Released at last, he retired to Gladstone's heavily panelled room and sent a picture postcard of the school, from the stationery in the writing desk, to Imogen.
Around him impressive became oppressive, since every available space on mantelpiece and wall was occupied by almost as many pictures of the Royal Family as he had in Sheridan Place. Signed and presented to him, unwillingly displayed and discreetly removed, his wishes for an uncluttered desk were ignored as all were reverentially restored by Mrs Brook, Olivia and even Vince, when his back was turned.
Yawning, he lit a pipe and decided it had been a somewhat longer day than he was used to. But having promised to talk to the bodyguard who had appeared earlier that evening and at such an inappropriate moment, he felt obliged to wait a while before preparing for bed.
Certain that he would never sleep in that monumental bed, he nevertheless drifted away in the armchair by a dying fire to be awakened by the sound of rapid footsteps and raised voices in the corridor outside.
Was it a fire alarm? he wondered anxiously.
Opening the door, he looked out. A master, dressing-gowned and very flustered said, 'A slight disturbance, sir. One of the boys sleepwalking I expect. Too much excitement.' But his smile was strained, even lamplight could not conceal his anxiety.
'Sorry you've been disturbed, sir. Nothing for you to worry about. Our apologies - these things do happen,' and with a quick bow he was off, speeding down the corridor and out of sight.
At last silence reigned. The clock on the college tower struck midnight. He had slept longer than he thought and as there was no possibility of his visitor arriving now, he prepared for bed. Perhaps the bodyguard had second thoughts; perhaps it was not so much a matter of life and death but an imperfect way of explaining something in English.
No doubt if the matter was serious, the man would seize some opportunity of communicating with him in the morning. Yawning again, he climbed into bed, and despite his misgivings, fell asleep.
He was awakened at dawn by pleasing country sounds, cows mooing, a cock crowing, horses trotting and a flock of quarrelsome sparrows airing their grievances on the roof above his head.
A maid appeared with a breakfast tray. He could not avoid seeing that she was upset. She looked scared and her hands trembled.
'Something wrong, my dear?' he asked, thinking as he did so that he was probably letting himself in for a tale of woe concerning a sad love affair, or a disagreement with matron.
But this was distress of a different kind.
'One of the servants, sir. He fell out of a dormitory window last night. He was trying to close it, leaned out too far. Slipped and fell - right down on to the flagstones. He's dead', she ended on a shrill note.
While sympathising with her distress, Faro considered the folly of boys' windows being kept open on what had been a very chilly night.
Doubtless, he thought, one of the spartan conditions of life in a public school. He realised that this unfortunate accident had been the disturbance, dismissed as a sleepwalking pupil, that was not supposed to trouble him. 'These things do happen.’
But Faro wanted to know more. His blood was up, here was a mystery in the making, in the most unlikely setting of Glenatholl College. He was at it again, as Vince would say, aware that he must steel himself against a regrettable tendency even in retirement to treat every accident as a potential investigation.
Breakfasted, with still no sign of his urgent visitor of last night, who had perhaps thought better of that 'matter of life and death' after a good night's sleep, Faro was ready to leave the sanctuary dedicated to Prime Minister Gladstone. In the cold light of day he was now regretting the impulse to spend a few hours with his old friend at Arles Castle, consumed with anxiety for any official news regarding Amelie.
He picked up his valise and glanced briefly in the mirror. Startled by what he saw, he looked a second time. But before he could sort out some very weird thoughts, there was a tap on the door. Ah, the bodyguard - at last. He did choose inopportune moments.
Faro opened the door to a prefect who said that the Headmaster was waiting to bid him farewell. At the foot of the staircase, Banes asked if he had slept well and thanked him again for his magnificent and interesting lecture.
'Very unfortunate,' he said, in reply to Faro's question about the accident last night. 'A loose catch on the window. One of the, er, servants - a foreigner, alas - didn't know about such things.'
'Indeed. Who was this foreign gentleman?'
The Headmaster looked uncomfortable. 'No one you would know, Inspector. Pray do not concern yourself about our domestic affairs. They are trying, very trying indeed, and inconvenient. But such things happen.'
Again that phrase, now curiously doom-laden, and observing Faro's expression, the Headmaster added gently, 'I can see it in your face, sir. How readily the mind of a great detective turns to crime. But, let me assure you, if this was a case for concern then we have a very adequate and, if I may say so, very efficient police force.'
And that, Faro thought, put him nicely in his place.
However, as the Arles carriage arrived at the front door, it was closely followed by one, from long acquaintance, Faro recognised immediately as a police carriage, dark and discreet, with curtained windows. As a man emerged, there was nothing for it. The Headmaster had to make an introduction.
'Inspector Crane.'
The Inspector was a young man and Chief Inspector Faro's name had been a legend for a very long time. Such a long time, in fact, that as the Headmaster explained about the Founder's Day lecture, Crane was obviously taken aback to find Chief Inspector Faro not only still active but still alive.
'Very pleased to meet you, sir,' he said
