Cambridge’s colleges reminded Charlie Jung of his public school. They had the same ancient stone and sense of history. And yet Cambridge was also like a military town these days, full of soldiers of all stripes. More khaki and tin hat than gown and cap. Whole regiments marching through the streets, and camped in tents out on the green spaces. Charlie Jung eyed them warily, then parked in a side street and walked to the college.

Information about this place and about Professor Wilde had been transmitted to him on the E-boat, directly from Bormann at the Wolfsschanze. There had been no home address, perhaps because so many dons lived on the premises, but Jung was not worried; he knew Cambridge well. It had been the closest town to his bloody public school.

He entered the archway and pushed open the door to the porters’ lodge.

‘I am looking for Professor Wilde,’ he said. ‘Is he in his rooms?’

‘Afraid not, sir,’ the porter said.

‘Do you know when he might be?’

‘Couldn’t say, sir. He’s probably at home.’

‘Then he doesn’t live here in the college?’

‘He has a set of rooms, but he lives out. Feel free to leave a message. I’ll make sure he gets it.’

‘Do you have an address for him? I need to see him urgently.’

‘Might I ask your name, sir?’

‘My name is Charles Young. He doesn’t know me, but I have rather sad information about an old friend – a mutual friend.’

‘Well, I could try and place a call for you, sir, but we don’t give out personal details such as telephone numbers and addresses.’

‘But this is not the sort of news that should be given over the phone. I need to speak to him in person.’

‘Well, why don’t I call him – and find out if he can make himself available to you?’

‘Would you? That would be very kind.’

Scobie pulled the black book across the counter and flicked through to the letter W, then placed his left finger on the page while he dialled with his right finger. The phone rang and rang. No answer. The porter shook his head and put the phone down.

‘Sorry, sir. Not at home.’

‘Well, thank you for trying.’ He handed the porter a coin.

He left with a spring in his step. Working in the Höffle auction rooms had given him a remarkable talent for reading the worst scrawls, even when they were upside down.

*

‘Ready?’ Wilde said. ‘Go and get Klara from her room. Then all we need’s a dog and we’ll look like a proper family out for an afternoon stroll.’

‘I’m not sure, Tom,’ Sunny said. ‘Is this really such a good idea?’

‘The dog? That was a joke. But yes, a walk is a very good idea. Klara needs fresh air.’