'Why Perth?' Faro interrupted. *Why can't she come to Holyrood?'
McIntosh stared at him angrily. 'I wasn't aware that we had any rights in deciding Her Majesty's movements about the country. It's one of her favourite jaunts, a decent distance from Balmoral, less than a day's ride.'
'I was thinking of security, sir,' said Faro.
'Oh, she knows what she's doing. Besides, what happens in Perth isn't the business of the Edinburgh City Police, Faro. I expect they have it all tied up nicely. Can't teach them their business, can we?'
McIntosh's grin suggested relief, a complete absence of the anxiety that generally added ten years to his age and decreased his life expectancy by a similar amount each time his sovereign set foot in Edinburgh.
'Seems the Grand Duchess of Luxoria is at present with Her Majesty at Balmoral.' He stared at the paper again.
'Naturally wants her lady-in-waiting -'
Faro stared at the Superintendent. The Grand Duchess is with the Queen? At Balmoral?'
Mcintosh nodded. 'That's what it says. Here, read it for yourself.'
Faro stared at the letter written on the familiar personal notepaper of the Prime Minister. He had seen it many times and while it usually spelt trouble for him, the signature was undoubtedly Mr Gladstone's.
'The Grand Duchess wishes to be reunited with her lady-in-waiting Miss Roma Fortescue at the earliest.'
'How did the Grand Duchess got to Balmoral, sir?'
Mcintosh shrugged. 'How the deuce do I know?'
'Well, aren't you curious, sir? She was reported as missing,' Faro reminded him. 'The last we heard of her was in an overturned carriage on the road from North Berwick from which she apparently vanished without trace.'
'Presumably someone assisted her.'
'They did indeed,' said Faro grimly. 'But who?'
'Don't ask me. She has a tongue in her head.' He gave Faro an arch look and shook his head sadly. 'I'm surprised at you not being sharper on to this one, Faro,' he said in the manner of one wise after the event. Tapping the side of his nose, he winked broadly. 'A secret assignation. Get the drift? One she was so canny about, she wasn't even taking her lady-in-waiting into her confidence.'
Pausing, he regarded Faro triumphantly. 'A man, Faro,' he said heavily. 'There's undoubtedly a man in this somewhere. I decided that right at the beginning,' he added carelessly. 'Knowing the circumstances of her unhappy marriage - and various rumours - it's quite obvious that the whole disappearance was a ruse, prearranged very carefully to get her and this man together.'
Faro sat back in his chair. Not for the first time, he wondered what kind of literature the Superintendent read in his leisure time. Here he was talking like a lady's novel and providing a rather superficial and improbable, but highly romantic, solution for a sinister disappearance.
Bewilderment was followed by relief. Although Faro couldn't yet believe that he had been wrong all the way along the line and that the man in St Anthony's Chapel and the beggar-woman in the West Bow were purely coincidental and unrelated deaths.
The Grand Duchess, whom he thought had died in mysterious and inexplicable circumstances, her body disposed of by medical students, was not only alive and well, but sitting happily with her royal godmother in Balmoral Castle.
And Faro was suddenly angry. 'They might have kept us informed, sir. We've been wasting time searching for a missing duchess, thinking the worst -'
McIntosh cut short this tide of justifiable resentment. 'Ours not to reason why, Inspector,' he said smoothly. 'The ways of royalty are not for us to question. Ours but to obey their command, however unreasonable it seems -'
'What about the woman in the West Bow - ?' Faro began.
Mcintosh held up his hand, regarding him as if he had taken leave of his senses. 'A beggar-woman, Faro,' he emphasised. 'Are you seriously suggesting - ? Good Lord, what absolute nonsense.' And with a barking laugh of derision. 'How could you ever have entertained such a notion for one moment?'
Mcintosh wagged a finger in Faro's face. He smiled, a happy man from whose shoulders all responsibility had been removed.
'After all, Her Majesty hasn't been in the best of health Perthshire seems a suitable halfway meeting place. She and the late Prince Consort enjoyed many happy days at Errol Towers, you will doubtless recall. It no doubt has sentimental connections for their god-daughter too, more pleasantly informal than Holyrood. And takes far less heating.'
Pausing, he regarded Faro's sober expression. 'Come along, man. You should be glad, too, far less work involved for you.' And producing a map, he unrolled it carefully. 'Here, see. And as the railway goes right across a corner of the estate, there is a halt.'
This arrangement had become popular as well as desirable since the increase in train travel had opened up the length and breadth of Scotland. Now landowners were eager and most agreeable to allow this arrangement of a special halt, in return for permission to take the railway line directly across their estates, thus saving the cost of many extra miles of new track. A new era had begun, hitherto undreamed of, offering travel from their very back doors, so to speak, instead of the slow, tortuous travel by carriage over often unmade roads with attendant inconvenience and discomfort.
'I don't need to tell you that you are to go alone, make this look as informal as possible. Travel by train as a couple can be done very discreetly. Besides, it is safer that way than by carriage.'
Faro looked at him quickly. 'You are suggesting by "safer" that some attempt might be made to stop Miss Fortescue joining her mistress?'
'Not at all,' was the smooth response. 'Merely in accordance with the desire of Her Majesty and the Grand Duchess for complete informality.'
McIntosh considered Faro's sombre expression. 'Come along, you
