“Exactly what I asked my host.” Dickie looked with speculation at his old comrade. “I think you must have seen him. The begowned two yards of pump water I was talking to after I duffed up the owner of Aunty’s Tea Shop. You were watching through the window.” He grinned. “He was so impressed by my style and bearing he asked me to have supper with his effete dining club.”

“So that’s what all that palaver was about! I did wonder if I ought to ride to your rescue. I thought you were in trouble and having to blarney your way out of it, as usual. But, Dick, I don’t like the sound of that at all. What in hell do they want with you?” Oily said doubtfully. “Listen! Watch your back! That’s not your world. They can be buggers, those academics! The ones smart enough to realise that Disraeli’s no longer prime minister will be Pacifists or Marxists. Just for once, take my advice, man! Stand them up! You won’t be comfortable in that sort of company.”

Dickie smiled. “I rather think that may be the point of the exercise. I’m sure I’d have a pleasanter evening playing snakes and ladders with your Edith. But at least, I think, I can count on several hours of absolute safety tucked up somewhere in a college fastness.”

“Which one?”

“Not exactly sure which one, but if I’ve guessed right, it’s a harder place to penetrate than the Tower of London. If I can spin the entertainment out for an hour or two, I’ll be all right. And if I survive death by spiced boar’s testicles, I may stroll along to the market to hear the chimes of midnight sound an end to the evening’s magic and see if I can’t spot a villain. Or help sweep up the corpses.”

Oily sighed. “So you’re determined to go?” The familiar deflation of realising that his advice was—as it always had been in those army years—rejected, returned after a twenty-year absence to irritate him. “Well, sod you, Captain! I hope you have a lovely evening!”

“I’m sure I shall. Now, Lieutenant—apple pie, I believe. Yes, I rather think you must—the ladies don’t approve of plates that are not licked clean. I shall have a goodly portion. Where I’m going tonight, I can’t count on the food being at all edible.”

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Cambridge Police Station, Saturday,
the 7th of June, 1924

Constable Jenkins tapped on the door and put his head round. “Prisoner’s ready for you, Inspector. Particulars taken, such as they are. Personal items confiscated and logged. Belt and shoelaces removed. Shall I bring him up?”