Seb was painfully aware after the first half a dozen moves that this man was quite simply in another class. It only took a few minutes before Bishara began removing his counters from the board.

“Tell me, Mr.…”

“Clifton, Sebastian Clifton.”

Bishara reset the board. “As you are clearly not even a respectable pub player, you must have had a good reason for wanting to give away a hundred pounds.”

“Yes, I did,” said Seb, taking out his check book. “I needed an excuse to meet you.”

“And why, may I ask?”

“Because we have several things in common, one in particular.”

“Clearly not backgammon.”

“True,” said Seb. “Who should I make the check out to?”

“The Polio Society. You haven’t answered my question.”

“I thought we might trade information.”

“What makes you think you have any information I might be interested in?”

“Because I saw your name in a visitors’ book and thought you just might like to know that I own six percent of Farthings Bank.”

Seb could tell nothing from the expression on Bishara’s face. “How much did you pay for your shares, Mr. Clifton?”

“I’ve been purchasing Farthings’ stock regularly over the past five years, and the price has averaged out at around two pounds.”

“Then it has proved a worthwhile investment, Mr. Clifton. Am I to assume you now wish to sell your shares?”

“No. Mr. Sloane has already made me an offer of five pounds a share, which I turned down.”

“But you would have made a handsome profit.”

“Only in the short term.”

“And if I were to offer you more?”

“It would be of no interest to me. I still intend to take my place on the board.”

“Why?”

“Because I began my working life at Farthings as Cedric Hardcastle’s personal assistant. After his death, I resigned, and joined Kaufman’s.”

“Shrewd old bugger, Saul Kaufman, and a smart operator. Why did you leave Farthings?”

“Let’s just say there was a difference of opinion over who should attend funerals.”

“So Sloane wouldn’t be happy if you were to join the board?”

“If murder was legal, I’d be dead.”

Bishara took out his check book and asked, “What’s your favorite charity?” That was one question Seb hadn’t been prepared for.

“The Boy Scouts.”

“Yes, I can believe that,” said Bishara, smiling as he wrote out a check, not for a hundred pounds, but for a thousand. “A pleasure to have met you, Mr. Clifton,” he said, as he handed it over. “I have a feeling we may meet again.”

Seb shook his outstretched hand and was about to leave when Bishara added, “What was the one thing in particular we have in common?”

“The oldest profession. Except in my case, it was my grandmother, not my mother.”

*   *   *

“What’s Sir Edward’s opinion of your chances of winning the case?” asked the major as Virginia poured him a second gin and tonic.