“That’s the thing, Thoday. And I’m not at all certain the murder was done where we found the body. My mind keeps going back to the door in the wall between Jude’s College and the cemetery. Why is the key missing? Where was it on Friday night? Where is it now, and are there prints on it? Did our Dickie actually turn up for his epicurean last supper? Have you thought, Sarge, that he may be dead himself? We could stumble on his body any moment—but only if our feet are in the right place. And why did our so careful murderer leave behind a clunking great clue?”

“Clue, sir?”

“This one,” he said. “I’ve been carrying it around with me.” He took the small white invitation card from his wallet and showed it to Thoday. “I shan’t settle until I’ve tracked them down. These Friends of Apicius who invite people inside to dine and die. Let’s go where Dickie’s been leading us and take another look at the crime scene, shall we?”

They glowered up at the college windows, looking for an indication of life being lived, and saw none.

“There’s a connection, Thoday. Over there. And I shall have to gain entry to investigate it. I’m sure it’s in that place that our chap encountered the pair of thumbs that choked off his life.”

“You’ll never get inside a college without a search warrant, sir.” Thoday, a born and bred Cambridgeman, shook his head knowingly.

Redfyre smiled. “I’m not envisaging mounting a frontal attack, going in with a warning blast on the trumpet and a rattle on the snare drum. But a sneaky rogue might creep about and find a sally port left open. Might even find a dea ex machina who’ll ease his path.” He looked up, located the window he thought the girl Rosamund had indicated was her own room and lined it up with his own upper floor front. Worth a try? His smile widened. “How’s your lettering, Sarge? Mine’s terrible, and I need some help with a notice. Let’s step over to my house. Mind the dog.”

Minutes later, to his mystification, Thoday was at the kitchen table, glass of lemonade at his elbow, copying out a brief message on a large sheet of drawing paper. “There you are, sir. Best copperplate!” He read out his work:

PERCANTA!

4:30

“Is this a tip, sir? Should I call in at the bookie’s and put a bob on Percanta in the four-thirty race?”

“No horses involved, sadly. But I am risking all I’ve got on a certain little filly.”

Feeling uncomfortable and anxious, Redfyre tapped on the locked door between the graveyard and the master’s garden at half past four.