Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 48, No. 1, January 2003

“It is more than that. Collie is the kindliest and best-natured of mortals. Permit him his pipe and his glass, and he will wait if we are late a full day, and never say a word against any man.”

Jacob Pole nodded, and the two lapsed into the silence of comfortable familiarity, the only sound the steady clip-clop of the horses’ hooves and the tuneless whistling of the coach driver on his seat a few feet below. They came to and breasted a final long hill, descended until they crossed the old stone bridge over the River Cam, and turned right into St. John’s Street. The great gates of the college were closed. Darwin, nimble for a man of his bulk, swung down from the coach’s upper level and gave Pole a helping hand.

He stared up at the carved decorations above the double doors. “Ah, they carry me back. But it is odd to find the main gates closed at this time of day. Come on.”

Leaving the coachman to transport their bags to the courtyard, he led Jacob Pole through the narrow inset door and into the stone forecourt beside the Porter’s Lodge. There Darwin again stood frowning about him in perplexity.

“Wentworth’s message said that he would be waiting here to meet us at noon, which is already passed. I see no sign of him, which is not perhaps surprising if he is eating lunch. But, much stranger, there is no one in the Porter’s Lodge.” He walked forward and stared around the open rectangle of First Court, with its precise squares of close-clipped green lawn. “Or, for that matter, anywhere else. At this time of year one expects few students — but not a college deserted. In my years of study here, I never saw this court so empty of people.”

An archway at the end of First Court led to Second Court, with Third Court beyond it and then the river. Darwin again moved forward, into a passageway with the dining hall on the right and the kitchen and buttery on the left. As though confident of what he would find, he turned into the buttery. Sure enough, four men were seated at one of the rough wooden tables, full glasses in front of them and a round covered dish on the table end. They sat close, heads together and talking earnestly.

“No need to stand up.” Darwin waved a fleshy hand. “We are seeking Mr. Wentworth, a Senior Fellow of this college. He was to meet us by the front gate, but he was not there and the court seemed... unusually empty.”

Despite the invitation to remain seated, the four men shot to their feet.

“Excuse me, sirs.” The only one of the four not wearing a striped apron took a step forward. “You came to see Mr. Wentworth, you say. May I tell him your name?”

“I am Erasmus Darwin. My companion is Colonel Jacob Pole. As I said, he is expecting us.”

“Very good, sir. I will inform him.” The man headed for the door, but hesitated there. “Things at the college today are, as you might say, not usual. Begging your pardon, sirs, but would you be good enough to remain here in the buttery until I return with Mr. Wentworth? I’ll be quick as I can.” He turned as he went out. “George, hospitality for these gentlemen.”

“Yes, yes.” A man with a girth to rival Darwin’s stepped forward. “Beer, sirs, or cider?”

“Apple juice, unfermented, for me. Jacob?”

“The same will do.” Pole watched as all three men hurried away into the room beyond the buttery. “Erasmus, what the blazes is this? We come for a talk about empty places on the map and instead we find an empty college.”

“I do not know. But whatever is going on, we won’t hear it from these men.”

“How do you know?”

“For one thing, they are not students, but college servants. They should not be drinking in the college buttery. For another, look at their faces — but say nothing.”

The three men were returning. One carried a metal jug and two pewter tankards, the others each bore a covered dish. They laid them down, gave nods that were almost bows, and hurried out without a word.

“Fear?” asked Pole.

“To the point of terror.” Darwin removed the lids from the dishes and grunted approval at what he saw. “Veal pie and game pie. We will not starve, even though it take a while to locate Wentworth. But fear it was, mortal fear. Did you not see them start when we entered and I spoke? It was as though you had put a sword through each of them.”

Pole poured apple juice, cool from cellar storage, and drank deep. He sighed in satisfaction, laid down the tankard, and said, “I’ve had many remarks about my appearance, but never that it would frighten grown men. What’s your explanation?”

“I have none.” Darwin removed a knife from his coat, cut a substantial wedge of game pie, and sniffed it. “Excellent.” He took a bite and said in muffled tones, “Explanations without facts are like fears in the nighttime. They seldom withstand the first rays of light.”

He was still chewing that first mouthful when the half-door to the buttery swung open. The man who hurried in was about Darwin’s age, a one-time redhead whose faded fringe was covered with a powdered wig. His face was pale, the eyes reddened by fatigue.