Nightingale seemed remarkably relaxed about Lady Helena half-inching The Third Principia, given the grief we’d been through to get it in the first place. Postmartin would have cheerfully sentenced them to a life breaking rocks for crimes against scholarship, but Nightingale merely smiled and said that they were probably better suited to the job of interpreting it.

‘I never was one for academic study. And even if you did have time, your Latin isn’t up to the job.’

‘Thanks a lot,’ I said.

‘Speaking as one who was obliged to memorise large sections of The Second Principia, I think I can say with some confidence that you are not losing out. In any case, while Lady Helena will no doubt do a splendid job teasing out its secrets, I believe relying on the wisdom of the ancients, so to speak, is a mistake.’ Nightingale gave a crooked grin I’d never seen before – it made him look all of fourteen. Suddenly I could see him standing on the playing fields of Casterbrook, hands in pockets, school cap pulled down at a rakish angle and looking into a future untroubled by anything more than a couple of world wars, atomic bombs and the loss of everything he held dear.

‘In any event, I rather think that Lady Helena is looking to the past whereas I prefer to look to the future,’ he said. ‘I’m sure if she does discover something worth knowing she’ll be only too happy to share.’

I expressed a certain amount of doubt about that, but Nightingale pointed out that Lady Helena had returned to her place in the Montgomeryshire and should we want it, we could always drive out and ask to borrow the bloody book.

‘And see if her daughter has learned to fly yet,’ said Nightingale.

I asked about Martin Chorley’s Ferrari GTO and Nightingale said it was temporarily impounded.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘I thought they might auction it.’

‘And you were thinking of bidding?’

‘Just a thought,’ I said.

‘Alas,’ said Nightingale. ‘That car will never be sold.’

‘Oh.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I declared it a “magical device” under the terms of the agreement. At least until such time as we can declare it safe for mundane use.’

And he’d stashed it in the coach house where the Orange Asbo used to live.

‘How long do you think that will take?’

‘Well such an evaluation can take a considerable amount of time,’ said Nightingale. ‘Especially given our current work load.’

‘And we wouldn’t want to cut corners, would we?’

‘To do so would be irresponsible,’ he said.

‘Respect,’ I said and raised my fist which Nightingale stared at for a moment before raising his own and bumping mine.