Benny wasn’t feeling very confident. She’d rolled up her trouser bottoms and thrown on a skirt and blouse that Alexander’s sister had owned. She thought she looked like a scarecrow. But Rocastle barely gave her a second glance. He rose as Alexander entered and shook his hand warmly. ‘Mr Shuttleworth, what can I do for you?’

‘Well, it’s quite a delicate matter, actually.’ Alexander and Benny sat down in the comfortable chairs of the study, and Benny was surprised to find that hers was still warm. She studied Rocastle as he moved, this man who the Doctor⁠ — who Smith⁠ — feared so much. His face was ruddy, like he’d just gone through some emotional crisis, and, despite trying to look interested in what Alex was saying, he eyes kept straying. Benny followed the direction of his glance to a tiny cameo of a woman on the wall.

‘So,’ Alexander was saying, ‘I found that, after this party of schoolboys had toured the museum, a certain item was missing. A red pottery sphere, used for cooking by the Iceni tribe. I’d left a display case open for cleaning that afternoon, and there were no other customers, so I reluctantly have to conclude…’

‘This sphere⁠ — valuable, was it?’

‘Only to an archaeologist.’

‘Right.’ Rocastle thumped his big palm down on the table and got to his feet. Benny and Alexander did like wise. ‘I cannot have this happening. I shall call an assembly instantly, and, if you would be so good as to come with me, we shall discover the culprit.’

‘Well, there’s no need to⁠ —’ Benny began.

‘There’s every need,’ Rocastle replied, rather curtly. ‘Can’t have my boys’ reputation suffering. Come along.’ He locked the door of the study behind them as they left, and took a moment to grab a passing first-year, who, after a few quick words, ran off in the direction of the big golden bell that stood on a table in an alcove. He began to ring it with all his strength.

After a minute, bells began to sound from all over the echoing old building.

Rocastle stood at a slight distance from his visitors, listening to every one of them like he was following the libretto of a favourite opera.

‘I think we’ve done the worst possible thing for him,’ Benny whispered to Alexander. ‘We’ve given him just what he needs.’

Smith was wearing his apron, making salad sandwiches for tea, rattling round the inside of a jar of mayonnaise with a knife to extract the last drop. Joan was inspecting his bookcases in the front room. She’d re-bandaged his finger, which seemed to be healing nicely with no sign of infection, and they’d had two cups of cocoa each.