That evening Goodenough explained the problem to Vera. 'She's an old woman who has seen everything she believed in proved wrong and it has made her even more bitter than she was before. In any case, she's got more money than she knows what to do with and now she's out to raise hell in Porterhouse. She's already put Lappie in a spin and his gall bladder is playing up again. It always does when he's under stress. I've said I'll find the applicants for him.'

'Meaning that _I_ will,' said Vera, helping herself to another gin and tonic…'

'Well, I was rather hoping…' said Goodenough with a look of mock guilt.

Vera arranged herself on the sofa. 'I shall need time off,' she said. 'And expenses.'

'No problem. Bloody Mary's account will see you right. And you're an angel.'

2

That wasn't the way Vera saw herself but she was away for only a fortnight during which time Mr Lapline felt far worse. Are you sure you know what you're doing?' he asked Goodenough several times, only to be told that everything was under control. Goodenough chose not to mention whose control that was and Mr Lapline chose not to question him too closely.

In the event Vera returned with a list of twenty academics who would be happy to become Fellows at Porterhouse. Goodenough studied the list doubtfully.

'I had no idea there were so many universities,' he said. 'And who's this man in Grimsby whose research is into Psycho-erotic Anal Fantasies? I can't see Porterhouse accepting him even for six million.'

'I can't see Lady Mary Evans taking to him either,' said Vera. 'Unless of course she approves of early-morning drinking. On the other hand, his thinking is undoubtedly radical.'

'And Dr Lamprey Yeaster at Bristol? His curriculum vitae seems very sound. "Historical Research into Industrial Relations in Bradford".'

'I don't think he's quite right for her, somehow,' said Vera. 'He's a member of the National Front and his views on blacks leave rather a lot to be desired.'

'In that case she won't touch him with a bargepole. There's no one here she's going to choose.'

'Oh yes, there is, my dear,' said Vera. ‘I think she'll like Dr Purefoy Osbert.'

Goodenough looked at her suspiciously. 'You mean you've ring-fenced him? Why? What's so special about him apart from his name?'

'Nothing very much except that he'll do what I tell him. Have a look at his list of publications.'

Goodenough read them. 'He seems to have a thing about executions,' he said. 'Particularly hangings. There's a book here called _The Long Drop.'_

'That's Purefoy's magnum opus. I haven't read it myself but I'm told it's strong stuff. He has made a study of every hanging in England since 1891.'

'And you think Bloody Mary is going to approve of him? She is violently anti-capital punishment.'

'So is Purefoy. You've no idea how many innocent people he believes have gone to the gallows. That's his whole thesis.'

'What's this about Crippen? _The Innocence of Dr Crippen?_ The bugger wasn't innocent. He was guilty as hell.'

'Not according to Purefoy,' said Vera. 'Mrs Crippen committed suicide and the doctor panicked and buried her in the cellar.'

'What, after cutting her up into small pieces or whatever he did? The fellow is off his head. Still, I can certainly see him getting on with Lady Mary like a house on fire.

But tell me, why do you always refer to him by his Christian name?'

Vera smiled. 'Because he's my cousin,' she said.

It was not something Goodenough mentioned to Mr Lapline. In fact he amended the list of Dr Osbert's publications. Mr Lapline was in a bad way without having to cope with the innocence of Dr Crippen and what happened when they hanged Mrs Thompson. He was having trouble with his own bowels. 'I can't honestly say I begin to like the sound of any of them,' he said, 'and as for this one in Grimsby…'

'You don't think he's right for Porterhouse?'

Mr Lapline expressed the opinion that he wasn't right for anywhere except hell. Goodenough went away to make his next move. Having studied the notes Lady Mary had made on the Senior Fellows-there wasn't a faintly benevolent comment among them-he decided it would be best not to discuss the possibility of the new Fellowship with the Bursar. The Dean (what she had to say about the Dean was vitriolic) and the Senior Tutor, 'a wholly unintelligent person whose interest in rowing suggests obsessive adolescent interests' in her words, clearly distrusted the Bursar who 'sided with Godber on financial grounds'. There was independent evidence of this dislike in the reports of the two private detectives she had employed to investigate her husband's death. One report, written by an unfortunate operative who had spent two hellish months working as a human dishwasher in the College kitchens and who had developed a most unpleasant skin condition thanks to the scouring powder and detergents he had been forced to use, described the Dean as the real power in Porterhouse with the Senior Tutor as his deputy.

'I have decided to make the offer through the Senior Tutor,' Goodenough told Vera. 'If I took the idea to the Bursar, the Dean would turn it down flat. He'd smell trouble. Got a nose for it. In any case, from what I hear the Bursar is so desperate for money we're bound to have his support. It will look better coming from the Tutor.'

In fact the stratagem was unnecessary. The Dean was already making plans to spend some time away from Porterhouse. He was going to find a rich successor to Skullion, preferably from among the Old Porterthusians. He had always been fond of Skullion, but in view of the financial situation in Porterhouse the need to find a new Master, one with financial pull and a very large private income, seemed imperative. At least to the Dean. That was how they had dealt with the financial mess Lord Fitzherbert had got the College into. Fitzherbert had been a rich enough man himself, and they had made him Master. That had always been the preferred Porterhouse method, and the Dean meant to use it again. The real difficulty lay in finding a way to remove Skullion. It had never been supposed he would live so long after his stroke and now the Dean could only hope he would pass quietly away after an excellent dinner. The Dean had in mind the special Duck Dinner. Skullion had always loved _Canards pressés à la Porterhouse._ All the same the Dean had been to see the College doctor in the hope of an unfavourable prognosis for the Master, but Dr MacKendly was more concerned with the Dean himself. 'Now what is it this time?' he asked. 'The old prostate giving you trouble again?'

'Hardly,' said the Dean, 'since it has never given me the slightest trouble before.'

'Well, it was bound to happen at your age,' said the doctor, putting on a surgical glove and indicating the examination couch. 'Now this may be a touch uncomfortable but hardly painful.'

'It certainly won't,' said the Dean, remaining rooted to his chair. 'I have not come about my own condition. I am concerned about Skull…the Master, that is.'

Dr MacKendly sat down regretfully at his desk but did not remove the surgical glove. 'Skullion? Can't say I'm entirely surprised All that sitting about in a wheelchair and so on and widdling into a bag is bound to have an effect in the end. Of course we could operate, but that can cause problems you know. Sometimes one ejaculates backwards into the bladder.'

'I hardly think Skullion…the Master is likely to ejaculate anywhere,' said the Dean bitterly, 'particularly as he doesn't need a prostate operation. What I want you to tell me is your opinion on the Master's general fitness.'

The doctor nodded. He still hadn't removed the surgical glove. 'General fitness, eh? Well, that's a different matter altogether. I mean at our age we can hardly expect to be entirely fit and-'