I walked through the arch, round the edge of the oval lawn of the Front Quad, with its grass that would make the surface of the snooker table look like a derelict golf course, through the Old Balliol gates and across the Garden Quad. I went in the entrance to staircase eleven, and climbed the steps. Number seven was on the second floor. I knocked on the door. A rather strained voice said, ‘Come in,’ and I cursed. I had hoped no one would be in. I pushed the door open, and saw a thin black youth seated at a desk by the window. His face could have been good-looking but for a pallor of tiredness and a scowl that made thick lines across it. He looked over his shoulder at me and I saw hatred in his eyes. It wasn’t hatred of me in particular. The hatred in those eyes had been there a long time before I knocked on the door.

‘James Gilbert?’ I said.

‘No – the floor below.’

‘The floor below? That’s where I was – they said he was on this floor.’

‘Well, he isn’t; he’s right below me.’

‘Ah – you must be Mr Kershaw?’

‘No. My name is Tsenong. Kershaw is further down the corridor.’

‘I thought that porter was a bit dim. Sorry to have bothered you.’

Tsenong turned back to his studies without replying. I closed the door. Right. Now I knew what he looked like. The next step was to wait until he went out. I walked back across the Quad and into the shelter of the archway. The porter had told me there were only two exits from Tsenong’s room – either the door or the fire escape. Both would bring him out into the Quad, and from the shelter of the arch I had a clear view. I removed my cap, glasses and scarf, and turned my coat inside out; it was reversible, and now showed black on the outside instead of white. If Tsenong walked right past me, he would have no reason to recognize me. I had a feeling I was in for a long wait, because he had looked settled into his books. I looked idly out at the teeming rain, and thought about the events of the day.