And so, armed with scant knowledge of painters and almost none of cattle, Inspector Faro boarded the south-bound train and prepared to emerge at Belford Station transformed into Jeremy Faro, art valuer and insurance investigator.
He had a particular fondness for trains. Had his mind been free from anxiety, he would have enjoyed this opportunity to stare idly out of the window and welcome those inspired avenues of thought that often helped him solve his most difficult cases.
On occasions when the compartment was shared with other passengers, he indulged in a silent game of Observation and Deduction. Sifting through the minute details of their wearing apparel, gestures and habits, he would produce evidence of their stations in life and their reasons for boarding that particular train.
As a boy, Vince had been introduced to this novel game and had found it both an admirable and often hilarious way of passing many an otherwise tedious winter journey.
Today, however, Faro was offered no such diversions. Consumed by anxiety at the prospect ahead, his assumed role was as uncomfortable as an ill-fitting overcoat. Everything seemed to be wrong with it and his misgivings refused to be distracted by the passing countryside.
For once, the beauty of a late-spring day failed to beguile him and he was left quite unmoved by the soft green grass and radiant meadows of the East Lothian landscape. Glimpses of the North Sea, notorious for winter storms, now stretched out to embrace a cloudless horizon radiantly blue and setting forth gentle waves to lap golden beaches with a froth of lace. He remembered his mother's favourite saying: 'God's in his heaven, all's right with the world.'
Had he ever entertained such noble and simple faith, it would certainly have been destroyed by many years of dealing with hardened criminals in a world where neither the guilty nor the innocent were certain of being rewarded by their just deserts.
Earlier dealings with the monarchy had taught him that failure was tantamount to treason in royal eyes and, as for what lay ahead, this might well prove to be the last chapter in his long and faithful employment with the Edinburgh City Police.
If the future King of England was a murderer, or at best, a coward, capable of manslaughter, then Detective Inspector Faro was expendable and his distinguished career would be abruptly and quietly brought to a close.
Trying to shake aside his gloomy thoughts, he realised that his most urgent consideration was how to convince Elrigg Castle of his bogus identity. Perhaps that would be hardest of all, suspecting as he did that his sober dress was inappropriate for anyone connected with the art world.
Catching a glimpse of his reflection in the window, he considered the craggy high-cheekboned face which betrayed his Viking ancestry, the once bright fair hair still thick but now touched with silver.
He sighed. A tall athletic body and deepset watchful eyes told him that his disguise was incomplete. He looked what he was - a policeman, a man of action more accustomed to criminal-catching than browsing idly among valuable paintings.
His dismal preoccupation was interrupted as the train was leaving Berwick Station. Suddenly a porter threw open the door and thrust a young woman into the compartment. Breathless, she threw a coin into the man's hand and as the train gathered speed sat down on the seat opposite.
Faro's sympathetic smile and murmur - 'Well done, well done,' - was dismissed in a single scornful glance.
As the newcomer withdrew a book from her valise and proceeded to read with deep concentration, her attitude presented Faro with a unique opportunity of trying out his Observation game.
Glad of some diversion from his melancholy thoughts, he decided cheerfully that this one was not too difficult. The lady had not come far, for she carried little luggage, only one small travelling bag. Her numerous veils and scarves worn over a cloak of waterproof material indicated that she was used to and prepared for all weathers.
This was confirmed by the condition of her boots, sturdy footwear with scuffed toes, which had seen a great deal of rough walking. She retained hat and gloves so he had no means of seeing hair colour nor of identifying her marital status.
A veiled bonnet concealed most of her face from all but occasional glimpses and her slim figure suggested that she was probably in her early thirties. There Faro knew he was on shaky territory, the first to confess he usually erred on the side of gallantry where ladies' ages were concerned.
He studied her carefully. Even in the simple matter of reading there was something purposeful and decisive about the way she turned the pages. Here was no nervous, unsure female unused to travelling alone and about to visit a sick relative. She did not look in the least anxious but, suddenly aware of his scrutiny, she looked up from her book and fixed him with a fierce stare.
Embarrassed, he hastily pretended to sleep while continuing to observe, through half-closed eyes, her reflection conveniently provided by the compartment window.
When the train arrived at his destination, he was surprised to see the chilly lady push open the door ahead of him, spring lightly along the platform and claim the hiring cab which Faro soon discovered was the only vehicle the station provided.
One long road disappeared westwards into the hills. According to his map, in that direction lay Elrigg and he leaped forward: 'We are possibly heading in the same direction, madam.'
Head averted, she did not seem to hear him.
He persisted. 'May I be permitted to share your carriage, we appear -'
But before he could explain further, she cut him short with a withering look. 'And where might you be going?'
'To the Elrigg Arms.'
'That is not my destination, I'm afraid. Drive on, if you please,' she instructed the coachman and left Faro standing, staring indignantly after the departing carriage.
Patience was
