Dr Bacchus Dyson did not like being kept waiting. He stood by the Chapter House fire with his back to it, arms folded, as if he had taken the room by right and only tolerated the presence of the police.

“Inspector,” he said, as Lomas and Makepeace entered. “Sergeant. I trust this interruption is important. I have a College to run.”

“You have a great many things to run,” Makepeace said mildly. “Exams. Books. Boys. We’re merely adding your memory to the list.”

Dyson’s mouth twitched. “You have developed a taste for cheap thrusts, Sergeant,” he said. “Is that what passes for wit in Hartleydale?”

“Sit down, please, Doctor,” Lomas said quietly.

There was something in his tone that even Dyson hear...

Please subscribe to keep reading.