‘It is a mystery, isn’t it? I’ll get myself some bread and cheese, if I may.’

The brownish mixture was in a soup bowl. In the gravy floated four shaggy caps, cut lengthwise. Burden finished his whisky at a gulp.

‘What was it the Christians in the arena used to say to the Roman Emperor before they went to the lions?’

‘Morituri, te salutamus,’ said Wexford. ‘“We who are about to die salute thee.”’

‘Well . . .’ Burden made an effort with the Latin he had culled from his son’s homework. ‘Moriturus, te saluto. Would that be right?’

‘I daresay. You won’t die, though.’

Burden made no answer. He picked up his spoon and began to eat. ‘Can I have some more soda?’ said Wexford.

There are perhaps few stabs harder to bear than derision directed at one’s heroism. Burden gave him a sour look. ‘Help yourself. I’m busy.’

Wexford did so. ‘What’s it like?’ he said.

‘All right. It’s quite nice, like mushrooms.’

Doggedly he ate. He didn’t once gag on it. He finished the lot and wiped the bowl round with a piece of bread. Then he sat up, holding himself rather tensely.

‘May as well have your telly on now,’ said Wexford. ‘Pass the time.’ He switched it on again. No fly agaric this time, but a dog fox moving across a meadow with Vivaldi playing. ‘How d’you feel?’

‘Fine,’ said Burden gloomily.

‘Cheer up. It may not last.’

But it did. After fifteen minutes had passed, Burden still felt perfectly well. He looked bewildered. ‘I was so damned positive. I knew I was going to be retching and vomiting by now. I didn’t put the car away because I was certain you’d have to run me down to the hospital.’

Wexford only raised his eyebrows.

‘You were pretty casual about it, I must say. Didn’t say a word to stop me, did you? Didn’t it occur to you it might have been a bit awkward for you if anything had happened to me?’

‘I knew it wouldn’t. I said to get a fungologist.’ And then Wexford, faced by Burden’s aggrieved stare, burst out laughing. ‘Dear old Mike, you’ll have to forgive me. But you know me, d’you honestly think I’d have let you risk your life eating that stuff? I knew you were safe.’

‘May one ask how?’

‘One may. And you’d have known too if you’d bothered to take a proper look at that book of Corinne Last’s. Under the recipe for shaggy cap stew it said, “For drinkables, see page 171.” Well, I looked at page 171, and there Miss Last gave a recipe for cowslip wine and another for sloe gin, both highly intoxicating drinks. Would she have recommended a wine and a spirit to drink with those fungi if there’d been the slightest risk? Not if she wanted to sell her book she wouldn’t. Not unless she was risking hundreds of furious letters and expensive lawsuits.’

Burden had flushed a little. Then he too began to laugh.