'We will have the chance of a nightcap together with members of the staff in my study when the evening's activities are over,' he added soothingly. 'And a little extra entertainment provided by our very talented young pupils.' Faro had little difficulty in guessing that scenes from Shakespeare would be included as a special treat for their visitor.
Preparing to leave him, the Headmaster looked sternly around the room, letting his gaze rest on immaculate bedcovers, smoothly draped curtains and a bedside carafe of drinking water. 'I trust you will find everything necessary for your comfort, sir. We will send someone to tell you when we are ready for you.’
Faro was delighted to find that Mr Gladstone's room was equipped with the modern innovations of adjoining bathroom and water closet. There were towels and warm water. He shaved and at five minutes to five, earlier than he expected, a tap on the door.
A quick glance in the mirror, he picked up his notes and, taking a
deep breath, opened the door. But instead of standing aside for him to leave, the man, a servant he presumed, darted into the loom.
‘I must speak to you, sir. I know you are Inspector Faro. I have heard about you. An important matter I must discuss with you - a matter of life or death,' he added dramatically.
His stilted English was to be expected in this college with so many pupils from far-off lands, and Faro sighed inwardly. He was becoming accustomed to this kind of thing, for despite having laid aside crime investigation, his reputation continued to follow him. Prepared to be patient and tolerant, since his retirement he had been accosted by some person who believed they had witnessed a crime or had certain knowledge of a crime about to happen. Or, most often, they required his help to track down a fraud case, a misplaced last will by which they should have been sole beneficiary.
He looked again at the man. Now bare-headed, was he one of the bodyguards he had briefly glimpsed on the drive with the two schoolboys? But as recognition dawned there was another tap on the door.
‘Enter,' Faro called.
It was one of the masters who bowed. 'We are ready for you now, sir. If you will accompany me - ' His tight-lipped frown in the direction of Faro's visitor clearly indicated that he wondered what he had interrupted, and that the man had no business in this region of the house.
Faro looked at the bodyguard, smiled and said, 'Come and speak to me later. I must go now, I'm sorry - you can see - '
The man gave him a despairing look, a bow and departed.
As Faro seized his notes, he felt a shaft of fear. One of his strange intuitions of danger.
Danger to himself? Perhaps - 'a matter of life or death'?
Chapter 4
The Founder's Day talk went well despite Faro's misgivings. Questions were invited but they were few in number and from the masters who seemed to particularly relish the sound of their own voices. In one notable case, Faro felt he was in danger of listening to yet another lecture, on the moral obligations of a policeman, which was a novelty to the speaker and, judging by a restive audience, a bore to the pupils.
Faro's talk was applauded politely, the boys perhaps a little in awe of the great detective, although he had tried to be informal and put them at ease by humanising his talk with amusing anecdotes against himself.
He noticed that the boy from the gazebo and his companion were seated in the second row. Behind them their bodyguards, one he recognised as the man who had come to his room to enlist his aid on a matter of great urgency.
The elder boy was dark, with high Tartar cheekbones, a complete contrast to the classical good looks of his junior who later that evening acquitted himself well in his Mark Antony speech.
There was no programme for the entertainment and the boy thanked by the Headmaster was addressed merely as 'George'. Presumably his identity was well-known to everyone but Faro. In the interests of the college's much-vaunted liberalism, all the performers were referred to by Christian names only.
George's companion was the star of the evening, a convincing Prince Arthur in Shakespeare’s ‘King John’ pleading tearfully for his life. He received well-deserved applause.
'Well done, Anton,' said the Headmaster. 'Well done, boys.'
As the young actors returned to their seats, George continued to remind Faro of someone he knew. The devil of it was that he could not think who, or where they might have met before. However, since George was a common British name, Faro decided that the boy was most probably related to the swarm of minor European royals invited to Balmoral each year by the Queen. As most were of the same blood -line, there was often a striking resemblance to the House of Hanover.
Released at last from what had seemed like an interminable procession of scenes from Shakespeare, well-meant, well-played but an addition to the evening which he could have well done without, Faro was looking forward to the 'nightcap' in the Headmaster's study.
Politely sipping a glass of sherry, his hopes immediately shattered for something stronger like a dram of good whisky, he chatted politely to the very important invited guests, the governors, masters and their wives.
It was soon obvious that his lecturing was not quite at an end as he was called upon by various individuals to answer a number of rather naive questions about criminal activities. These mostly concerned the apprehension of jewel thieves, a pressing anxiety and obsession of the wealthy.
As he answered as best he could he realised how sheltered were their lives. How sadly unaware they were of the dreadful measure of city violence amongst those poor humans, that lost stream of society they would shudder away from
