“Well you’d better sharpen your elbow, and if he calls you up for an explanation, give him a dig in the ribs when the moment arrives. Hardy, our London sophisticate, turned up expecting a slap-up meal, perhaps to extend into one of the, er, lighter entertainments the town has to offer on a Friday night. At the very least, a round or two of bridge. Only to discover that he has been lured into a—shall we say, ‘den of iniquity’? All the participants assembled are male. (Dig here.) Suggestions are made which make it clear that a scene of illegal activity is envisaged . . . Frolicking (another dig) of a masculine nature more associated with the bathhouses of ancient times than the groves of twentieth-century academe is anticipated. I say, sir—am I getting this right?”

“So far, so ambiguous. Go on. Nothing there yet to get me reaching for the carbolic that Jenkins’s granny would prescribe.”

“The realisation, perhaps the suggestion itself, whispered into his scandalised ear by Fanshawe, hits Hardy as he is standing at the drinks tray in front of the open window. Totally horrified by the prospect of the depravity that he now understands to be on the menu, with a “faugh!” of disgust, he takes hold of Fanshawe and begins to shake him. In the ensuing attempt by both Digby and Dunne to rescue Fanshawe, the poor chap, who, it will be remembered was of very light-limbed constitution, goes headfirst through the open window.

“Sir, here a reminder will not come amiss—that the master of St. Jude’s has made it known that he will totally support this version given by the two impeccable witnesses: a Judesman who is engaged to his daughter, and a retired and much-decorated war hero, Major Richard Dunne, lately of the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry.”

“Was he? Light-limbed, I mean. Fanshawe?”

“No idea,” Redfyre said cheerfully. “But anyone who has evidence to the contrary will not want to advertise the knowledge. This is about sensibilities, after all.”

“And are we clear as to who throttled Hardy?”

“Both would-be rescuers are uncertain whose grip it was that cut off the assailant’s blood supply. Both were devastated by the outcome, and the two have jointly admitted the resulting manslaughter.”

“Mm. At last, a bit of solid meat in this swirling Mulligatawny! ‘Jointly’! That word does it! The word the judiciary authorities never want to hear. We all know how the Prosecution Service hates a ‘joint’ culpability charge . . . Never known one to succeed! Juries won’t commit themselves to condemning two people to hang for the death of one. It goes against nature. They won’t waste their time on it. You’re right, Redfyre. They’ll go for this fabrication of yours! You have my authority to set the jointly accused loose on bail with the usual precautions. No more disappearing acts.”