‘Good. Yes. But we are only three, you know, and have premises and wives of our own to guard – and we don’t really know the terrain awfully intimately. More to the point, if you kill a chap even in your own house nowadays, with one of his fists in your safe and the other in your wife, you’re facing a murder charge and the court will be told by hired psychiatrists that the offender is a poor, disturbed lad who has been upset by a nasty film he saw at the Odeon last week but he’s a lovely son to his old mother. Old mothers are marvellous in the witness box, born actors every one, they can even make policemen weep, I’ve seen it, it’s as good as the television. They would give you a very bad time.’

George snarled and gargled a while; he wasn’t very cogent but we got the impression that, if he were let loose for a few hours with a Vickers Medium Machine-Gun, the world would be a better place and all potential rapists would be queuing up in Cathedral Closes, applying for jobs as counter-tenors.

Sam and I watched him curiously: I think we both felt that this was not the quiet, capable George we both knew and, in some sort, respected – the George whose most interesting feature was his dullness. We put it down, I suppose, to his recent ordeal and Sam doubtless, although he was showing a surprisingly better front to the world, had a fellow-feeling for him. (I myself gave up having fellow-feelings in my last term at school because I was working hard for University entrance; I like to think that I am a prude at heart.)

‘I think,’ I said, when the noise had died down, ‘that I’d better go to Oxford.’

Sam mustered a flash of his old spirit.

‘Is this really the best time to consider completing your education, Charlie? Is the call of the cloisters suddenly so strong? What will you read – Divinity?’

‘Tush,’ I replied. ‘I shall go and see my old tutor, who knows more about witchcraft, demonology and kindred nonsense than any man living. It is perfectly clear that we have a disgusting situation here where some vile sub-human is committing outrages for ancient and nasty reasons which we do not comprehend. We cannot stamp him out until we know what he thinks he is doing, and why. I shall go to ask my old tutor. Has anyone any better suggestions?’

No one had any better suggestions.

‘My own wife,’ I went on, ‘has not yet, to my best knowledge, been ravished, so you will see that my mission is pretty disinterested. In the circumstances, and since giving hospitality to dons in Oxford comes wickedly dear, I fancy you may care to split my expenses with me.’

They made fumbling gestures in the direction of their cheque-book pockets but I waved them away.