He was glad for another reason. He had little desire to go into the Royal palace. Some of this was self-preservation. He dreaded a meeting with the President, with a guilty feeling that if he were seen with George their unmistakable likeness might raise grave doubts in the President's mind about his own paternity. Gustav was not a man, by all accounts, who would take that kindly and Faro realised that the possibility of leaving Luxoria unscathed would be remote indeed. He would meet with an unfortunate accident, be eliminated. And George too. Nor would President Gustav have any remaining scruples about Amelie.
It was a grim picture and Faro suspected that the secret was out already. Once or twice he had seen Dieter watching George and him with a curious expression. After seeing their reflections together in the compartment mirror opposite Faro avoided sitting next to the boy. Perhaps he was overreacting and his safety lay in the fact that Dieter would never imagine the Grand Duchess of Luxoria in an intimate relationship with a commoner. Especially an Edinburgh policeman.
Casting aside his gloomy thoughts and observing George, he was greatly consoled by the boy's joy at the prospect of being reunited with his mother. By a bitter twist of fate, he had unknowingly met his real father but their time together was brief, already almost over. The secret was safe, never to be revealed. Indeed, it was better for all concerned that they were unlikely ever to meet again.
The detective in Faro sighed. Already he was forced to mentally draw a line under Tomas's accident and Helga's disappearance, as well as George's kidnapping at Glenatholl. A few hours more and he would never know the answers to those unsolved mysteries. Although he had reached some conclusions, they would remain interesting theories only. It was very irritating, but he was aware that he had reached a dividing line and the time had arrived when he must set aside a lifetime's habit of thinking like a detective.
As Imogen often advised, he was too ready to make a crime out of the most innocent happening. 'After all,' she had said, 'the world is littered with unexplained things and weird coincidences.'
Faro was not convinced, believing that an explanation could be found for everything, if one looked hard enough. But the memory of Imogen's words made him smile. He would have a lot to tell her, so much to discuss about George and Glenatholl and the Orient Express.
Suddenly he was content to look ahead, glad to be embarking on the next stage of his journey. He had come to terms with the inevitability of parting with George. Once the Luxoria train departed with the boy in Dieter's care, he would send a wire to Imogen and be on his way to Heidelberg.
He had it all planned.
It was not to be.
Chapter 15
Before sending a message to Imogen, Faro required a reliable timetable. No doubt this would be available at Stuttgart railway station.
When he mentioned this Dieter seemed pleased at the prospect of their journey's end and said, with more enthusiasm than usual, 'It is possible that the guard will have timetables since the Orient Express passengers often have to link up with other trains.'
'Good,' said Faro. 'I'll take a walk along the train. See if I can find some information about trains to Heidelberg.' He was feeling restless as well as in desperate need of exercise after all the rich fare he had consumed.
'May I come with you, sir?' asked George.
'Of course.'
'I should like to see the rest of the train.'
'Me too,' said Anton.
The two boys hurried ahead of Faro, chattering excitedly, while Dieter trailed in the rear.
Walking along the corridors, they were greeted by other passengers similarly engaged in this very restricted activity, the only exercise available on the great train.
A door ahead of them opened and amid shrieks a tiny dog rushed out barking and dragging a ball of wool entangled in its paws. As the dog's owner appeared, shouting to it to stop, Faro bent down, grabbed the little creature by the collar and with a bow returned it to the middle-aged lady, who was volubly expressing her gratitude in German.
Suddenly he realised that the ball of wool was familiar. A ball of red knitting wool.
'That belonged to Helga!' he said sharply to Dieter.
Dieter said nothing, merely shook his head and gave a despairing sigh.
'I tell you that is her wool. Ask the lady where her dog got it from.'
'1 cannot do that,' Dieter protested.
'Of course you can, Do it!"
There followed a conversation of what seemed like interminable argument and length. It was very difficult to follow but Faro gathered that the lady thought he wanted the wool for some reason and freed her pet from its entanglement, eager to hand it over.
Faro got only the gist of it. 'Ask her where her dog found it?'
The woman clearly thought this Englishman was quite mad and Dieter said, 'the dog has had it since before they left Paris, so it could not have belonged to Helga. She would never have been parted from her knitting.'
'She could have dropped it,' Faro insisted.
Dieter gave an exasperated sigh. 'Red is not an unusual colour, Mr Faro. Many women the length and breadth of Europe will be knitting garments in that colour. This is a mere coincidence. I should advise you to be calm, sir.'
Calm indeed! Here was Dieter making him sound like the village idiot. Damn!
Again that frustration of not knowing the language, but Faro was sure the woman was pointing and saying that the dog had found it. Someone lost it. He heard the word Strasbourg. Left the train?
Certain that Dieter was lying, Faro groaned. If only George hadn't
