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definitely hesitate,’ he said.
    ‘That is interesting. Do you think that if I knew you well . . .’
    ‘You do know me well, inspector.’
    ‘That I would expect you to hesitate? I could predict it?’
    ‘Quite possibly.’
    ‘Then I might even be able to take advantage of your hesitation.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    Keating paced his way towards the south-west corner of the chapel. ‘Montague’s story suggests that Bartlett disappeared by running the length of the roof and disappearing through a concealed doorway in the south-west pinnacle. Montague’s hesitation, his panic, bought his friend time. It was, perhaps, all part of a plan.’
    Sidney was struggling to come to terms with the direction of Keating’s thinking. ‘What kind of plan? You’re not implying that they were all in on it – that the murder, or even perhaps suicide, of Valentine Lyall, the disappearance of Kit Bartlett and the framing of Rory Montague are all part of some greater plot? That the event was deliberately staged? ’?
    ‘I’m not sure. I just cannot believe the whole thing was a simple escapade, Sidney. It’s too dangerous.’
    ‘But if you want to kill someone surely there are easier ways of doing it? Why go to the trouble of something so melodramatic?’
    ‘Because you want it to be known. You want it to be made as public as possible.’
    ‘I’m not sure if I can quite believe that.’
    ‘I think you may have to make another visit to the Master’s Lodge,’ Keating replied.
    ‘You think that he hasn’t been telling me as much as he should?’
    ‘I think it might be an idea to get things straight. You need to try and find out if all three of these men were really on our side or not; and, if that is the case, whether they were playing a different game, in public, to throw someone else off the scent.’
    ‘And you think I can trust the Master?’
    ‘Probably not, but I’d like to know what he has to say for himself. I’ll try to make some discreet enquiries with my contacts at the Foreign Office, but I think you’re going to have to do your bit, Sidney. Those bloody colleges never tell us what’s going on and only call us in when it’s too late. It’s never the best way to run things.’
    The two men began their descent from the chapel roof and Keating stopped. ‘Are you happy to talk to him? It won’t compromise your position with the college?’
    ‘Conscience before compromise, Geordie.’
    The inspector smiled at the off-duty use of his Christian name. ‘You will tell me everything he says, won’t you?’
    ‘You have my word.’
    ‘It might be difficult. They’ll try and keep you in the dark for as long as possible but you know where your loyalties lie?’
    Sidney resumed his walk down the narrow confines of the stairway. It was unnecessary to be asked such a question again. ‘I have no doubt about that, I can assure you.’
     
    Although it had begun to thaw, the sharp wind still cut through the warmest of overcoats and the thickest of scarves. Every foray into the outdoors became a challenge. A man needed to have something to look forward to, Sidney decided, and although he knew that the company would be challenging, he was enjoying the possibility of a warming lunch with his friend Amanda Kendall before his next encounter with the Master.
    It was becoming something of a monthly routine. Amanda would take the 11.24 train from Liverpool Street and Sidney would bicycle over from Grantchester to meet her at 12.39. They would then walk over to Mill Road and have lunch at their favourite restaurant Le Bleu Blanc Rouge.
    Sidney was not particularly adept at cycling, using the time to concentrate either on his forthcoming sermon or on recent events, and his attentiveness to traffic was not as sharp as it might have been. Nevertheless, he was shocked into alertness by a butcher’s van turning left across him into Bateman Street and then mounting the snowy kerb before accelerating away into the distance. Had