'I've five beaks to fill.'

'Good G.o.d! I'd forgotten.'

We drank the beer while waiting for the sandwiches, and then he good-naturedly drove us down through the back entrance to park outside Roger's house, near the bus.

Beside the main door into the bus, in a small outside compartment, I'd long ago installed a chuck-wagon-type bell. Dart watched in amus.e.m.e.nt when I extended it on its arm outwards, and set it clanging with vigour.

The cowboys came in from the prairie, hungry, dry and virtuous, and sat around on boxes and logs for their open-air lunch. I stood with the walking frame. Getting used to it, the boys took it for granted.

They had built a stockade from sticks, they said. Inside the fort were the United States cavalry (Christopher and Toby) and outside were the Indians (the rest). The Indians were (of course) the Good Guys, who hoped to overrun the stockade and take a few scalps. Sneaky tactics were needed, Chief Edward said. Alan Redfeather was his trusty spy.

Dart, eating a sandwich, said he thought Neil's lurid warpaint (Mrs Gardner's lipstick) a triumph for political correctness.

None of them knew what he meant. I saw Neil storing the words away, mouthing them silently, ready to ask later.

Locust-like, they mopped up the Mayflower's food and, as it seemed a good time for it, I said to them, 'Ask Dart the riddle of the pilgrim. He'll find it interesting.'

Christopher obligingly began, 'A pilgrim came to a fork in the road. One road led to safety, and the other to death. In each fork stood a guardian.'

'They were twins,' Edward said.

Christopher, nodding, went on, 'One twin always spoke the truth and the other always lied.'

Dart turned his head and stared at me.

'It's a very old old riddle,' Edward said apologetically. riddle,' Edward said apologetically.

'The pilgrim was allowed only one question,' Toby said. 'Only one. And to save his life he had to find out which road led to safety. So what did he ask?'

'He asked which way was safe,' Dart said reasonably.

Christopher said, 'Which twin did he ask?'

'The one who spoke the truth.'

'But how did he know which one spoke the truth? They both looked the same. They were twins.'

'Conrad and Keith aren't identical,' Dart said.

The children, not understanding, pressed on. Toby asked again, 'What question did the pilgrim ask?'

'Haven't the foggiest.'

'Think,' Edward commanded.

Dart turned my way. 'Save me!' he said.

'That's not what the pilgrim said,' Neil informed him with relish. not what the pilgrim said,' Neil informed him with relish.

'Do you all know?'

Five heads nodded. 'Dad told us.'

'Then Dad had better tell me me.'

It was Christopher, however, who explained. 'The pilgrim could only ask one question, so he went to one of the twins and he asked, "If I ask your brother which way leads to safety, which way will he tell me to go?" '

Christopher stopped. Dart looked flummoxed, is that all?' he asked.

'That's all. So what did the pilgrim do?'

'Well... he... I give in. What did he do?'

They wouldn't tell him the answer.

'You're devils devils,' Dart said.

'One of the twins was a devil,' Edward said, 'and the other was an angel.'

'You just made that up,' Toby accused him.

'So what? It makes it more interesting.'

They all tired abruptly of the riddle and trooped off, as was their habit, back to their make-believe game.

'For Christ's sake!' Dart exclaimed. 'That's not b.l.o.o.d.y fair.'

I laughed in my throat.

'So what did the pilgrim do?'

'Work it out.'

'You're as bad as your children.'

Dart and I got back into his car. He put the walking frame onto the back seat and observed, 'Keith really hurt you, didn't he?'

'No, it was the explosion. Bits of roof fell in.'

'Fell in on you. Yes, I heard.'

'From the shoulder blades down,' I agreed. 'Could have been worse.'

'Oh, sure.' He started the engine and drove up the private inner road. 'What did the pilgrim do, then?'

I smiled. 'Whichever road either twin told him was safe, he went down the other one. Both twins would have pointed to the road leading to death.'

He thought very briefly. 'How come?'

'If the pilgrim asked the truthful twin which way his brother would send him to safety, the truthful twin, knowing his brother would lie, would point to the road to death.'

'You've lost me.'

I explained over again. 'And,' I said, 'if the pilgrim happened co ask the lying twin which way his brother would send someone to safety, the lying twin, though knowing his brother would speak the truth, lied about what he would say. So the lying twin also would point to the road to death.'

Dart relapsed into silence. When he spoke he said, 'Do your boys understand it?'

'Yes. They acted it out.'

'Don't they ever quarrel?'

'Of course, they do. But they've been moved around so much that they've made few outside friendships. They rely on each other.' I sighed. 'They'll grow out of it, shortly. Christopher's already too old for half their games.'

'A pity.'

'Life goes on.'

Dart braked his rusty car gently to a halt in the impromptu car park outside Roger's office.

I said diffidently, 'Did you, in fact, drive here yesterday morning in this car, as Harold Quest said?'

'No, I didn't.' Dart took no offence. 'And what's more, I was was in my bathroom from eight to eight-thirty, and don't b.l.o.o.d.y laugh, I'm not telling anyone else, but I've got a new scalp vibrator thing that's supposed to stop hair falling out.' in my bathroom from eight to eight-thirty, and don't b.l.o.o.d.y laugh, I'm not telling anyone else, but I've got a new scalp vibrator thing that's supposed to stop hair falling out.'

'Snake oil,' I said.

'b.u.g.g.e.r you, I said don't laugh.'

'I'm not laughing.'

'Your face muscles are twitching twitching.'

'I do believe, anyway,' I said, 'that because of your hair you didn't arrive at the racecourse at eight-twenty yesterday morning with your old jalopy bulging with detonating cord and plastic explosive.'

'Thanks a bunch.'

'The thing is, could anyone have borrowed your car without you knowing? And would you mind very much if the bomb expert or the police tested this car for the presence of nitrates?'

He looked aghast. 'You can't mean it!'

'Someone,' I pointed out, 'brought explosives to the stairs in the grandstands yesterday. It's probably fair to say it was plugged into the walls after the night watchman went home at seven. It was fully light by then. There was no one else about because of its being Good Friday. There was only Harold Quest and his pals at the gate, and I don't know how much one can trust him.'

'The lying twins,' Dart said.

'Maybe.'

I tried to imagine easy-going Dart, with his thickening frame and his thinning hair, his ironic cast of mind and his core of idleness, ever caring enough about anything to blow up a grandstand. Impossible. But to lend his car? To lend his car casually for an unspecified purpose, yes, certainly. To lend it knowing it would be used for a crime? I hoped not. Yet he would have let me open the locked cupboard in his father's study. Had taken me there and given me every illegal chance. Hadn't cared a jot when I'd backed off.

A sloppy sense of right and wrong, or a deep alienation that he habitually hid?

I liked Dart; he lifted one's spirits. Among the Strattons, he was the nearest to normal. The nearest, one should perhaps say, to a rose among nettles.

I said neutrally, 'Where's your sister Rebecca today? I'd have thought she'd have been here, practically purring.'

'She's racing at Towcester,' he said briefly. 'I looked in the newspaper. No doubt she's thrilled the stands have had it, but I haven't spoken to her since Wednesday. She's talked to Father, I think. She's riding one of his horses here on Monday. It's got a good chance of winning, so no way would she have put the meeting in jeopardy, with dynamite shenanigans, if that's what you're thinking.'

'Where does she live?' I asked.

'Lambourn. Ten miles away, roughly.'

'Horse country.'

'She lives and breathes horses. Quite mad.'

I lived and breathed building. I got fulfilment from putting brick on brick, stone on stone: from bringing a dead thing to life. I understood a single-minded encompa.s.sing drive. Not much in the world, for good or for evil, gets done without it.

The rest of the Strattons came round from the racecourse side of the grandstands, bringing Conrad's architect with them. The police and the bomb expert seemed to be sifting carefully through the edges of the rubble. The moustached local authority was scratching his head.

Roger came over to Dart's car and asked where we'd been.

'Feeding the children,' I said.

'Oh! Well, the Honourable Marjorie wants to demolish you. Er...' He went on more prudently in the presence of Dart, 'Mrs Binsham wants to see you in my office.'

I clambered stiffly onto the tarmac and plodded that way. Roger came along beside me.

'Don't let her eat you,' he said.

'No. Don't worry. Do you happen to know that architect's name?'

'What?'

'Conrad's architect.'

'It's Wilson Yarrow. Conrad calls him Yarrow.'

'Thanks.'

I stopped walking abruptly.

Roger said, 'What's the matter? Is it worse?'

'No.' I looked at him vaguely, to his visible alarm. I asked, 'Did you tell any of the Strattons that I'm an architect?'

He was perplexed. 'Only Dart. You told him yourself, remember? Why? Why does it matter?'

'Don't tell them,' I said. I did a one-eighty back towards Dart, who got out of his car and came to meet us.

'What's the matter?' he said.