'You are not British?'
'No, sir. I - I - ' He looked round suddenly confused. 'I must go. I am to practice cricket now. I am in the house eleven.'
Faro smiled. 'It was good to meet you, young sir. Good luck with your speech - and your prospects.'
The boy bowed. 'Thank you, sir.' And with an endearing shy smile, 'I hope our famous speaker is as nice as you.' After that little speech and another bow, he leapt down the steps and was away, hurrying down the avenue between the Roman senators.
Faro watched him go, remembering that the school rules undoubtedly held a clause indicating that boys were forbidden to talk to strangers in the grounds and, further, that it was not good form, quite impolite really, ever to talk about themselves or refer to their elevated position in society.
The college prided itself (according to Vince) on firmly abiding to the principle that 'A man's a man for a' that', although Faro guessed they would have singularly failed to put Robert Burns at his ease or his maxim to the test.
The sun had disappeared below the horizon and Faro felt a shaft of chill and disappointment. Suddenly the grounds seemed empty and the gazebo cold without the friendly schoolboy's presence. A boy whom he would never meet again but who had shared with him, quite unknowingly, the bond of William Shakespeare.
The Bard does unite unlikely people from many different backgrounds and walks of life, Faro decided proudly, making his way - or so he believed - back through the midst of the senators now throwing long dark and suddenly forbidding shadows across his path as he valiantly tried to memorise 'Crime In Our Society'.
Now full of misgivings - why on earth had he chosen such a pompous title? he thought in despair - he must endeavour to inject much-needed humour into his opening remarks, mentioning the pupil who had made him welcome at Glenatholl.
Expecting to emerge on to the drive, he found himself in dense undergrowth. Where was the gate from the walled garden? Head down, thinking about that accursed speech - Dammit - somewhere he had taken the wrong turning.
Taking out his watch, he groaned aloud. Forty minutes and he would be standing on the platform in the dining-hall with over a hundred eager faces turned towards him, hanging on every word.
'Dammit!’ he said again with not the least idea where he was. The grounds could cover a vast estate. Hadn't Vince told him there was also a golf course to prepare the pupils for Scotland's national heritage?
Was it too much to expect signposts? There were, quite naturally, none. Suddenly he panicked.
Then at last he heard horses, the rumble of a carriage near at hand. He must be near the drive. And so it was that the driver was startled out of his wits by a figure emerging from the rhododendron bushes frantically waving his arms.
'Can you please direct me to the school?'
'I can, sir. I am going there myself. Jump in.'
‘I am most grateful to you.' The man looked at him, observing the papers he was clutching. 'Inspector Faro, is it not?' When Faro bowed he said. 'Glad to meet you. You are tonight's speaker.'
The man introduced himself as one of the governors, but his name, amid the creaking of the carriage on the uneven drive, escaped Faro who felt it would be impolite to ask him to repeat it.
‘I am greatly looking forward to your talk, sir. There are many questions about your career which have long intrigued me.'
Faro nodded, but hardly listened, acutely conscious that time was short. Then, at last, a distant prospect of the school arose. Richly turreted, it was yet one more imitation Balmoral Castle, not a style of architecture that Faro admired, preferring the classical Georgian style.
There were boys still on the cricket pitch and, walking down the middle of the drive, two uniformed pupils carrying bats. Faro had little difficulty in recognising the two men close at their heels as discreet bodyguards.
The two boys, one fair, one dark, their faces partially concealed by the deepening shadows, turned towards the carriage. At that instant the two men also stopped, hands shot out on to the boys' shoulders, instinctively protective. One of the pair, by the way his right hand moved fast in the direction of his greatcoat pocket, was obviously armed.
Such things were no doubt passed over unnoticed by the ordinary guests or visitors but many years of experience equipped Faro to observe matters irrelevant to the casual eye. And Vince had reminded him that the college was chosen for the education of many sons of royal houses. Doubtless they had bodyguards, thinly disguised as servants.
As the carriage flashed by, Faro had a glimpse of the pair, one of whom was his companion from the gazebo, the boy he had so briefly met with Master Shakespeare tucked under his arm.
A rumble across a gravelled forecourt and the carriage had reached the steps of the college. There waiting to greet him was the Headmaster and a flock of teachers in a flutter of black gowns.
'Such an honour to have you, sir. Especially on Founder's Day, the great occasion of the year for us.'
Introduced briefly to the group, shaking hands and with Headmaster Banes in the lead, Faro was brought into the vast panelled hall. Up the grand staircase with its stained glass window proudly sporting the Glenatholl coat of arms, his progress was marked by the gaze of portraits, benign, forbidding or merely superior, of former headmasters.
'We have put you in the Gladstone Room, sir. Mr Gladstone usually honours us with his presence on Founder's Day,' the Headmaster added in reverent tones: 'He gives a splendid talk, but alas, we were unable to have him this year. Quite unfortunate.'
And since they didn't get him, Faro realised, he had been second choice, though he was sure that had not been intentionally implied. Banes showed him into the room, and consulting
