Free Twelve Red Herrings by Jeffrey Archer Page B

social and economic trends in
Eastern Europe.” In a thick Central European accent he launched into a
discourse that sounded as if he had given it many times before. The
undergraduates began scribbling away on their pads, but I became increasingly
irritated by the continual drone of the professor’s nasal vowels, as I was
impatient to tell Hackett about Mrs.
    Balcescu
and to get back to Great Shelford as quickly as possible. I found myself
glancing up at the clock on the wall every few minutes.
    Not unlike my
own schooldays, I thought. I touched my jacket pocket. It was still there, even
though on this occasion it would serve no useful purpose.
    Halfway through
the lecture, the lights were dimmed so the professor could illustrate some of
his points with slides. I glanced at the first few graphs as they appeared on
the screen, showing different income groups across Eastern Europe related to
their balance of payments and export figures, but I ended up none the wiser,
and not just because I had missed the first five lectures.
    The assistant in
charge of the projector managed to get one of the slides upside down, showing
Germany bottom of the export table and Romania top, which caused a light ripple
of laughter throughout the theatre. The professor scowled, and began to deliver
his lecture at a faster and faster pace, which only caused the assistant more
difficulty in finding the right slides to coincide with the Professor’s
statements.
    Once again I
became bored, and I was relieved when, at five to eleven, Balcescu called for
the final graph. The previous one was replaced by a blank screen. Everyone
began looking round at the assistant, who was searching desperately for the
slide.
    The professor
became irritable as the minute hand of the clock approached eleven. Still the
assistant failed to locate the missing slide. He flicked the shutter back once
again, but nothing appeared on the screen, leaving the professor brightly
illuminated by a beam of light. Balcescu stepped forward, and began drumming
his fingers impatiently on the wooden lectern. Then he turned sideways, and I caught
his profile for the first time. There was a small scar above his right eye,
which must have faded over the years, but in the bright light of the beam it
was clear to see.
    “It’s him!” I
whispered to Donald as the clock struck eleven.
    The lights came
up, and the professor quickly left the lecture theatre without another word.
    I leapt over the
back of my bench seat, and began charging down the gangway, but my progress was
impeded by students who were already sauntering out into the aisle. I pushed my
way past them until I had reached ground level, and bolted through the door by
which the professor had left so abruptly. I spotted him at the end of the
corridor. He was opening another door, and disappeared out of sight.
    I ran after him,
dodging in and out of the chattering students.
    When I reached
the door that had just been closed behind him I looked up at the sign:
PROFESSOR BALCESCU Director of European Studies I threw the door open, to
discover a woman sitting behind a desk checking some papers. Another door was
closing behind her.
    “I need to see
Professor Balcescu immediately,” I shouted, knowing that if I didn’t get to him
before Hackett caught up with me, I might lose my resolve.
    The woman
stopped what she was doing and looked up at me.
    “The Director is
expecting an overseas call at any moment, and cannot be disturbed,” she
replied. “I’m sorry, but...” I ran straight past her,
pulled open the door and rushed into the room, where I came face to face with
Jeremy Alexander for the first time since I had left him lying on the floor of
my drawing room. He was talking animatedly on the phone, but he looked up, and
recognised me immediately. When I pulled the gun from my pocket, he dropped the
receiver. As I took aim, the blood suddenly drained from his face.
    “Are you there,
Jeremy?” asked an agitated voice on the other