Wilde thought about his conversation with Lydia and the stranger who had phoned her. Was that worth mentioning? Before he could say anything, Mrs Kemp arrived with the coffee, and then there was a knock at the door.

*

Bodie Cashbone had to duck under the door frame. Here, in the Old Rectory, with its low ceilings, he looked even more a bear of a man than he had when Wilde had first met him. A handsome bear, but a bear nonetheless.

He had someone else with him: a man with spectacles, a round lined face, thinning white hair and a large briefcase. Wilde estimated him to be at least seventy.

‘Wilde, what a man!’ Cashbone threw his arms wide. ‘My God, Wilde, let me shake you by the hand. You’re a miracle worker, buddy. We owe you a Medal of Honor for what you dared do.’ He shook hands vigorously.

‘You’re very kind.’ Wilde retrieved his hand from Cashbone’s paw.

‘Hell no, kindness has nothing to do with it. It’s men with your sort of courage that are going to win this war for us. Now, let me introduce Professor Malcolm Bromley, also the holder of a chair at your esteemed university.’

Wilde shook hands with the new man, not someone he had ever seen around Cambridge.

‘Pleased to meet you, Professor Bromley.’

‘Actually, I’m emeritus professor.’

Wilde kept smiling, searching the man’s eyes for some clue to who he was or why he was here.

‘And before you ask, Wilde,’ Eaton interjected, ‘Professor Bromley is an anthropologist, and a leading expert in the field of facial recognition.’

Leading expert. They were words to dampen the spirits of any academic. Or indeed, anyone with half a brain.

‘Well, I’m sure you’re here for a good reason, Professor Bromley.’

‘Bromley has helped the police in the past and has offered to assist my department as and when he might be needed,’ Eaton said. ‘We are harnessing the finest intellects in Britain to the cause and he’s offered his expertise.’

‘Now then,’ Cashbone said, looking around. ‘Where are the girls? In particular, where is our very special ten-year-old?’

Wilde frowned. Something in Cashbone’s tone and choice of words unsettled him.

‘They’re not up yet. We had a long day yesterday. But tell me, Cashbone, would I be right in thinking that you knew what the “package” was before you despatched me to Germany?’

‘Would you have gone if I’d told you? Hell of a difference smuggling out a live human being rather than an inanimate object, don’t you agree?’

Wilde didn’t like this one bit.

‘That’s not the point. I happen to dislike deceit – especially when it’s used on me. What about you, Eaton?’

‘No, I didn’t know. Not until two days ago. I’m sorry if you feel you were deceived or misled.’

‘That’s not the half of it.’