He took one and decided dismally that it was useless and his suspicions had been right. A second dose and he began to feel relief as he lay back on his pillows thinking of the mad imaginings a simple attack of indigestion could bring.
Poison indeed!
But although he told himself he was being foolish, he was haunted by uneasy dreams and awoke next morning feeling slightly under the weather, with an inability to rid himself of that spine-tingling awareness of danger which had little to do with a faulty digestion.
But who would want to harm him here, of all places? Looking out of his window at the front of the hunting-lodge, he realised this was the very place where the assassin had struck; where two of Amelie's servants had been slain and she herself almost fatally wounded.
Breakfast was brought to him. Coffee, warm bread, butter, ham and cheese. But he ate little.
He went downstairs, his feet echoing on the boards. The lodge seemed uneasily deserted and he almost jumped when a door opened to admit the Colonel.
After the usual polite questions about whether he had slept well, to which Faro gave polite but untruthful answers, he was told there was a message from Amelie.
'She wishes to show the kind policeman who did so much for her in Scotland one of her favourite places here in the Odenwald - once an old woodcutter's cottage that the Kaiser had restored and gave to her as a gift long ago. It has been a retreat for George and herself. She has already left with the two boys. There is a horse for you, ready saddled. The track is well-marked - I will direct you. It is less than a quarter kilometre away.'
Faro was in a quandary. Naturally the Colonel presumed that all men of any substance rode, knowing little of the circumstances of Edinburgh policemen. As he followed the Colonel to the stables, Faro hated to confess that his Orkney boyhood had included few opportunities for equestrian pursuits.
A horse was led out to a mounting block.
'He belongs to Anton. A gentle beast, well-behaved,' said the Colonel, patting the animal's neck. 'Thoroughly reliable,' he added as if aware of Faro's apprehensions.
Mounting was easier than he expected, and Faro moved off, watched anxiously by the Colonel. Trying to appear as an experienced horseman, he realised that with the Colonel's usual tact, a boy's horse had been selected for an indifferent rider.
As he proceeded up the track, taking his time, trotting slowly and carefully, a shot rang out. It was close by and Faro had a confused thought that there must be a shooting party, perhaps some of the servants bringing down game for the larder.
Another shot, closer at hand. The beast neighed, terrified, as Faro felt the wind of a bullet across to the horse's mane. It had narrowly missed him but was close enough for the beast to rear.
Faro was unseated, lost his reins and fell to the ground. Stunned and winded by the fall, some instinct told him not to move. Whoever fired that shot, he was the target.
As he lay inert, as if he had been hit, he tried to decide on the next move.
Suddenly everything was becoming sickeningly clear to him. Perhaps this whole trip to Mosheim had been arranged. A trap for him, now that the truth about George's parentage was out. And with such a deadly secret and its political consequences, he was never to be allowed to leave alive.
Cautious footsteps were approaching. He was lying curled up, vulnerable, on the ground.
The terrified horse had vanished back down the track and Faro knew that death was very near. He was totally unarmed. His only hope lay in his killer believing he was dead.
He saw a pair of boots, well polished. The butt of a rifle. A kick at his ribs. A grunt of approval.
As long as his killer believed he was dead. If he could spring into action before the man had a chance to raise that rifle and fire again.
This time there would be no possibility of missing.
At point-blank range.
The man leaned over him, breathing heavily...
Chapter 27
Like a coiled spring, Faro unwound, seized the man's legs and threw him to the ground.
Dieter!
Taken by surprise, Dieter lost his grip on the rifle, which began to roll away down the slope. Faro strove to hold his attacker and at the same time reach the rifle, but Dieter was younger and stronger and Faro realised that he was no match for him. A sudden blow to his stomach had Faro retching, falling away, rolling, his gathering momentum halted by a boulder which cannoned into his side.
He felt the agonising crack and the next moment, Dieter was standing over him, the rifle pointed at his head.
'Mr Faro, you never learn, do you? Yes, I am going to kill you, make no mistake about that this time. I have my orders.'
'I thought you went back on the train to Luxoria,' gasped Faro, fighting for breath and playing for time.
'I jumped off and made my way here - and here I am. This is our last meeting, you shall die here, and I shall have carried out my part in the the plan.'
'What plan?'
'Mr Faro, it was never intended that you should leave here alive. Especially when the truth was known.'
'What truth? I don't understand.'
Dieter gave him a thin-lipped smile. 'Everyone who has seen you with George must have guessed the truth. There are many disguises a man can have successfully, but when his offspring is his image - the President guessed some time ago that George was not his child. And now I think everyone who has seen you together knows. You are not a fool, Mr Faro, you must see that you have walked into a trap. You are a
