'You're quite sure?'
Faro was surprised, having expected several missing men of similar ordinariness whose descriptions might roughly fit the one he now thought of as the missing coachman.
‘I’ll make the usual routine enquiries, sir, but it looks as if we might be landed with a Mr Nobody.'
The missing persons lists was not, Faro knew, completely reliable. For every person who disappeared and was urgently sought by relatives for reasons of love or loathing or by creditors for lucre, there were dozens more husbands and wives, sons and daughters who disappeared discreetly and whose relatives for their own reasons kept silent. If enquiries had been made, doubtless the police would have found that these same people were grateful to see the last of their missing relative, saying their prayers each night that they might never again be troubled by the sound of that dreaded footfall crossing their threshold.
'We've had the list of the contents of the Duchess's jewel box distributed, sir. None of the pieces have turned up with any of the legitimate dealers.'
'It's early days for that. How about some of the illicit ones?' Even as he spoke, Faro realised the hopelessness of such a task. Fences would be hanging on to them for a month or two until the scent grew cold, or trying to sell them on the Continent for quick disposal.
More than an hour had passed since Faro and McQuinn had left the scene on the road below St Anthony's Chapel.
On the off-chance that Dr Cranley had made a discovery of some importance, they went together to the mortuary where, having just completed his grisly business, the doctor was washing his hands.
Giving Faro a triumphant look, he said: 'I was right, you know, he was drowned. His lungs had ballooned as a result of distension with water. That's how he died, but he wasn't in the water for long -'
As Dr Cranley proceeded to reiterate what Faro knew already, he listened politely, then took his leave.
Outside, McQuinn said, 'Looks as if we have a murder inquiry on our hands, sir.'
Tm afraid so.' Faro looked at his watch. 'Take care of the preliminary business, will you, McQuinn. I'm off to Aberlethie - there's a train to North Berwick in half an hour. I want to talk to Miss Fortescue again.'
'You think she may know something?'
'My thoughts are leading steadily in that direction, McQuinn. Something vital to the case, that she doesn't even realise she knows until she's prompted and it surfaces into her memory again.'
McQuinn looked at him frowning. 'You think the dead man might be the missing coachman?'
'I am fairly certain of that, at least.'
As Faro was leaving the Central Office, Constable Reid came up the steps. 'A burglary inside the Castle, sir.'
'Civilian?'
'Yes, sir.'
'You take care of it -'
The constable looked uncomfortable. 'Colonel Wrightson asked to see you specially, sir. Urgent, he said it was.'
'Very well.' Constable Reid's cape gleamed with rain, and as Faro looked with little enthusiasm upon the downpour, the constable said encouragingly, Til get you a carriage, sir.'
Five minutes later, the police carriage was toiling up the High Street and the Esplanade, transformed into twin rivers of brown water and debris from overflowing gutters.
At the Castle, he was escorted to the Colonel's private apartments. Wrightson was waiting from him. He smiled apologetically.
'Nothing serious, Faro. Nothing to worry about. Do sit down. Have a drink.'
Faro did as he was bid and with a whisky in hand tried to suppress his impatience. He had too much on his mind to be in a mood for the trifling details of a break-in at the Castle that any of his constables could have dealt with efficiently.
'...in this room, but nothing was taken, as far as we can see,' the Colonel went on. 'In fact, we wouldn't have known that there had been a break-in except that the man was spotted leaving the room. He wasn't in uniform and when challenged, took to his heels. It was then my man gave the alert. I came immediately -'
Faro was looking round the room. With trophies on every shelf, every inch of wall space occupied by paintings and army group photographs, it would be extremely difficult at first glance to know if anything was missing. His glance wandered to the massive desk, awash with books and documents.
Wrightson followed his gaze and nodded. ‘I suspect that the desk was the target.'
At Faro's questioning look, he continued, 'Well, there was one drawer - over here.'
Faro saw that the lock bore marks of a sharp instrument being used on it. 'Is there anything missing?'
Wrightson wriggled uncomfortably. 'That I can't honestly say.'
Faro looked at him. 'Surely you know what the drawer contained, sir?' And when the Colonel looked blank, he prompted: 'Documents, for instance, perhaps of a secret or confidential nature?'
The Colonel laughed. 'No. That's what's so odd. I think he must have broken open the wrong drawer. There are such papers - here - and here - ' He indicated several drawers. 'But this one is where I keep my mementoes and stationery. Everything relating to my years serving Her Majesty at Holyrood, I just thrust in there. Not a bit of use to anyone, that I can assure you.'
'Nothing of value, then? You are certain of that?'
The Colonel smiled. 'Only to me. You see, Faro, I'm a bit of a hoarder, can't bear to throw anything away. I kept all the menus, notes from Her Majesty, memos - ribbons off cakes. Everything and all purely sentimental things.'
'You wouldn't by any chance have a list of the contents?' Even as he asked Faro realised that was a forlorn hope.
At his bleak expression, Wrightson shook his head. 'I'm not a list man. I'm sorry, Faro, I've really wasted your time,' he added apologetically.
'Not at all, sir,' said Faro gallantly, as he considered that was precisely what Wrightson had done. 'Who has access to these rooms, sir?'
'None of my men, if that's what you
