Although confident that the information he wanted would be contained in Sergeant Thoday’s meticulous report, he kicked himself for having failed at the time of discovery to inspect the wooden gate in the dividing wall between the college and the graveyard to ascertain whether the key had been left in the keyhole or had been removed. The omission was troubling him. He retraced his steps past the yew tree and the unoccupied tomb top and found the gate. The venerable old piece of oak had black iron fixtures and bindings, and the keyhole itself, vast in size, was also bound in black iron. Although clearly a Victorian Gothick flourish, it would not have disappointed as the door to an eleventh-century castle built by the Norman conqueror. Redfyre calculated that the key fitting such a piece of design must itself also be of some consequence. It was hardly the sort of implement you could pop into your back pocket and forget about or even dangle from a girdle. It was either still in the lock or hanging from a stout hook in some secure location.

He decided to put his eye to the keyhole. Would he be able to make out traces of a struggle or a continuation of the drag marks he’d found in whatever horticultural features were to be found beyond the boundary? A deep, damp flower bed would suit him very well. Redfyre had no firm hope, but since an immediate incursion into college territory had been banned by his boss, peering through the bloody keyhole was the best he could do.

No key obstructed his vision, and the hole gave him a surprisingly generous view of the neighbouring garden. Sadly but not unexpectedly, the telltale long grass that might have retained a trace ended on this side of the doorway and was replaced by a lawn, close-cropped and reticent as to recent activity. Beyond, he saw an arc of tall trees and bushes and could just make out the beginnings of a flower border. Here, an explosion of early peonies in various shades of pink made him smile. Exactly as he had expected. The lucky master had an enviable space for his private garden—south-facing and walled to the north. The very place to nurture your own English heaven.