‘He’s not well, sir,’ said James. ‘I didn’t think he should be left alone.’

‘I understand that his grandfather’s on his way down from the family estate in Yorkshire. In the meantime I’ll keep an eye on him. I’ll take him to the sanatorium, and stay there with him until his family arrives. Leave the car here, Bond, and we’ll say no more about it.’

‘Yes, sir, thank you, sir.’

‘And Bond…’ Mr Haight looked searchingly into James’s eyes. ‘You’ve a reckless look about you… Be careful.’ So saying, Mr Haight offered him a grim, tight-lipped smile, turned on his heel and strode off to fetch Mark.

5

The Tombs of the Giants

‘Good evening,’ said Mr Haight. ‘I’m delighted to see such an excellent turnout. But first, I hope you won’t be disappointed when I tell you that although tonight’s lecture is entitled “In Search of Sardinian Bandits”, it’s not really about bandits at all.’

There were a few groans and catcalls from the assembled boys.

James was sitting with Pritpal and Perry in Upper School, one of the oldest of the school buildings. The bench they were on was hard and cold. James hoped that Haight’s talk was going to be entertaining, because it would be a long and very uncomfortable evening otherwise.

It was Perry who had persuaded him to come. When James had found him back at the garage and told him what had happened, he’d gushed excitedly about what a great sport Haight was and how popular he was with the boys.

‘ “Love-Haight” we call him,’ Perry had said with a laugh. ‘I’m up to him for history. He’s excellent on the Romans, knows his stuff, and knows how to put it over, m-more’s the point, but he’s interested in all sorts of stuff – art, architecture, m-music – his lessons are great fun. I’ll tell you what, I wish he would actually teach art, I love art, something of a buff. I was very fond of our collection at home, before someone pinched it. He’s giving a talk this weekend to the Archaeological Society, you should come along, bound to be interesting.’

James had resisted at first, but it was a Sunday evening and he had nothing else to do. Pritpal had tagged along, even though he had a lot of work to finish before the morning. So now here they were in Upper School with a horde of other boys. This was only Mr Haight’s first year at the school but it was obvious that he had already attracted a large and devoted following.

‘To be fair, though,’ Haight went on, ‘how many of you would have come tonight if I’d called my talk “In Search of the Ancient Nuraghic Monuments of Sardinia”?’ Again there were more catcalls. ‘Exactly,’ said Haight. ‘But fear not, bandits will feature. Bandits are an important part of Sardinian history. What I mostly want to tell you about, though, are the extraordinary prehistoric monuments that litter the island. Yes. Prepare to be amazed as I show you ruined castles and towers built a thousand years before the birth of Christ, and Le Tombe dei Giganti – the Tombs of the Giants! But, before all that… Who here knows anything about Sardinia?’ He looked around at the eager but blank faces. ‘Anyone…? No? Nothing. I knew it!’ Haight clapped his hands together. ‘We all know about Corsica, birthplace of Napoleon and home to fierce bandits. And Sicily, the “football” of Italy, with its volcano and Roman ruins… and, yes, its fierce bandits. But what of Sardinia? Sitting there below Corsica, halfway between Europe and Africa, how can it be so unknown to the rest of the world? Because it is a fascinating place, with a fascinating history and…’ he paused, looking round at his audience, ‘the fiercest bandits in Europe, the Barbati…’