“That’s the spirit! May I further suggest you take a postbath stroll down King Street and seek out a barber’s shop?” A quick assessment of the tramp’s shaggy beard and overgrown thatch prompted him to add a half crown to the sixpence. “Raymond at the Select Salon should be equal to the task, but . . . um . . . no need to . . .”

“Mention your name, sir? Wouldn’t dream of it. Even if I knew it,” the man replied briskly, pocketing the coin. “You haven’t introduced yourself.” He frowned. “And evidently your dining club friends are equally incurious concerning the names of their guests. Odd, that . . . Something of a breach in etiquette, one might say? Don’t you want to know who I am? Even the angels down at the shelter are particular as to the identity of their guests. I usually sign in as ‘Charlie Chaplin’ or ‘Kaiser Bill.’”

Rendlesham gave him a strained smile. “I had already assumed you were Noël Coward, dear boy. The ready wit, the insouciance, the insistence on the social niceties . . . Commendable attributes, but a dead giveaway!” He reined in his flash of petulance and produced an inviting smile. “Come now! Don’t disappoint me.”

His smile could not quite mask the uneasy realisation that he was now himself being played. “Noël Coward” was eyeing him with, yes, a twinkling mischief.

“Mmm . . . the Friends of Apicius, eh?” the tramp drawled. He was studying the invitation card with a raised eyebrow. “Well, just as long as you can guarantee that you’ve not got your old Roman mate with his pinny on, officiating in the kitchens . . . I can’t be doing with larks’ tongues. And ostrich ragout—believe one who has experienced it—is vastly overrated.”

Seeing, from the corner of his eye, a policeman turn the corner of Peas Hill and come running towards the tea shop, Rendlesham’s target came to a swift decision. He tucked the card away carefully into an inside pocket of his greatcoat, saluted and shot off.

As they went their separate ways, neither man was aware of the watchful presence, standing half-hidden by the curtains in the back corner of the tea shop. Dismissing Rendlesham, the watcher focused his attention on the tramp until he was lost to view, heading straight through the market crowds in the direction of King Street.

A flustered waitress approached the table bearing a tray of toasted tea cakes and a pot of tea. He waved away the tray impatiently and spoke urgently to his female companion. “Get your coat, Edith. Sod the tea cakes! We have to leave. Now, Edith!”

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Cambridge, Friday, the 16th of May, 1924

“Your usual chair, sir?”