The master harrumphed and turned Redfyre’s attention back to his earlier question. “So, to this proliferation of corpses, the dance school would appear to have made its contribution. Can you reassure me, Redfyre, that it is a safe environment for my daughter? I think, Inspector, you may have fuller and more reliable records than we have here in college. Rumours? We have those in plenty. That’s different. I can give you any number of the ones that were whispered in my ear, if you want to hear them. The theme is consistent. Men—noncollege men have died not far from here following at least one of these Jude’s blowouts. May I return the question? How many, to your knowledge?”

“We have an assortment of between six and eight unsolved cases—some of which may be discounted on further inspection, but I will give you details. Finances being restricted, staffing at a low ebb, I find myself reduced to examining closely only two of them. The possible first, the tango man, and this latest, the tramp in the graveyard. I should perhaps add that there are other features in common. A military thread, for instance, will keep gleaming through.”

Was it wise to be confiding this information to Cornelius Wells? Redfyre felt that the master and his daughter probably had more information to impart and would respond in kind when he divulged a little of his own to them.

“Military? You’d be looking a long time at this shower before you saw any sign of a military connection,” muttered Wells.

“The nearest Digby Gisbourne has ever come to things military, I should imagine,” Rosa said, “is prancing his way through a set of the Lancers!”

“Well, what about that! My dear, that card slipped out of your sleeve, and the inspector, I see, is about to pounce on it.”

Redfyre was smiling at Rosa’s confusion. “Ah! Another bit of sleuthing? This Gisbourne the Grocer fellow—could it be that you’re getting close to him for reasons other than cheerful accompaniment, Miss Wells? Do you view him as a member of our dining club, or as a potential victim?”

“We’ve got him pencilled in as a member of the group, Redfyre. No more than that. The youngest member. The rest are all dons, so he stands out as a rather unusual choice. I expect because of the clout his father wields. And by clout, I mean cash, of course. Someone pays the wine bills, after all. Who knows how the minds of these men work and what their domestic arrangements are? If it’s further names you’re looking for, I’ll tell you what we have. All supposition, rumour and blind guesswork, you understand.”

He listed the remaining suspects he knew of: a Rupert Rendlesham, effete wine-bibber and all-round clever scallywag; Hubert Sackville and Quintus Crewe ditto. None had yet gone down. All three were still in their positions at the college.