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strangled his
    other victims—I still don’t know why he chose to change his
    method in my case. You came into the room just in time to
    dissuade him from using that razor on me, although neither of us could stop him using it on himself. And before you ask, I’m aware why that had such a disturbing effect on you. I know all about
    your early life as you, time was, knew all about mine.”
    He stopped, waiting for a reaction. All he got was a nod and
    a series of questions. How did we, and the police, miss this young lad? In retrospect, what clues should we have spotted? Why was your life threatened? The first two were easy to answer, the third less so, although Orlando seemed to accept that their interest in the case had made them both potential targets. About his own
    family Orlando spoke not at all. “And the murder while we were
    on holiday? Were our lives in danger then?”
    Jonty noticed that the your life had subtly changed to our lives and was heartened. “That was a strange business, a murder which was obscured by a coincidental case of blackmail. The son
    of the victim had been the recipient of threatening letters from the barman—I told you that, although I never said why. Ainslie junior shared the same inclinations as the victims here, a fondness for other men.” He paused, to gauge Orlando’s reaction to this
    revelation, but again it seemed to be just an analytical one.
    “Did we identify the blackmailer?”
    “In concert with Matthew Ainslie, yes, and before Inspector
    Wilson did. The identification of the murderer—” there was no
    need for further elucidation here, he had been perfectly frank
    about this with Orlando from the start, “—was all our own work.
    Well yours, really. We applied much more logic and analysis,
    although you’d been led astray when you started to formulate

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    Charlie Cochrane
    theories without sufficient evidence. I think we both learned a
    thing or two about detection on holiday.”
    Orlando showed his satisfaction with these explanations by
    politely thanking his friend then returning to the Woodville letters and his own notes. Jonty had a sheaf of papers on his lap but
    stared at them unseeing. It was lovely sitting in Orlando’s room again, as it seemed years since they’d been there together
    although in reality it was little more than a week. Lovely and yet agonizing; to be so close to his lover and not to be allowed to
    touch was torture indeed.

    “Jonathan! Orlando!”
    A voice that seemed to have been designed to penetrate
    concrete at two hundred yards rang through the college court. It was Sunday morning and the broomstick had obviously landed
    successfully. Its arrival had been anticipated by the two fellows so they were lurking around to greet the pilot.
    “Mother,” Jonty whispered to his companion, before saying
    in a tone as hearty as hers, “Mama! You’re looking ridiculously
    well. What has the doctor been giving you to make you look so
    young?” He was scooped up into his mother’s arms and had the
    breath squeezed out of him.
    “Looking thin again, dear.” Helena Stewart always seemed
    to think that her son was on the brink of starvation, even though he was more muscular and well set up now than he had been this
    last year. “Dr. Coppersmith, you look positively emaciated.” She grabbed Orlando and squashed any answer out of him, too.
    Orlando was stunned. His own mother had never shown any
    such physical affection for him and the perfume-soaked, genial
    embraces of this ample lady were a complete shock. He knew
    he’d met her before although he had no recollection of the events and he’d no time now for reflection, with Mrs. Stewart thrusting 38
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    Lessons in Discovery
    an arm through those of both her son and his thin and starving friend and insisting that they go immediately to the Blue Boar for a jolly good feed.
    She was most sympathetic over lunch, a meal taken in a
    quiet room