Faro found the audacity of his counterfeit cousin deeply disturbing. It suggested an association of assassins readily available and funded by an international society which Faro had long suspected lay at the root of many unexplained and unsolved murders. A secret society with origins older and deadlier than the respectable Freemasons to which so many merchants and upper-class citizens were proud to belong.
The case of the missing Duchess had still one more card to play.
Winter came, the year turned, spring bloomed and summer blossomed, and found Faro once again involved in his daily business of solving another series of crimes.
One day, a small paragraph in The Scotsman drew his immediate attention:
Heir for Luxoria: After many years of marriage to President Gustav, Her Highness the Grand Duchess Amelie has given birth to an heir. Born prematurely, despite fears for his survival, the prince shows every sign of being a strong, healthy infant.
A week later, Faro received a letter with a Luxorian stamp. In it a copy of the announcement. Underneath, in ink, the words: 'We have a son. Gratefully, RF.'
The Final Enemy1889
For Campbell, Suzy
Benjamin and Grandapa Pierre
Chapter 1
'ATTEMPTED ASSASSINATION AT KAISER'S HUNTING-LODGE' ran the headline.
In smaller print: 'Her Majesty the Queen, who is the Kaiser Wilhelm's grandmother, is deeply distressed by the news...'
In the garden of 9 Sheridan Place, the newspaper lay unread on the grass. It did not merit a second glance from Jeremy Faro, recently retired as Chief Inspector of Edinburgh City Police.
The 1880s had been notable for attempts on royal personages. Scandals and assassinations were fashionable, as were highly lucrative pursuits of international villains who found times of political unrest greatly to their advantage.
The Russian Emperor had been blown to pieces by nihilists, and across the Atlantic President Garfield had fallen victim to an assassin's bullet.
Earlier that year, in January 1889, the courts of Europe had been shocked by news that the Crown Prince of Austria-Hungary, only son and heir of Emperor Franz Joseph, had committed suicide after shooting his eighteen-year-old mistress in the hunting-lodge at Mayerling.
'I have your queen. I have killed her!'
A shrill voice at his side and Faro shuddered. The past decade had also been notable for several attempts, all carefully hushed-up, on Her Majesty's life, frustrated by the speedy intervention of Inspector Jeremy Faro.
Had he been tempted by the newspaper fluttering in the gentle breeze, it would have been to sigh with relief that such matters were no longer any of his business or responsibility. His greatest concern at the present moment was averting a more imminent domestic disaster.
Another shrill cry. 'Look, I have killed your queen, Grandpa.'
Faro sighed and glanced at the chessboard. To his cost he had been teaching five-year-old Jamie to play. An apt pupil, though with a regrettable tendency to cheat. This was currently demonstrated by driving his black knight straight across the board regardless of any rules, ruthlessly belting the white queen such a mortal blow that she toppled on to the grass and came to rest in very unseemly royal fashion beside the unread newspaper.
Again Faro sighed. ‘Pick her up, if you please, Jamie. And the correct term is "checkmate" not "kill".'
Jamie grinned, an endearing mass of yellow curls and guileless blue eyes. 'But I won, didn't I, Grandpa? I polished her off,' he said triumphantly. 'And that is what counts.'
Leaping from his seat, he put his arms around his step-grandfather's neck and hugged him. 'That is one crime you needn't bother to solve, is it not?'
'Indeed it is not. Thank you for that, Jamie,' said Faro drily.
In truth he had no more crimes to solve ever and that pleased him exceedingly. Death and disaster on such a day as this seemed mere flights of fancy, a far cry from his peaceful garden watched over by the long-extinct volcano famous as Arthur's Seat.
He sighed happily, from this oasis of joy with a beloved family, content in the knowledge that there would be many other days just as good. Peaceful days that would stretch into his sunset years...
Again he sighed. At the certainty of a blissful, uneventful life stretching into a future, infinitely preferable to putting up with, and putting his life at risk from, the criminal fraternity.
Replacing the chessmen on the board for the umpteenth time, he smiled. 'We'll try again, shall we, Jamie?'
The only threat to that warm late October day had been a white queen at risk from Jamie's passionate disregard for the rules of the game. The only cloud on his day was a talk to be given on Founder's Day at Glenatholl College. The future had approached with alarming rapidity, to become 'tomorrow'.
It hampered his spirit like an undigested meal, regarded with considerably more anxiety than facing any villain.
This tranquil scene in the garden was overlooked by Jamie's father, Dr Vince Laurie, writing at his open study window. With feelings relaxed and paternal, he observed his pretty young wife Olivia taking off the heads of the last summer roses.
Under shady trees the latest addition to the family, their brand-new daughter, lay in her perambulator and Vince hoped that she would remain inert for a while longer and that peace would continue to reign over the household.
He shook his head in wonderment. In all his years of handling new-born infants he had never heard such a monstrous loud voice issuing forth from a mere six pounds of humanity. It was, he firmly believed, quite capable of shattering crystal and he winced at Jamie's shrill cry, certain it would wake that small volcano of sound.
His son hated to lose, loved this new game, the feeling of infinite power of moving kings, queens, bishops and knights across a chessboard. Laying aside his medical books, Vince went down the stairs and into the garden.
With an arm around Jamie, he said
