“Oh, spare me the Sydney Carton speech!” Redfyre snapped. “You sowed the seed for this outcome yourself, in my mind. One word was enough! ‘Symposium.’ Looked at from a particular angle, this crime becomes a hot potato for the Prosecution Service, bane of our lives! But you’re lucky you spoke the word to someone who understood its dubious underlying meaning and could pick it up and run with it.”

Dunne grinned. “I recognise fertile ground when I see it. Yon MacFarlane would have been slower on the uptake, but he’d have gotten there.”

“Well, we’re letting you loose. That is, when you’ve finished signing various legal documents.”

Dunne, released from the chain, shot to his feet and looked about, a little disoriented and at a loss for words.

“You can go with Jenkins to pick up your bits and pieces below. But before you go,” Redfyre said, “here you are. You’ll be glad to be reunited with this, I expect.” He handed him the brown paper parcel the constable had left on the desk.

Intrigued, the tramp tore off the wrappings. Out fell an army greatcoat bearing the label of a city laundry.

“I had it cleaned, so it’s ready for the new season,” Redfyre explained. “It stank of, well . . . better not think about it too closely, I suppose. They seem to have done a good job with it.”

Dunne had slipped his old coat on with a cry of joy and broken into his marketplace Charlie Chaplin turn, goofing around the office and humming “Goodbye, Dolly Gray” when MacFarlane came in to hand him his release documents.

Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Cambridge, Saturday,
the 20th of September, 1924

A whirl of leaves hit Redfyre full in the face as he turned the corner into the lane. The blustery wind—the first of autumn—should have been reminder enough of the date, but it was the sight of the frail figure of his aunt Hetty holding onto her hat, standing on his doorstep with a parcel at her feet, that did the trick.

“I’m here, Aunt! Hang on to the doorknob!” he bellowed. “Here, let me take your parcel. Oh, for me?”

“You’d forgotten, hadn’t you, Johnny?” she asked him, eyes twinkling over her china cup when they settled down to the tea table. “Your birthday?”

“It’s always at an inconvenient time, Hetty. Beginning of the new term. Too many things to do. Though I do love September!”