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table near the window, he and von Igelfeld made their way across the Court towards the Senior Common Room. Their conversation as they walked was easy, and von Igelfeld felt delighted that he should have made the acquaintance of this interesting man before people like Dr Hall, Dr C. A. D. Wood and the Senior Tutor could buttonhole him and effectively put him off Cambridge forever. Here was a man who really knew about his subject, and von Igelfeld revelled in the snippets of information – inside information – which studded his conversation. Had von Igelfeld seen the La Scala production of
Il
Trovatore
last season? No? Well, did he know that the conductor had caused an uproar by playing the tenor’s showstopper in the original key of C, rather than down half a step (anglice, tone) as is usually done so that tenors can more safely interpolate a climactic high note that Verdi never wrote? ‘Of course,’ Matthew Gurewitsch added, ‘the inauthentic high note was omitted, too. That’s what Italian musicologists call philology.’
    Von Igelfeld expressed surprise, and remarked that in future one would have to watch that roles of counter-tenors were not taken down for the convenience of basses. Or even the Queen of the Night could be transcribed for
basso profondo
, thus removing all those troublesome moments for sopranos. Would that not make it easier? Matthew Gurewitsch had laughed.
    ‘Everything is possible in opera these days,’ he said. ‘That is what I wish to talk about in my lecture. I want to look at what has happened to
Trovatore
recently. I want to issue a warning.’
    ‘That is very wise,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘People must be warned.’
    They entered the Senior Common Room, to find six or seven dons sitting in the various chairs which dotted the room. Dr C. A. D. Wood was present, and waved in a friendly fashion to von Igelfeld, and Dr Hall, who had decided against lunch in the refectory in favour of Stilton and biscuits in the Common Room, was sitting at a small table by himself, lost in quiet contentment.
    Von Igelfeld took Matthew Gurewitsch over to Dr C. A. D. Wood and introduced them. She, in turn, made introductions to a rather mild-looking man who was sitting beside her, but who had stood up when the guests came to join them.
    ‘This is Dr Plank,’ she said.
    Plank shook hands with von Igelfeld and then with Matthew Gurewitsch.
    ‘I should warn you that you will not find Dr Plank’s name in any College lists should you try to look for it,’ remarked Dr C. A. D. Wood. ‘And that is not because he is not a member of the College.’
    This Delphic remark caused von Igelfeld to turn and look at Dr Plank, who had now sat down and had folded his hands over his stomach in a relaxed way. If this man were in disgrace of some sort, and had been excluded from the lists, then it did not appear to distress him. This was very strange, and there was something in Dr C. A. D. Wood’s voice, an edge perhaps, which gave von Igelfeld the impression that she did not like Plank and was only sitting next to him on sufferance.
    For a few moments, nothing was said. Matthew Gurewitsch glanced at Plank and then at von Igelfeld. Then he looked at Dr C. A. D. Wood. Dr C. A. D. Wood looked at Matthew Gurewitsch, and then at von Igelfeld. She did not look at Plank. Plank looked down at his shoes, and then across the room at Dr Hall, who looked back at him for a moment and then transferred his gaze to his Stilton.
    Then Plank spoke. ‘The reason why there’s no Plank in the lists is not because there’s no Plank – there is – but because Plank is not spelled Plank. That is why.’
    Von Igelfeld looked puzzled. This was another English idiosyncrasy. How many ways were there of spelling Plank? Planc? Planque?
    Plank appeared to be enjoying the guests’ confusion. ‘You may be aware,’ he said, ‘that there are various English surnames which are spelled and pronounced in quite different ways. One of the best-known