Free Twelve Red Herrings by Jeffrey Archer Page A

to
Jeremy Alexander.” I remember Jenny’s last words before I left for my room.
    “I wonder how
many directors there are in Britain, chief.” Over breakfast in Donald’s room
the following morning, he reviewed all the intelligence that had been gathered
to date, but none of us felt we were any nearer to a solution.
    “What about Mrs.
Balcescu?” I said. “She may be the person taking the call every Friday at midday, because that’s the one time she knows exactly where
her husband is.”
    “I agree. But is
she simply Rosemary’s messenger, or is she a friend of Jeremy’s?” asked Donald.
    “Perhaps we’ll
have to tap her phone to find out,” said Jenny.
    Donald ignored
her comment, and checked his watch. “It’s time to go to Balcescu’s lecture.”
    “Why are we
bothering?” I asked. “Surely we ought to be concentrating on Mrs. Balcescu.”
    “You’re probably
right,’ said Donald. “But we can’t afford to leave any stone unturned, and as
his next lecture won’t be for another week, we may as well get it over with. In
any case, we’ll be out by eleven, and if we find Mrs.
    Balcescu’s phone
is engaged between twelve and twelve thirty...”
    After Donald had
asked Jenny to bring the car round to the front of the hotel, I slipped back
into my room to pick up something that had been hidden in the bottom of my
suitcase for several weeks. A few minutes later I joined them, and Jenny drove
us out of the hotel carpark, turning right into the main road. Donald glanced
at me suspiciously in the rear-view mirror as I sat silently in the back.
    Did I look guilty ? I wondered.
    Jenny spotted a
parking meter a couple of hundred yards away from the Department of European
Studies, and pulled in. We got out of the car and followed the flow of students
along the pavement and up the steps. No one gave us a second look. Once we had
entered the building, Donald whipped off his tie and slipped it in his jacket
pocket. He looked more like a Marxist revolutionary than most of the people
heading towards the lecture.
    The lecture
theatre was clearly signposted, and we entered it by a door on the ground
floor, which turned out to be the only way in or out. Donald immediately walked
up the raked auditorium to the back row of seats. Jenny and I followed, and
Donald instructed me to sit behind a student who looked as if he spent his
Saturday afternoons playing lock forward for his college rugby team.
    While we waited
for Balcescu to enter the room, I began to look around. The lecture theatre was
a large semi-circle, not unlike a miniature Greek amphitheatre, and I estimated
that it could hold around three hundred students. By the time the clock on the
front wall read 9.55 there was hardly a seat to be found.
    No further proof
was needed of the professor’s reputation.
    I felt a light
sweat forming on my forehead as I waited for Balcescu to make his entrance. As
the clock struck ten the door of the lecture theatre opened. I was so
disappointed at the sight that greeted me that I groaned aloud. He couldn’t
have been less like Jeremy. I leaned across to Donald. “Wrong-coloured
hair, wrong-coloured eyes, about thirty pounds too light.” The Don
showed no reaction.
    “So the
connection has to be with Mrs. Balcescu,” whispered Jenny.
    “Agreed,” said
Donald under his breath. “But we’re stuck here for the next hour, because we
certainly can’t risk drawing attention to ourselves by walking out. We’ll just
have to make a dash for it as soon as the lecture is over. We’ll still have
time to see if she’s at home to take the twelve o’clock call.” He paused. “I
should have checked the layout of the building earlier.” Jenny reddened
slightly, because she knew I meant you.
    And then I
suddenly remembered where I had seen Mrs. Balcescu. I was about to tell Donald,
but the room fell silent as the professor began delivering his opening words.
    “This is the
sixth of eight lectures,” he began, ‘on recent