“Won’t be necessary, Jenkins. I think I know who it is. And yes, I think you’re right! He’s playing with us! Just flash the bugger a knowing smile and escort him up.”

“Ah! Good morning, Mr. Gisbourne. We last bumped into each other on the dance floor, so to speak? Tangoing to the Latin sounds of Felipe and his bandoneon band. Have you come forward to confess to dislocating my right shoulder in the encounter? No need! Not even my pride was hurt.”

“Stop arsing about, Redfyre! Rosa warned me you were a smart aleck, so just drop the act, will you? I’m here to sort out several crimes about Cambridge for you. Crimes committed over, um . . . let’s say the last five years. I’m sure you keep good records. You’ll know the finer details. Just write out a formal statement, will you, and I’ll sign it.”

“Of course. We won’t turn down such a generous offer, but I would first like you to answer a few vital questions of the who, when and why nature. I think we know most of the answers, but let’s introduce a little method, if not quite the proper procedures, shall we? As the first of the killings we’re both interested in occurred five years ago—that offence also a result of tango-induced emotions, when you were a lad of sixteen, busy on the playing fields of Eton?—I am prepared to discount any confession of yours to that crime.”

He reached into a file box, extracted a single sheet and passed it over the desk. “Now, Mr. Gisbourne, you have there a selection of six related cases we have on our books, all requiring closure. Look on this as a menu for your perusal. I’m striking out the first one, a Mr. Ricardo de Angelis, as being only indirectly connected with the Gisbourne family.”

Digby took it and stared, aghast. “Six, you say? Six?”

“Unless you want to add to that number?”

“No, no! Certainly not!”

“Perhaps it would help if you concentrated on the last one on the list. The very recent strangling of an old soldier called Abel Hardy on college premises, more precisely in the rooms of a colleague of yours, the gentleman who features in the victim list at number five. (Dr. Fanshawe having been only minutes before thrown from his window to his death in the court below.) You were a witness to both deaths, and have already given us your, shall we say, preliminary and incomplete statement. Following which, you disappeared. But better late than infinitely on the loose, I suppose. Pick up where you left off. And went to ground for”—he glanced at the wall calendar—“well, nigh a fortnight. Why don’t you take up the tale from the moment the party started?”