Andrew sighed and looked heavenward, but, after all, excitement was what the Danger Society was all about. They met here every week, on a different night, chosen at random out of a hat so that they would have no noticeable routine. They didn’t really do very much on these nights; it was the getting there that was the important part. Once they were all assembled they’d just sit and chat and smoke cigarettes and plan other activities. But although the Danger Society members may have looked relaxed, they all knew that if they were caught it would be very serious. That was what made these meetings so thrilling. Despite the fact that it was late and James was tired, he felt alive and buzzing with the excitement of being out here at night.

James had had a confusing time since starting at Eton. At Easter he had become entangled in the insane schemes of Lord Randolph Hellebore, the father of a fellow student. James had nearly been killed and had seen things he never wanted to see again. When he had at last recovered from it all he was left with the feeling that life sometimes seemed rather flat.

He had tried to return to being just an ordinary schoolboy, but what he had experienced set him apart from all his friends and no matter how hard he tried to forget it all, he couldn’t.

Apart from falling off the roof, this trip tonight could hardly be said to be truly dangerous, but it was better than lying in bed trying to sleep. His lessons tomorrow would suffer, of course. No matter; there was more to life than Latin grammar. If James worked hard later in the week he would probably catch up. Mr Merriot, his classical tutor, the man who looked after his schooling, often told him off for not working harder, but James was naturally bright and was keeping up with the other boys, so he didn’t worry too much.

‘Listen,’ said Perry. ‘I propose a jaunt in the m-motor, daft to leave it sitting there m-mouldering away. What say Andrew and I drive it up to London one night? That’d be something to talk about.’

‘Sounds risky,’ said James.

‘That’s what the society is all about,’ said Perry. ‘I don’t m-mind a spot of risk.’

‘I wasn’t thinking about you,’ said James. ‘I couldn’t care less what happened to you, Perry. I was thinking about the car.’

One of the reasons James was popular with the Danger Society, despite being its youngest member, was that he owned a car. It had belonged to an uncle, who had taught him to drive in it, and when he’d died he’d left it to James. James had persuaded his guardian to let him bring it to Eton, telling her that it would be kept at the school and used by the boys to learn about mechanics, under the careful supervision of a master, of course.

In reality it was kept hidden away in a garage in a backstreet in Windsor near the barracks. The garage belonged to Perry and he was always planning ways to use the car – a 1.5 litre Bamford and Martin roadster – but they had to be very careful. Not only was it against school rules to drive a car, it was also breaking the law.