This observation was received with loud applause from the Baroness. Sophy and Alleyn crowded up to Grant.

‘You shall suffer for this,’ Grant said between his teeth. ‘Both of you.’

‘On the book, on the book, all on the book!’ gaily chanted the Baroness. ‘Nobody to move. Gerrit, you must step a little back and Mr Dorne, are you there, please?’

‘Oh God, yes, I’m here.’

‘Good. Good. And so, all are ready? Freeze, please. I shoot.’

The camera clicked but the darkness was uninterrupted. The Baroness who had uttered what was no doubt a strong expletive in her own language now followed it up with a reproach to her husband. ‘What did I tell you, my darlink! They are useless these local bulps. No! Do not answer. Do not move. I have another in my pocket. Not to move anybody, please, or speak. I find it.’

Sophy giggled. Major Sweet immediately groped for her waist.

‘Serve you bloody well right,’ whispered Grant to Sophy. He had detected this manoeuvre. From somewhere not far away but beyond the Mithraeum there came the sound, distorted as all sounds were in that region, by echoes, as of a high-pitched voice.

There followed a seemingly interminable interval broken after a time by a distant thud as of a heavy door being shut. The Baroness fiddled and muttered. Kenneth detached himself from the group and took a flashlight shot of the god. He was urged back into position and at last the Baroness was ready.

‘Please. Please. Attention. Freeze, please. Again, I shoot.’

This time the light flashed, they were all blinded and the Baroness gave out loud cries of satisfaction and insisted upon taking two more. Against mounting impatience the group was then re-formed with the Baroness replacing her husband and over-hanging Major Sweet like some primitive earth-mother. The Baron had better luck with his flashlamp and all was accomplished.

‘Although,’ he said, ‘it would have been nicer to have included our cicerone, would it not?’

‘Must say he’s taking his time,’ Major Sweet grumbled. ‘Damned odd sort of behaviour if you ask me.’

But Kenneth pointed out that Sebastian Mailer was probably keeping his aunt company in the atrium. ‘After all,’ he said to Grant, ‘he handed over to you, didn’t he?’

Grant, under pressure from the Van der Veghels, now moved into the area of light and with every sign of extreme reluctance read the Mithraic passage from Simon to this most strangely assorted audience. He read rapidly and badly in an uninflected voice but something of the character of his writing survived the treatment.