Harry had dutifully arrived at five to nine, fearful that Robert would be there promptly and lash out at him for lateness. In the interim he had sampled the local ale - passable - and listened half-heartedly to the duffer in the corner recount being at the Battles of Inkerman and Balaclava while browsing an old newspaper. At the arrival of his friend, Harry folded the paper and put it aside. This was the Robert he knew: smartly turned out, eloquent, a real smasher with the girls, town or gown.

"Hallo. Cambridge? Awfully dull without you there, frankly. Too much studying for my taste. Does your little act at the station earlier have something to do with that?" Right down to business.