'So none of them could come in here without your knowledge?'
The Colonel shook his head. 'Or without my batman. He accompanies any soldier - or officer - who has reason to seek an interview. And they wouldn't be left alone by him, not for a minute, if that's what you're hinting at.'
'Have there been any such interviews recently?'
'None at all.'
'When was the last time this room was occupied by anyone other than yourself and your batman, sir?'
Wrightson thought for a moment. 'The other evening, at the dinner party, why, you were here, Faro. Remember, we all had drinks before going in.'
Faro shook his head. 'I missed that part of the proceedings, sir. Unavoidably detained, I arrived late.'
Wrighton gave him an indignant look. 'Wait a moment, Faro. What are you getting at? Not suggesting that one of my guests would go though my desk when my back was turned -1 hope.'
'I'm only saying that your friends are the only persons with access to this room apart from your batman.'
'Well!' Wrightson gave a shout of indignation. 'I don't have those kinds of friends, that I can assure you, sir. The very idea.' Suddenly speechless, he continued to regard Faro angrily, his face scarlet, outraged by such a suggestion.
'It's my duty to ask such questions, sir, unpleasant though they may be for you,' Faro added in what he hoped was a mollifying tone. 'I'm not insulting your friends, merely endeavouring to investigate the burglary you have reported.'
'I see, I see,' said Wrightson impatiently.
'I need to know whether you've had anything of value stolen. The man who was apprehended might well have been a civilian who sneaked in out of curiosity - or bravado - got lost and found himself in this part of the Castle - '
But even as he said it, as he hoped in firm and convincing tones, Faro didn't believe it and neither, he suspected, did Wrightson, although he was prepared to accept this as a possible explanation.
As Faro rose to leave, the Colonel said, 'My apologies for bringing you here on a wild-goose chase.'
'Not at all, sir. If civilians are involved then it is our business to protect you.'
Wrightson thought for a moment. 'I did wonder at first, if this might have something to do with that other attempted break-in - from the outside. Remember, Faro, more than a week ago?'
The same thought had been in Faro's mind. He could see no connection between the two events but the idea was vaguely disturbing.
He left the Castle feeling that he would much rather have had a proper burglary to investigate, with a few silver trophies taken and a few clues to follow, than an apparently motiveless petty crime.
The possibility of a passer-by overcome by curiosity was too remote and yet oddly sinister in its simplicity. Secret and confidential documents for sale to foreign powers seemed the most plausible reason.
Faro sighed. At least with silver trophies and items of value, there existed a list at the Edinburgh City Police of what they called 'the usual suspects', criminals to be rounded up from the notorious warrens of Wormwoodhall in Causewayside. But from their number, few violent men would risk breaking into the well-guarded officers' quarters in the Castle merely to open a drawer in Wrightson's desk full of sentimental royal mementoes. This certainly did not bear the mark of any of the city's well-kent criminal hierarchy, who all left recognisable trademarks.
As the carriage headed towards Waverley Station through the torrential rain, Arthur's Seat was obliterated by mist. Faro wished the incidents of that morning could as readily be dissolved, but one thought in particular refused to be banished.
Was it significant that Miss Fortescue had suggested that the coachman had drowned? Did she know a great deal more about the events of that night than she was prepared to disclose? If so, in common with those who knew too much about assassins, she might well be in mortal danger.
Chapter 13
'Not another train till six o'clock, sir,' said the railway guard cheerfully, as Faro, dashing to the barrier, watched the North Berwick train steaming out of the station.
Slowed down by the appalling condition of flooded roads from the Castle, he'd missed it by seconds. And now he made the discovery that his boots were leaking. This damned rain!
Leaving the empty platform, cursing Edinburgh's foul weather, he decided he might as well return to the Central Office and log his interview with Colonel Wrightson about the break-in. He set off at brisk pace towards the High Street, to be caught in yet another downpour.
'Where in damnation is it all coming from?' he demanded of McQuinn, who was leaving in the police carriage, heading for Liberton. The young sergeant took pity on his bedraggled appearance.
'Why don't you get some dry clothes, sir - we'll drop you off at the house.'
Faro was glad to accept, and as they drove in the direction of Newington, in answer to his question, McQuinn said: 'Nothing to report, sir. Thought you were going to Aberlethie?'
'There was an attempted break-in at the Castle -'
As Faro related his meeting with the Colonel, McQuinn listened sympathetically.
'Doesn't sound like one of our lads, sir. Doubt if rounding them up would do any good.'
'Complete waste of time, I'd say,' Faro agreed.
Opening his front door a few minutes later, Faro realised that the house was unusually silent without Mrs Brook's bustling presence. Her niece was getting married in Dundee and she had been persuaded, very much against her will, to take a couple of days off.
Swept off balance by a false step on the hall carpet, he cursed again, sniffing the air. Mrs Brook refused to take seriously his warnings about putting carpets on highly polished floors. Certain that the whole structure of 9 Sheridan Place would collapse in her absence and her two gentlemen die of neglect, she had once again been over-generous with the beeswax.
Changing
