'I'd like that,' said Stafford. He did not want to be at Ol Njorowa when Dirk Hendriks was around because his curiosity might arouse comment. 'Could we make it next week?'

'Of course. Give me a ring.'

They went into the lounge for coffee and brandy. Hunt was about to sit down when he paused. 'There's Brice now, having a drink with Patterson. He's one of the animal study boys. I can clear your visit to the College right away.' He went over and talked with Brice then he turned and beckoned.

He introduced Stafford and Hardin to Brice who was a square man of medium height and with a skin tanned to the colour of cordovan leather. His speech was almost standard Oxford English but there was a barely perceptible broadening of the vowels which betrayed his Southern Africa origins. It was so faint that Hardin could be excused for identifying him as English.

He shook hands with a muscular grip. 'Glad to have you with us, Mr Stafford; we don't get too many visitors from England. Have you been in Kenya long?' The standard ice-breaking question.

'I arrived this morning. It's a beautiful country.'

'Indeed it is,' Brice said. 'It's not my own country – not yet – but I like it.'

Judy said questioningly, 'Not yet?'

Brice laughed jovially. 'I'm taking out Kenya citizenship. My papers should be through in a couple of months.'

'Then you're English,' Stafford said.

He laughed again. 'Not me; I'm Rhodesian. Can't you tell by my accent?' He raised his eyebrows at Stafford's silence. 'No? Well, I lived in England a while, so I suppose I've lost it. I got out of Rhodesia when that idiot Smith took over with UDI.'

'What's that?' asked Hardin.

'The Unilateral Declaration of Independence.' Brice smiled.

'I believe you Americans made a similar Declaration a couple of hundred years ago.'

'Of course,' said Hardin. 'I was here in Africa when it happened, but I never got that far south. How did it come out in the end? African affairs aren't very well reported back home.'

'It couldn't last,' said Brice. 'You couldn't have a hundred thousand whites ruling millions of blacks and make it stick. There was a period of guerilla warfare and then the whites caved in. The British government supervised elections and the Prime Minister is now Mugabe, a black; and the name of the country is now Zimbabwe.'

'Do you have any intention of going back now that Mugabe is in command?' asked Stafford.

Brice shook his head. 'No,' he said. 'Never go back – that's my motto. Besides, I have precious little to go back to. I had a farm up near Umtali, and that's where the war was.' His face hardened. 'My parents were killed and I heard that the farmhouse my father built was burned out – a total loss. No, this will be my country from now on.' He sipped from his glass. 'Mind you, I couldn't leave Africa. I didn't like England; it was too bloody cold for my liking.'

He turned to Hunt. 'I don't see any reason why Mr Stafford shouldn't take a look at the College. When would that be?'

'Some time next week?' suggested Stafford.

They arranged a day and Brice noted it in his diary. He smiled, and said, 'That will probably be the day I kill the rumours.'

Stafford lifted his eyebrows. 'What rumours?'

'About the unexpected inflow of cash,' said Hunt. He looked at Brice. 'Is it true?'

'Quite true,' said Brice. 'An unexpected windfall. Could be as much as six or seven million.'

'Kenya shillings?' queried Hunt.

Brice laughed. 'Pounds sterling,' he said, and Hunt gave a long whistle.

Stafford kept a poker face and wondered what had happened to the rest of the cash. There was a shortfall of about twenty-seven million.

Brice said, 'Keep it under your hat, Alan, until I make the official announcement. I'm seeing the Trustees and a lawyer in the next few days.'

They had a few more moments of conversation and then Stafford and Hunt returned to their own table. Stafford was abstracted, mulling over what Brice had said, but presently he got talking to Judy. 'If you're coming to the College you must go ballooning with us,' she said.

He stared at her. 'Ballooning! You must be kidding.'

'No, I'm not. Alan has a hot air balloon. He says he finds it useful in his work.' She laughed. 'I think that is just an excuse, though; it's for the sport mostly. It's great fun. A good way of spotting animals.'

'Can you steer it?'

'Not very well. You go where the wind listeth, like a thistledown. Alan talks learnedly about wind shear and other technicalities, and says he can go pretty much where he wants. But I don't think he has all that much control.'

'What happens if you blow over the lake?'

'You don't go up if the wind is in that direction; but if it changes you swim until the chase boat catches up, and you hope there aren't any crocodiles about.'

Stafford said, 'I call that living dangerously.'

'It's not really dangerous; we haven't had as much as a sprained wrist yet. Alan caught the ballooning bug from another Alan – Alan Root. Have you heard of him?'

'The wildlife man? Yes; I've seen him on television back home.'

'He lives near here,' said Judy. 'He does a lot of filming from his balloon. And he went over Kilimanjaro. Ballooning is becoming popular here. Down at Keekorok in the Masai Mara they take tourists up and call it a balloon safari.'

It was pleasant sitting there chatting. Stafford learned a bit more about the Foundation, but not much, and was sorry when the Hunts departed at about eleven, their parting words urging him to come back soon. When they had gone he, Hardin and Nair pooled their knowledge and found it wouldn't fill an egg-cup.

Stafford said, 'Ben, I'm sending you back to England to do something we should have done before. In any case you're too conspicuous here; Nairobi is a small town and you could come face to face with Gunnarsson all too easily.'

'Yeah,' he said. 'I suppose I am your hole card. What do I do in England?'

'You study the life and times of Jan-Willem Hendrykxx. I could bear to know how he made his boodle and why he left it to the Ol Njorowa Foundation. Find the Kenya connection, Ben. And nose around Jersey while Farrar is away. The old man must have talked to someone in the seven years he was there.'

'When do I leave?'

'Tomorrow.' Stafford turned to Nair. 'And I'd like to know more about the Foundation. Can you dig out anything on it?'

He nodded. 'That should be easy.'

'Then we leave for Nairobi immediately after breakfast tomorrow.'

Chapter 10

They got back to Nairobi just after eleven next morning and, as Nair parked the car outside the Norfolk, Stafford saw Curtis in the Delamere Bar sinking a beer. He said to Hardin, 'Tell the Sergeant 'I'll see him in my room now.'

'Okay,' said Hardin.

'I'll find Chip,' said Nair.

Stafford nodded and got out of the car. He went into the bar to buy cigarettes and then went up to his room where Curtis and Hardin awaited him. He looked at Curtis and said, 'Where's Gunnarsson?'

'At the Hilton,' said Curtis. 'Chip is covering him.'

'Chip is covering him,' Stafford repeated. 'All right, Sergeant; exactly who are Chip and Nair?'

He wore an injured look. 'I told you.'

'Don't come the old soldier with me,' said Stafford. 'I've had better men than you booked for dumb insolence. You've told me nothing. Now, out with it. I want to know if I can trust them. I want to know if they'll sell me should Gunnarsson offer a higher price. How much are we paying them, anyway?'

'Nothing,' Curtis said. 'It's a favour.'

Stafford looked at him in silence for a while, then said. 'That does it. Now you've got to tell me.'

'I'm a mite interested, too,' said Hardin.

Curtis sighed. 'All right; but I don't want anyone getting into trouble. No names, no pack drill; see? I told the Colonel I'd been in Kenya before, but that wasn't the only time. I spent a leave here in 1975. The Colonel knows how it's done.'