‘He does have that effect,’ said Haight and they both laughed. ‘Gave me quite a shock, too, as matter of fact. I didn’t know he’d arrived yet.’

‘But what’s he doing here?’ asked James.

‘Apparently Eton regulations state that you must have at least two staff members along on these jaunts. I had no idea. I’m still fairly new to the school, so I’m not quite on top of all the rules.’

‘I know what you mean,’ said James.

‘Just before we were due to leave he announced that he was going to come with us,’ said Haight. ‘But he could only get a later ticket. I can’t say I’m totally upset that he’s here. I thought I was going to have sole charge of you lot. It’s always useful to have another pair of hands to help out. His main interest is in the Roman history, of which there’s quite a lot on the island. The Sardinians speak a version of Italian that’s much closer to its Roman origins than what’s spoken in the rest of Italy. Domus for house, for instance, instead of the Italian casa.’

James wondered whether to say anything more to Haight about the Millenaria, or would it just make him look foolish? He didn’t have much to go on, and even if Mr Cooper-ffrench was somehow connected to the secret society, did it really matter?

Haight hadn’t been particularly interested before, so James decided that from now on he’d keep his mouth shut. He knew one thing for certain, however: coming on this trip had been a mistake. Here he was, miles from Eton, and he was still surrounded by masters and boys.

He had to get away.

He borrowed some notepaper off Perry and dashed off a letter to his cousin Victor, asking if he could come to stay with him sooner than they had arranged.

Four days later, when they arrived in the small town of Abbasanta to visit the Losa Nuraghi, yet another ruined stone tower, there was a reply waiting for James at their guest house. He ripped the envelope open and read the letter anxiously, but he needn’t have worried: it was the response he had been hoping for.

That night Haight took all the boys out to a restaurant for a treat. There was a raucous, holiday atmosphere. Haight was drinking the strong local wine and he had even persuaded the stuffy Cooper-ffrench to take a glass.

‘I can’t believe you’re jumping ship, you m-mountebank.’ Perry was sitting next to James, stuffing long coils of pasta into his mouth and talking at the same time.

‘It’s Cooper-ffrench,’ said James. ‘Ever since the other day in Sant’ Antine he’s attached himself to me like an over-protective dog. I’m sick of the sight of him; his fat, red face, his bristling little moustache –’

‘The huge black stains under his armpits,’ added Perry.

‘Exactly,’ said James.

He couldn’t get out of his mind the image of the man staring up at him from the courtyard at Sant’ Antine, with that murderous look on his face. He still had the feeling that somehow Cooper-ffrench had been trying to will him towards the edge of the tower. Was it because James had seen him with the tattooed man in Eton?