Forbidding, cold, grandiose, were his first impressions of the building. The porter in his antechamber was en suite with the architecture. But he was efficient. Although he could only have been in receipt of instructions for a minute or two, he was very collected and greeted the guest by his title. “Detective Inspector Redfyre? You are expected, sir. The master will see you directly. He is at present finishing business in his office and will escort you down to take tea with him in his parlour on completion. Percy will accompany you. Percy! Master’s office, if you please.”

He clicked his fingers and a young buttery boy stepped forward, briefly touching his own forehead with two fingers. And they set off into the labyrinth.

Redfyre was left by his guide at the door of a first-floor room. He knocked and entered upon hearing a shout to come in.

The first thing he noticed was that the large, airy room occupied a corner of the building and commanded a wide view of proceedings below in the front court. The master, now turning from the window to greet him, had probably been watching him make his way down the path, including his deviation through the rose planting. Oh Lord! He’d seen him help himself to that particularly luscious red bud and stick it in his buttonhole.

The master was as imposing as the room, which could have been designed with him in mind. His height was all the more impressive for being swathed from shoulder to ankle in a voluminous black robe. With memories of sadistic cane-swishing, black-gowned brutes still haunting him from his school years, Redfyre found himself for a sickening moment on the back foot, dry mouthed and speechless. The figure raised bushy eyebrows to signify that he had noted Redfyre’s presence, but raised the palm of his right hand in a gesture that clearly said, Hold on! I’m in the middle of something important, and you are an interruption in my day.

“Now what was I saying? Ah yes—petty larceny about the college will not be tolerated. When discovered, it will be dealt with in a consistent manner. Any culprit making off with college property will be asked to leave and not return. Consider yourself, accordingly, dismissed from service with St. Jude’s, and understand that no character references will be forthcoming, should you seek employment elsewhere. Yours, etc. That will be all for today, Miss Wells. Teatime calls, I believe.”

Redfyre turned to look at the silent figure seated at a desk bearing a shining black-and-gold typewriter. Rosamund, whom he had seen just minutes ago, had been taking dictation in shorthand. Now she closed her notebook and put down her pencil, smiling back at . . . her father? Her boss?