The classical beauty above the waist was at odds with the tweed knickerbocker trousers, socks and mountaineering boots below. She had dressed for the north side of the Eiger rather than a gentle English churchyard, Redfyre thought. She caught his eye on her feet and responded archly, “Climbing is a skill one has to acquire in pursuit of winged creatures, Inspector, be they bats or golden eagles.”

Redfyre was certain she was quite up to pursuing both.

He was politely offering his services wherever she thought it best to deploy them when the shout went up. A small girl in tennis skirt and plimsolls was teetering on a stepladder placed on uneven ground under a large tree whose spreading branches gave evidence of some nesting creature or other. The shout turned into a squeal of joy.

“Madeleine! What have you found?” someone called up to her.

“Magpie’s nest! You never know what you’re going to find in the hope chest of one of those thieving birds! Naughty, naughty bird! They’ll go for anything shiny! And this is freshly polished. It’s not been up here for long, I’d say. Someone will be missing this! Laetitia will be able to identify it. Laetitia! Come and catch.”

Laetitia obliged, hurrying over with Redfyre. She caught the tiny object with ease and turned it this way and that. Her manners obliged her to pretend to consult with Redfyre, ex-soldier that she knew him to be, although he was quite certain that she had known at once what it was.

“Someone is, indeed, missing this!” He held out a hand quivering with eagerness to take it from her.

“A lapel badge, silver, belongs to an officer, would you say?” She handed him a cue along with the badge.

“It’s a rose. The white rose of York, surmounted by a crown and cradled by a French hunting horn—un cor. It’s the insignia of the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry. The KOYLIs to the rescue. Cede nullis! That’s their motto, ladies. Yield to no one! Good advice.” He raised his head, laughed up at the finder and, in his excitement, blew her a kiss. “Madeleine!” he shouted, “the Cambridge CID loves you! You’ve shortened our workload by a fortnight!”

He slid the badge into his pocket, then, turning from the astonished girl, “Lady Laetitia,” he said, “something’s come up—or down. I must make some telephone calls. Good luck with the bats! Will you excuse me if I shoot off?” He reached for her hand, aware that he was behaving rather badly and, having no time to explain, was expressing his feelings through an unexpected and probably unwanted handshake.