I'd already assumed that Bertie McCallion's death was down to Lt. Hartley in one way or another but the story about the girl stopped me in my tracks.

Tommy Swinton may have taken me a little further along the trail, but I was now well and truly gobsmacked.

Mark coughed and broke my train of thought: "That lot making any sense to you?"

I struggled for an answer.

"I'd guessed that Bertie McCallion had fallen foul of Hartley in some way or another but as for the rest ...not a single clue."

Tommy watched us both intently.

He produced a sealed envelope and set it on the table.

"He gave me that before he died," said Tommy. "He told me it was only to be opened if anyone ever came asking about McCallion or Hartley."

I looked at Mark. He looked at me.

"And it's been sealed ever since?" I asked.

"Don't be bloody silly," snorted Tommy. "Of course I opened it. Not that it did me any good .. but maybe it will make some sense to you."

I reached out tentatively and took the envelope in my hands. They were shaking ever so slightly.

Inside was a document, carefully folded and ornately inscribed.

It was a banker's draft for £3000 and it was dated 1919.

Across the face of the draft two words were scrawled in an angry hand.

The words were: 'BLOOD MONEY'.

My mind did somersaults. Billy Swinton had spurned a sum of money which would be huge by the standards of the post-1918 economy. Make no mistake, £3000 was a life-changing sum yet Swinton had refused it. I was baffled.

I was even more astounded to see the name at the bottom of the draft.

It was signed by William McCallion.

As Mark dropped me off at the airport he seemed distracted. I retrieved my case from the boot of his car and stopped to shake his hand.

"Listen Des," he began. "You watch yourself. I don't know how this will work out in the end but I do know that this is well beyond anything I've ever heard of. I just get the feeling that you might be getting out of your depth."

Only a fool would have laughed off his comment.

So I simply replied: "I know."

But I'd already booked a connecting flight to Brussels. I had to find out more about Vincent's Estaminet and a girl called 'Amanda'.