Oily smiled and nodded. “When the three of us had compared notes and I’d explained a few things to Herbert, it was clear to everyone that we were being set up for something . . . unpleasant. No one’s planning to shake our hand and pin a medal on us. The other two—and I agree with them—thought we were being lured here for purposes of elimination. Most probably by you. Sorry, Dickie, but Ratty had worked out the odds and you were a clear favourite. But I’m pleased to say all of us were determined to see it out. They’re both here in town, and no, I’m not telling you where. You’re still our top suspect. They each left a note at my hotel, clocking in as per my instructions. Silly panic, perhaps, but a bit sinister, don’t you think? And why the hell fetch us to Cambridge? Why not some cesspit in the East End of London where crime goes not only unpunished, but undetected? I’d have picked Seven Dials.”

“You’re behind the times, Oily. The fuzz have sorted out Seven Dials. They’ve got some smart lads on the force these days. Can’t say this sleepy academic backwater has the same reputation for crime solving. But, whatever else, our old army oppo seems to want us all in the same place at about the same time. Setting us up like a row of skittles. Everybody muster on the marketplace before midnight? Coo! Er! It sounds like a Boy Scouts–wide game devised by Baden-Powell. But I don’t like it. Who the hell is this joker? Do you detect an element of madness here? Psychological pressure being exerted?”

“Of course I do! Madness! That’s why everybody thought of you first, Dickie! You were never the same after Pretoria, though you seem sane enough to me now.”

“I’m in full possession of my faculties. I’ve tramped away my problems, ditched my religions and the few worldly goods I had, forgiven my enemies, rid myself—or thought I had—of the past. I’m a cleansed man! Of no possible interest to anyone. Not worth a bullet.”