Eden-Summers laughed. He had perfect white teeth, long blond eyelashes and was a young Greek god in every aspect. I could see why Dillie’s older sister Atalanta would describe him in such glowing terms – and why any young girl would consider him a prize.

‘Wedding? To Dillie! Why, that cheeky young thing! I have not even proposed yet! Silly girl. A bit presumptuous, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Not proposed? Why, er, then there must be some mistake,’ Holmes blustered.

‘Well, I am close to it, to be sure. Ah, those Wyndham women! Her sister, Atalanta, she is something. Watch out for that one! A narrow escape on my part!’

‘But Miss Odelia? Dillie? She has not accepted you yet?’

‘I tell you I have not proposed. But I don’t see why she should refuse.’ He shrugged, smiling. ‘She’s certainly been welcoming to my, er, attentions. Hmm … I say, old man, you are getting a bit personal! You are here to plan her wedding? This must be her idea of a joke!’

Holmes as the ‘wedding planner’ looked suitably contrite. ‘I am quite embarrassed, sir, and beg your pardon. It seems Mr Watson and I are here in error. Good day.’

‘Oh, don’t go away all sorry like that. Here’s something for your pains.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled five-pound note, and offered it to Holmes, who looked at it like it might be a snake. I took it and doffed my hat. As a florist might, I supposed.

‘Do not worry, gentlemen. We’ll hire you for the wedding if we do decide to tie the knot. That Dillie! Quite a sense of humour she has!’ His lighthearted guffawing followed us off the court.

‘Not our man, then, Holmes?’ I said when we were out of earshot.

‘He would not be an obvious choice. If there were a threat, he is low on the list of suspects, though I’d like to know more of his temper. Let us pay a quick visit to Dillie’s other suitor, Mr Vitale.’

‘May he be her only other suitor,’ said I.

Holmes laughed.

We reached St Cedd’s College, but Vitale was not in his rooms either, and we were directed to the Cavendish Laboratory. We headed south and upon arriving at the imposing stone building on Free School Lane, Holmes paused a moment, staring up at the dramatic, Gothic arched entrance.

‘I wanted to attend this University, study here,’ he remarked. ‘At the Cavendish.’ It was an uncharacteristic personal admission, and I looked at him in surprise.

‘Why did you not, Holmes?’

‘Did you know that James Clerk Maxwell’s personal library has just been donated by his widow? I would love to spend some time with that collection.’

‘You have not answered my question.’

‘Perhaps another time, Watson.’