“Mmm . . . well, no work of fiction ever had a conclusion as painful as the one that overtook our boys. That early chapter of derring-do ended all too soon for them. In crime, betrayal, disgrace and imprisonment. A four-year sentence of hard labour breaking rocks and laying track under a blistering South African sun.” MacFarlane sighed. “And when I tell you the end of the tale, you’ll wonder, as I do, why on earth the six men who all survived and made it back eventually into good old civvy street, lived on peaceably for another twenty years, each thriving in his own way, many miles apart, before suddenly rediscovering one another and fighting like ferrets in a sack. Why? What was the trigger? What really happened to them all in South Africa? We’ve got the KOYLI dates and listings coming down to us. We’ll know what medals they won, the dates of their trial, imprisonment and release, but we won’t know their story. If we can’t shake the truth out of the survivors, we shall have to get hold of their nearest and dearest and”—he paused and considered—“ask them to confide. Find that trigger, the change in circumstances. A sudden revelation and we’ve got the motive for two, possibly three murders. And I don’t intend to stand by and arrest the last man standing!”

Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Cambridge, Tuesday, the 20th of May, 1924

The documents sent down from Yorkshire were pounced on next morning, examined, exclaimed over, absorbed and mined for information. Actions were planned, tasks divided and handed out by MacFarlane.

“From London to Leeds,” he said with grim satisfaction. “We’re spreading our net wide, but needs must! No one’s wriggling out of this through inattention. There, that’s you lads fixed up for the next three days. And you can thank your lucky stars and your self-sacrificing governor that you haven’t been handed the mucky end of the stick. Never send a man where you wouldn’t go yourself. I hope you’re marking and learning. One of us has to do it—go to Yorkshire. To interview an old lady who is most likely gaga.” He sighed a sigh of martyrdom. “I’m assigning this task to myself. I’m bound for Leeds tomorrow morning. No, no need to be concerned for me—the local lads are sending a squad car to pick me up from the nearest railway station, and I’m spending the night with an old mate. I shall be back by Friday afternoon. During my absence, Redfyre, you’ve got the ship.”

Redfyre and Thoday were ready for a breath of fresh air. Leaving the superintendent to work through a list of phone calls, they walked together to the morgue, where Redfyre checked on Thoday’s extraordinary theory concerning the feet of the dead man. He stood, boots in one hand, staring at the well-tended feet of the corpse.