Where in this city did one find a genuine civilian? Someone unconnected with the university? A socially negligible stranger? Rupert realised that in his six years here as a student and graduate researcher and lecturer, he’d scarcely set foot on non-university territory. Where was that to be found? The Alhambra cinema came first to mind. Ugh! Flea-infested and full of copulating couples. Anyone who would pay a shilling to sit in the dark watching Rudolph Valentino sneer his way through something called Blood and Sand for an hour and a half was automatically disqualified. They weren’t looking for a grunting Neanderthaler, after all.

He looked about, preparing to leave the square. He gave a final check to the impeccable fascia and gleaming vitrine of Aunty’s Tea Rooms. A watering hole popular with both Town and Gown, who were to be seen, if not sharing a table, at least sitting peaceably at adjacent tables. There might be a few early tourists about, taking a cup of tea and a bun. Fanshawe had marked his card: Our man is said to frequent—if that’s the right word, though I’d suggest—infest—the environs of the café at lunchtime, when the place is at its busiest. People with enough cash to waste at “Aunty’s” are likely to feel a frisson of guilt at the sight of a beggar when they step out, bloated on cakes and ham sandwiches. In the act of putting away their wallets and their purses, it’s no trouble to hand over their small change to whoever asks for it. That’s where you’ll find the parasite.

There was no beggar lurking about here at the entrance to put anyone off his lunch today, however. Could he return empty-handed? Faute de mieux, would a tourist suffice? Rupert rather liked the notion. By their nature, tourists could be expected to vanish from the scene. Transients moved on and were less predictable. They didn’t come home for tea and a gossip at a regular time each day. They had no truck with the local forces of law or the organs of information. And there was precedent. Hadn’t there been a visiting foreign person a few years ago? Yes! The older members still spoke of it, tears of laughter in their eyes. Garlic-eater, they would remember with an exaggerated shudder. Almost a caricature, danced the tango, chattered a lot in hilarious English. He’d provided good sport. And no repercussions.

But as he scanned the tearoom, Aunty’s seemed to explode.