“An insane asylum, you mean?”

“They don’t like to call it that. Nervous breakdowns—that’s what they say these days, don’t they? It’s where rich folk put the relatives who’ve gone a wee bit funny. You know, think they are Napoleon or something.” He chuckled. “What did you want in there anyway?”

“I was just curious.”

“You need an appointment before they’ll let you in,” he said. “Terrible strict on security they are, ever since one of their patients escaped and killed his mother with an ax. You must have read about it.”

“Oh, I see. Thank you.”

He nodded and went on his way. I walked slowly back to the car. I was thinking of the three names written on that map. I’d now found two of them. And the third: Dofc . . . “Oh no,” I said out loud. Could those letters possibly stand for the Duke of Clarence? And that rumor that he hadn’t died at all, but had been locked away somewhere so that his more suitable younger brother could take the throne. I remembered how quickly and firmly Lady Peebles had squashed this thought. Did she know something? Was it possible that he was here and that someone was trying to kill heirs to the throne on his behalf? It seemed almost too preposterous for words. . . .

“What’s up now?” Granddad asked as I returned to the car.

“Granddad,” I said cautiously, “how good are you at acting?”

“Acting? We left that to your mother. A proper little show-off she was from the word go.”

“I was wondering if you could possibly play my loony old uncle for a few minutes? You don’t have to do much, or say much, because I don’t want them to hear your London accent. But you could look vacant and smile a lot, couldn’t you?”

“What’s this in aid of, then?”

“This place is a posh insane asylum,” I said. “I need a reason to go and visit and you’d be the prefect reason.”

“ ’Ere, you ain’t thinking of leaving me in there, are you?”

I patted his knee. “Of course not. But I need to find out if a certain person is locked away in there, so I need an excuse to go inside.”

“I suppose I can manage it,” he said. “Yer grandma always said I must be twins because one person couldn’t be so daft.” He smiled, wistfully.

“Super. We’ll drive back into the village to find the nearest telephone box.”

Soon I was standing outside the Cock ’o the North pub, asking the operator to connect me with Castle Craig. A refined voice that sounded as if it belonged on Princes Street in Edinburgh came on the line.

“Castle Craig Sanitarium.”