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wonderful mistake. I respected the moralist of Galilee – or whoever had composed his teachings – but I could not believe that he was the son of God.

Tuesday Night
    As I was passing a house in the Close a few minutes later, I saw on the curtains the shadows cast by the lamps of figures moving about inside the room. That must be where the reception that Dr Sisterson had mentioned was taking place. It occurred to me that Austin had probably been invited, but had had to decline because of my arrival. While I was removing my hat and coat in Austin’s hall, I smelt frying meat. I found my host in the kitchen holding a skillet over the flame with one hand and a glass of wine with the other. There were two opened bottles of claret standing on the little sideboard and I noticed that one of them was only half full.
    ‘Do you cook for yourself often?’ I asked with a smile as he poured me a glass. I was trying to imagine his life here.
    ‘Are you wondering how much practice I’ve had?’ he answered with a laugh. Then with mock solemnity he added: ‘I can reassure you: my emoluments do not permit me to dine out very often. Has your walk given you an appetite?’
    ‘It’s as I feared,’ I said. ‘They’re vandalizing it.’
    ‘They’re only putting down pipes!’ he exclaimed and turned the frying chops over vigorously.
    ‘That’s how it starts. I remember what happened at Chichester a few years ago. They demolished the pulpitum to lay gas-pipes for heating and so weakened the structure that the crossing-tower collapsed.’
    ‘Taking up a few flagstones is hardly going to bring the building down.’
    ‘It’s always risky to disturb the piers and, as the old verger said, they neither know nor care what the consequences of their actions might be.’
    ‘So you met Gazzard? He’s a cheerful old soul, isn’t he? I suspect he’s not really worried about the building. What he’s afraid of is rousing the Cathedral ghost. The vergers are all terrified of it.’
    ‘A building as old as that must have several.’
    ‘This is the most famous and most feared. The Treasurer’s Ghost. William Burgoyne. Did you notice the family memorial?’
    ‘I did, though it was too dark to see it properly.’
    ‘It’s a handsome piece of work. In fact, it plays an important role in the ghost’s story.’
    ‘What form does the haunting take?’
    ‘What does any competent ghost do? He walks – I should say, stalks – about the Cathedral and the Close at night, frightening people.’
    I laughed. ‘Does he carry his head under his arm?’
    ‘I believe he displays it in its customary position.’
    ‘And what great wrong is it that keeps him from his grave at night? For there is always some terrible injustice at issue.’
    ‘The greatest of wrongs, for he was murdered, and his murderer was not brought to justice. I will tell you the story after supper. No, don’t say anything. You have absolutely no choice in the matter for at this season of the year such tales are prescribed. If I don’t frighten you into a state of terror and send you to bed quaking, I shall consider myself a poor host.’
    ‘Then I shall play the perfect guest and sit spellbound and frozen with horror.’
    He smiled and announced that supper was ready, and handed me a number of plates and dishes to take into the dining-room.
    We sat down at the little table – in truth, a card-table hastily covered in a rather grubby cloth to hide its green blushes – and made a good supper: devilled lamb-cutlets with capers and roasted turnips followed by a delicious quince-tart which Austin told me – in case I imagined he had prepared it himself and conceived an inflated view of his culinary skills – he had purchased from the bakery. We both drank freely of the claret – Austin far more than I did. The room was still very close – with the smell of the gas, the food, the coal and something else that was not quite nice – but I had no recurrence of my earlier