“Look—this club, the Amici Apicii? Huh! The worthy Apicius should sue! It’s surely defamatory to be claimed as a friend by these rogues. There’s a shifting and changing membership of between six and ten, as far as I can work out. Who knows? Perhaps they’re aiming for the classical nine guests for the ninth hour, but the best they can do is six for six? However, they have a central core: this classical scholar Fanshawe. He’s a world authority on Alexander of Macedon: his hero, whom he in no way, thank God, resembles! He’s also one of the two frontrunners for the position of master of the college when I hand over the reins. He can’t wait! Wherever I turn, he’s there! Ingratiating himself, trying to impress. I shall be very careful not to accept any dinner invitations from him. Fanshawe has many well-respected books and papers to his name. He’s well established in academic circles. But I sense that he’s . . . flawed. There’s a hairline crack in his bell, if you know what I mean.”

“Is he influential, sir? Is he listened to?”

“Oh yes! He’s an attraction for younger men of all ranks and years in the college, it seems, on account of his character and tastes. He exudes sophistication. He’s well travelled, a connoisseur of wine and food. More sinisterly, in my patriotic book, he does himself no credit when he sets himself up as a challenger to the views of the older generation, who chose to send the young men to war in their millions.”

“‘Pacifism’—the word that seems to have dropped out of your vocabulary, sir,” Redfyre said with mock reproof, “is an easy doctrine to tout at the moment. And selective pacifism, even more alluring.”

Wells grunted his agreement, looked with sharp assessment at the inspector from behind his eyebrows and ventured further: “I have caught him out using in front of students that fallacious phrase: ‘Lions led by donkeys.’ Wormed his way out of it, of course, by quoting Plutarch at me. Claims that he in turn was quoting a Macedonian general and the animals in question were lions and deer. Correct, of course, but not so catchy as the one currently in vogue. And Fanshawe is very much a man seduced by a turn of phrase. He’s a neat hand at phrase-turning himself. And they stick in student’s heads. The thicker heads. No—Fanshawe’s a dangerous scoundrel in my book.”

After a moment’s silence he added grimly, “Redfyre, I have built a picture of what goes on at these bacchanalian routs, and—”