‘Someone’s dropped a bracelet,’ said Haight, looking around.

‘Maybe Mister Cooper-ffrench,’ said James. But Cooper-ffrench had gone.

‘I’ll look after it,’ said Haight, taking it off James. ‘See if anyone claims it –’

‘The double M, sir,’ James blurted out.

‘What?’

‘On the bracelet there are two Ms. I’ve seen them before.’

Haight studied the bracelet, frowning. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘I see what you mean.’

But James stopped himself from saying anything more. He could hardly tell Haight about the chase over the rooftops and breaking into the house, so he decided to change the subject.

‘How’s Mark Goodenough, sir?’ he said. ‘Have you heard anything?’

‘He’s with his grandfather. He’s bearing up, I think,’ replied Haight. ‘But I don’t know if he’ll return this half. He’s taken it all rather badly, and who can blame him.’ For a moment Haight’s face clouded and he appeared lost in thought, then he snapped out of it and smiled at James.

‘I thought I recognised you,’ he said. ‘The racing driver, James Bond.’

‘That’s right, sir,’ said James.

‘So, tell me, young James Bond,’ said Haight, ‘are you interested in Sardinia?’

‘I think a relative of mine has a house there,’ said James. ‘But until tonight I didn’t really know very much about the place.’

‘Exactly my point.’ Haight beamed at him. ‘Nobody does. But I intend to open a few boys’ minds. I’m taking an expedition there at the end of the summer, to look at some of the monuments. Perhaps you’d like to join us? Visit the Tombs of the Giants.’

‘Perhaps,’ said James. ‘I’m not sure yet what my plans are for the holidays…’

‘Well, if you fancy it, just add your name to the list in School Yard. Are you still coming, Perry?’

‘Think so, sir, if I can get the old m-man to stump up, he’s feeling frightfully poor since the burglary.’ Perry turned to James. ‘They didn’t just take paintings, but also a lot of jewellery and silver and the like, but I reckon I’ll go to the M-Med and take a look at these Neurotic m-monuments. What do you say, James? Why don’t you come?’

Before James could reply he felt a tug at his sleeve and turned to see a small milk-faced boy.

‘I think you’d better come,’ he said. ‘Your friend Pritpal’s in trouble.’

James followed him out of the building and found an unruly gang of boys running off down the High Street, singing and chanting. He gave chase and as he got closer he could make out the words of their chant.

‘Throw Nandra in the river! Throw Nandra in the river!’

He managed to get the attention of one of the stragglers, a skinny lad with spots all over his face.

‘What are you doing?’ James asked.

‘We’re going to throw Nandra in the river,’ shouted the boy.

‘Why?’ said James.

‘I don’t know,’ said the boy. ‘It just seemed like a good idea.’

The mob bundled off the road and made its way down to Fellows Eyot by the Thames, where it stopped. James fought his way to the front and saw the frightened face of Pritpal. He was cornered by the river’s edge, clutching his hat and trembling.