So now in the darkness Skullion waited underneath the great tree for Sir Cathcart and wasn't sorry it was over.

'Ah Skullion,' the General said, peering at the dark shape against the trunk of the beech. 'Still waiting for us to climb in, what?'

'You, Sir Cathcart, yes, you were a one for climbing in, you were. I caught you many a time and let you go some more, though I don't suppose you ever knew it, sir.'

The end of the General's cigar glowed in appreciation. "You're an old devil, Skullion, you know that, a wicked old devil.'

Skullion grunted, or chuckled. It was impossible to tell which.

'Bad business, Skullion, bad business,' the General continued. 'The Dean's upset. Praelector too. Can't have it, you know.'

'No, sir,' said Skullion.

'Can't say I blame you myself. The bloody man wasn't a fit and proper person to be Master. In your own way you were trying to do the College a service.'

He stopped. Somewhere behind him there was a sound of raucous laughter.

'Boat club,' Skullion explained. 'Getting ready for the Bumps. Senior Tutor's got them in training.'

'Yes,' said the General, suddenly remembering that Skullion wasn't the only killer on the premises. And that's another thing. College reputation's at stake. This business is bound to leak out and once the police start poking their noses in there'll be no stopping them. We can't afford to let that happen. Can't have you making threats to the Dean. He's not a young man, you know. We none of us are and things are going to change pretty damn drastically. So, no matter what you say…well, to put it bluntly, Skullion, man to man and so on, your innings is over. Ran yourself out or played on, whichever you like. Now, I understand from the Dean you don't want to go to the Park.'

'No, Sir Cathcart, I don't. Not with all them loonies like old Dr Vertel. I'd rather die here and now and be done with it. I mean it, sir. I'd rather die now.'

Sir Cathcart mulled this over for a moment, but ruled it out. 'Tell you what,' he said finally. 'There is no question of your going to Porterhouse Park. Give you my word as a gentleman that you won't even be asked to. What do you say to that?'

'Very good of you, sir, very good.'

'On the other hand, the College needs a new Master. You must see that.'

'Oh I do, Sir Cathcart. I've never been the Master the College needed. I've always known that.'

'Good man. Now if you were to retire, of your own free will of course…' Sir Cathcart let the question hang on the still night air. For a moment Skullion said nothing.

'If I retired, Sir Cathcart, I'd have the right to name my own successor, wouldn't I? That's the Master's right, isn't it?'

Sir Cathcart nodded. 'You would indeed have that right,' he said. 'It is your absolute right as Master to name the person to succeed you. And you could come and live at Coft Castle with me, and occasionally we could drive over to visit the College, if you so wished. That is what I've come to tell you.'

'In that case I'm prepared to go,' said Skullion solemnly, 'go whenever you want, sir. And I will name my successor now.'

'And who is it to be?' Sir Cathcart asked.

'Lord Pimpole, sir, Lord Pimpole.'

'Very good, Master, very good. And I can go and inform the Dean of your decision?'

'Yes, Sir Cathcart, you can tell him. And you can tell him this too, he doesn't have to worry about the Sir Godber Evans Fellow, Dr Osbert, about him knowing I killed Sir bloody Godber, because he already does know.'

Sir Cathcart hesitated. 'Knew' would be a more appropriate word in the late Dr Osbert's case.

'He knows because I told him,' Skullion continued. 'He was sitting in the maze when I was telling the Dean. Been there all afternoon, waiting and listening, and he heard every word I said.'

'Good Lord,' said Sir Cathcart and understood why the Senior Tutor had acted with such precipitate violence.

'What's more, the stupid bugger was in the maze all bloody night, crashing about and trying to find the way out.' Skullion chuckled at the memory.

'And you knew he was listening all the time?'

'Course I did. I haven't been Skullion the Head Porter and not known what's going on in College all these years. Yes, I heard him and I thought to myself, 'I'll tell you what you've come to find out and it isn't going to do you any good at all because you ain't going to be able to do anything about it. And it hasn't done him any good.'

'Hmm,' was the only comment Sir Cathcart was prepared to make. He had begun to regret with a new and fearful intensity ever having come near the College in these unfathomable circumstances. He certainly had no intention of incriminating himself any further by asking questions. 'Well, I'll be getting back to the Dean,' he said hurriedly before there could be any fresh disclosures. 'I'm sure he'll be delighted to learn of your decision. We can make arrangements for your moving out of the Master's Lodge at some other time.' And with a hasty 'Goodnight' he was off across the lawn.

He found the Dean and the Praelector sitting in gloomy silence.

'Well?' asked the Dean without getting out of his chair, but Sir Cathcart needed a quick restorative.

'Mind if I help myself?' he asked, and without waiting for an answer poured himself a large cognac. Only when he had drunk it did he resume his stance in front of the empty fireplace.

'For goodness' sake, Cathcart, put us out of our misery. What is his answer?'

'Good man, Skullion,' he said finally, having decided that even among old friends there was a great deal to be said for deception. The Praelector's 'Least said soonest mended' made perfect sense to him now. 'He's agreed to go. I said the timing of his leaving the Lodge could be left to a later date.'

'And he didn't make any difficulties?' the Praelector enquired.

'None whatsoever. Regrets the whole business and apologies all round for making such a damned nuisance of himself.'

'It's unbelievable,' said the Dean. 'He didn't threaten any disclosure if he goes to the Park?'

'None whatsoever. Of course he's reluctant to go but I made it plain that, for the good of the College, it was the best thing for him. I suggest we get a move on. Like tomorrow. Leave it to me. Private ambulance and some hefty attendants to lift him into it and then straight down the motorway. You can put it about that he's had another Porterhouse Blue.'

'Well I must say, Cathcart, you've done sterling work this evening,' the Dean said, rising and reaching for the brandy. 'I think this calls for a celebratory drink.'

'I must say it comes as a great relief,' the Praelector agreed, 'though it does leave us with the question of who is to be the new Master.'

Sir Cathcart raised a hand. 'No need to trouble yourself about that either. Skullion has exercised his traditional right and named his successor.' He paused for effect. The two old men looked at him with amazement.

'Well, it is his right, you know. I could hardly refuse him,' Sir Cathcart continued.

'Absolutely his right,' the Dean agreed. 'One of our oldest traditions as a matter of fact. Dates back, I believe, to 1492.'

'Yes, well there you are. I suppose I'd better be on my way. It's been a difficult evening, but at least you don't have to worry about Skullion any more.'

'But you haven't told us whom Skullion, the Master that is, named as his successor.'

'It is rather important to know,' said the Praelector.

'Oh that. Of course, how stupid of me. Jeremy Pimpole. That's who he's named. Lord Pimpole…' He stopped and looked at the Dean. Are you all right, Dean?'

It was a stupid question. It was obvious that the Dean was far from all right. He was clutching the edge of the table and had dropped the brandy. 'No, no,' he gasped. 'Not him. For God's sake, not the Dog's…' He staggered for a moment and almost collapsed.