lot of money, surely?’
    ‘No, but it’s probably worth burning the place down if you can get away with it. Unless there’s something else going on . . .’
    Sidney hesitated. ‘I think that’s what Mark Bowen was implying.’
    ‘There’s no evidence of any dead bodies, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
    ‘Perhaps someone thought that Morden was inside?’
    ‘Attempted murder, you mean? No, Sidney, I’m pretty sure this is some kind of insurance trickery. Go and see the man yourself, if you like.’
    ‘I’d have to think of an excuse.’
    ‘That hasn’t stopped you in the past. It’s your job, isn’t it, caring for the afflicted? It would be interesting to see what you could get out of him.’
    ‘Would you like me to go then?’
    ‘I’m always grateful for any help you can give, Sidney. You know that.’
    ‘Then I have your blessing?’
    ‘I’d be glad to be the one giving the blessing. It certainly makes a change.’
    Sidney thought things through as he made his way home from the pub. He had brought Dickens with him so that the dog could have a good walk on the way there and back. Canine companionship had become one of the great and unexpected treats of his life. Although there were times when his Labrador took the law into his own hands (he could still get excited by sheep, for example, and the lambing season was something of a challenge), Sidney admired his exemplary combination of patience and affection. While other people’s dogs yapped and leapt up and slobbered and barked, Dickens kept his curiosity closer to home, straying far less than he had done in the past, contented with his lot in life. He seldom took against people and was slow to anger, and there was a time when Sidney realised that he could learn much simply by observing his dog’s good nature.
    However, this made it all the more troubling when Dickens became agitated. He had run on ahead but stopped at the