They were led into a large front room with a bay window. It was obviously a library; indeed, given the fact that every wall was a mosaic of book spines and that the desktop and practically all other surfaces were heaped with journals and paperbacks, there was room for no other function than reading. An upright chair facing the desk had been cleared by piling the papers beneath it, giving it, in Dalgliesh’s eyes, a naked and somehow ominous singularity.

Professor Lavenham, having pulled out his chair from the desk and seated himself, motioned Dalgliesh to take the one opposite. The dark eyes, under brows now grey but disconcertingly shaped like Emma’s, stared at Dalgliesh over half-moon spectacles. Emma walked over to the window. Dalgliesh suspected that she was preparing to enjoy herself. After all, her father couldn’t forbid the marriage. She would like his approval but had no intention of being influenced by either approbation or dissent. But it was right that they should be there. Dalgliesh had an uneasy awareness that he should have come earlier. The start was not propitious.

“Commander Dalgliesh—I hope I have your rank correctly.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I thought that was what Emma told me. I have guessed why you are making what, for a busy man like yourself, must be a somewhat inconveniently timed visit. I feel bound to tell you that you are not down on my list of eligible young men. However, I am quite ready to enter your name, should your answers be what an affectionate father requires.”

So they were to be indebted to Oscar Wilde for the dialogue of this personal inquisition. Dalgliesh felt grateful; the professor might well have dredged from his obviously still-lively memory some recondite passage from drama or fiction, probably in Latin. As it was, he thought he could keep his end up. He said nothing.

Professor Lavenham went on. “I think it is usual to enquire whether you have an income sufficient to keep my daughter in the manner to which she has become accustomed. Emma has supported herself since she got her Ph.D., apart from irregular and occasional generous subventions from myself, probably meant to compensate for previous delinquencies as a father. Should I take it you have sufficient money for the two of you to live comfortably?”

“I have my salary as a commander of the Metropolitan Police, and my aunt left me her considerable fortune.”

“In land or in investments?”

“In investments.”

“That is satisfactory. What between the duties expected of one during one’s lifetime, and the duties exacted from one after one’s death, land has ceased to be either a profit or a pleasure. It gives one position and prevents one from keeping it up. That’s all that can be said about land. You have a house?”

“I have a flat overlooking the Thames at Queenhithe with a lease of over one hundred years. I have no house, not even on the unfashionable side of Belgrave Square.”

“Then I suggest you acquire one. A girl with a simple, unspoilt nature like Emma could hardly be expected to reside in a flat at Queenhithe, overlooking the Thames, even with a lease of over one hundred years.”