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cross-hatching. ‘Sorry?’ he said, realising that Somers had finished speaking. ‘I missed that.’
    Nodding, George strolled across the carpet, advancing on Aubrey. ‘Time to go, old man. You’re not yourself.’
    This amused Aubrey. ‘Not myself? Then who am I?’
    Caroline, too, made her way toward Aubrey, moving a little to his right. George’s broad shoulders blocked Aubrey’s view of her, which was disappointing, but other matters were crowding for his attention.
    â€˜George was concerned about you,’ Caroline said and he swung his head in her direction. ‘He saw you leave college and he telephoned me immediately.’
    â€˜Lost you for a while,’ George said, and Aubrey saw that his friend had moved to his left. He couldn’t see both of them at once. He had to turn his head from side to side and was momentarily distracted by Sommers’ scowling. ‘Caught you near the Mire after one of Maggie’s Crew told us where you were.’
    â€˜Maggie’s Crew?’ Aubrey frowned. This wasn’t as much fun any more. Too many things to consider instead of the dreamy single-mindedness he’d enjoyed all morning.
    â€˜We saw where you were headed,’ Caroline said. With a start, he saw that she was standing next to a large armchair, only a few feet away.
    â€˜How did you do that?’ he asked.
    â€˜You’re preoccupied,’ George said and Aubrey started again. George had crossed the open space and was standing an arm’s length away. ‘You’re having trouble focusing.’
    â€˜No I’m not,’ he said automatically. ‘I’m totally focused.’
    At that moment, the door opened. Prince Albert stood there looking both shocked and angry, his distress showing in the way he straightened his jacket, then his tie, then his jacket again, a quick flurry of controlled, precise movements. ‘Aubrey. What on earth is going on here?’
    Rational thought abandoned Aubrey. His body went into action, independent of anything that he wanted, while a horrified, tiny voice screamed in horror, a cry only he could hear.
    He flung back his jacket and wrenched the pistol from the inner pocket. Smoothly, he snapped off the safety catch and brought the firearm to bear on the heir to the throne. Finally, he felt whole and complete, his purpose fulfilled. A radiance filled the room. Prince Albert was outlined with an almost unbearably bright nimbus and shone like a beacon.
    Aubrey almost sobbed out loud with joy as his finger tightened on the trigger.
    George roared and tackled him, sending Aubrey reeling. It was momentary, for Aubrey caught himself and swivelled, his pistol-laden fist searching for the Prince in a room that was in uproar.
    By then, Caroline had come close. In a flurry of silk and perfume, she caught his outstretched arm and clamped it to her side. Using both hands she seized his gun-fist, twisted just so, pressed right there and bent his wrist like that. Aubrey had never had red-hot iron spikes driven into his hand, but at that moment he would have preferred it as Caroline’s knowledge of pressure points went to work. He let loose a heartfelt howl of pain and, despite his best efforts, he dropped the pistol. Caroline kicked it away. Sommers was ready, scooped it up, broke it, and emptied the cartridges on the floor. Then he took out his own pistol and snapped off the safety catch.
    Someone was snarling. Aubrey searched for the source before realising – with some surprise – that it came from him. Caroline let go, edging away warily. Aubrey’s arm hung limply at his side with bright points of pain throbbing away, little metal cymbals clashing in his temples, but it was unimportant. The pistol. He must have the pistol.
    Strong arms seized him from behind in a full nelson. ‘Easy, old man,’ George growled in his ear.
    Prince Albert approached, flanked by a grim Archie Sommers.