'Wananchi? ' 'Indigenous Kenyan. You can't really blame them, I suppose. The seed would look like any other seed, and they don't really understand what we're doing here.' She shook her head. 'Anyway, with the fence and the gates we tightened security.'

Hunt drained his glass: 'Come and see my little empire, Max. The bit of it that's upstairs.'

Stafford followed him and, on the way, said, 'Is Brice here today?'

'You'll probably meet him at lunch.' Hunt led the way along a corridor. 'Here we are.' He opened a door.

It was a laboratory filled with incomprehensible equipment and instruments the uses of which Hunt explained with gusto and, although much of it was over Stafford's head, he could not but admire Hunt's enthusiasm. 'Perhaps, with this new money, I can get the gas chromatograph I've been pushing for,' Hunt said. 'I need it to identify trace elements.'

Stafford wandered over to the window. Being on the top storey he had quite an extensive view. Away in the distance he could see the fence around the College grounds, and there was a man walking along it as though on patrol. He wore a rifle slung over his shoulder. He said, 'Why do you need armed guards?'

Hunt stopped in full spate. 'Huh?'

'Armed guards; why do you need them?'

'We don't.'

Stafford pointed. 'Then what's he doing out there?'

Hunt crossed to the window. 'Oh, we've been having a problem with a leopard lately, but how the devil it gets over the fence we don't know. It's taken a couple of dogs and the resident staff are disturbed – some of them have children here just about the size to attract a leopard.'

'And you don't know how it gets in?'

'Brice thinks there must be a tree, probably an acacia, which is growing too near the fence. He was organizing an exploration of the perimeter this morning. That's why he wasn't around.'

'How long is your perimeter?'

'I wouldn't know,' said Hunt lightly. 'I haven't measured it.'

Lunch was in the staff canteen which would not have disgraced a moderately good hotel as a dining room. It was spacious with good napery and silverware, and the food was very good. It seemed to Stafford that for a Foundation supposed to be hard up for money the senior staff did themselves well.

He was introduced to most of the staff over a pre-lunch drink at the bar. Their names and faces were forgotten as soon as the introductions were made, as usually happens on these occasions, but he estimated that they were black Kenyans, Indians and whites in roughly equal proportions, and honorifics like 'Doctor' and 'Professor' were bandied about with enthusiasm.

Hunt grinned at him, and said sotto voce, 'We have an almost Germanic regard for academic titles out here. You don't happen to be a Ph. D., do you?'

'Not a hope.'

'Pity.'

Stafford was re-introduced to Brice who said, 'Is Alan looking after you, Mr Stafford?'

Stafford smiled. 'Like royalty.'

They had a few moments more of conversation and then Brice drifted away, going easily from group to group with a word and a laugh for everyone. A jovial man with an instinct for leadership. Stafford had it himself to some degree and recognized it in another.

A few minutes later they adjourned for lunch and he found himself sitting with the Hunts and Odhiambo. He nodded towards Brice who was at what could be called the top table. 'Nice chap.'

Odhiambo nodded. 'For a non-scientist.' He leaned forward. 'Do you know he hardly understands a thing about what we're doing here. Odd in such an intelligent man. But he's a good administrator.'

Judy said, 'But, Jim, you don't really understand literature, do you?'

'I appreciate it,' he said stiffly. 'Even if I don't wholly understand it. But Brice doesn't want to know about our work.' He shook his head and looked at Stafford. 'We have a review meeting each week for the senior staff which Brice used to chair. It was impossible because he simply didn't understand. In the end he gave up and left it to us.'

Alan Hunt said, 'You must agree he knows his limitations and leaves us alone.'

'There is that,' agreed Odhiambo.

'Then who does the forward planning?' Stafford asked. 'The scientific work, I mean.'

'The weekly meeting reviews progress and decides on what must be done,' said Odhiambo.

'That's right,' said Hunt. 'Brice only digs his heels in when it comes to a matter of costs. He runs the financial end. I must say he does it very well.'

The meal was very good. They were ending with fresh fruit when Brice tapped on a glass with the edge of a knife and the hum of conversation quietened. He stood up. 'Ladies and gentlemen, friends and colleagues. I understand that certain rumours are circulating about a change in the fortunes of our College – a favourable change, I might add. I don't like rumours – they add to the uncertainty of life – and so this is to be regarded as an official statement.'

He paused and there was dead silence. 'The Foundation is the fortunate recipient of a certain sum of money from a gentleman in Europe now dead. The sum involved is five, perhaps six, maybe even seven…' He paused again with a fine sense of timing.'… million pounds sterling.'

Pandemonium erupted. There was a storm of applause and everyone stood, clapping and cheering. Stafford joined in, smiling as much as anyone, but wondering what had happened to the rest of the loot. Judy, her eyes shining, said, 'Isn't it just great?'

'Great,' he agreed.

Brice held up his hands and the applause died away. 'Now that doesn't mean you can go hog-wild on your financial requisitions,' he said genially, and there was a murmur of no amusement. 'There are legal procedures before we get the money and it may be some months yet. So, for the time being, we carry on as usual.' He sat down and a hubbub of noisy conversation arose again.

Stafford was still puzzled. He had assessed Brice, on his record, as being an honest man. Under the will 85 per cent of more than forty million pounds was to go to the Foundation so why was Brice lying? Or was he? Could it be that the Hendrykxx estate was being looted by someone else? Farrar, perhaps. A crooked lawyer was not entirely unknown -someone had once made the crack that the term 'criminal lawyer' is a tautology.

Hunt said something, rousing Stafford from his abstraction. 'What's that?'

'I'll show you around the College,' he repeated.

'All right.'

They did the rounds in a Land-Rover and Stafford found the place to be more extensive than he had thought. The research was not only into agricultural science concerning the growing of crops, but animal husbandry was involved and also a small amount of arboriculture. Hunt said, 'We're trying to develop better shrubs to give ground cover in the dry lands. Once the cover is destroyed the land just blows away.' He laughed. 'There's a chap here trying to develop a shrub that the bloody goats won't eat. Good luck to him.'

An extensive area was given over to experimental plots which looked like a patchwork quilt. Hunt said, 'It's based on a Graeco-Latin square,' and when Stafford asked what that was Hunt launched into an explanation replete with mathematics which was entirely beyond him, but he gathered it had something to do with the design of experiments. He commented that mathematics seemed to enter everything these days.

They were on their way back to the Admin Block when his attention was caught by something not usually associated in with an agricultural college a dish antenna about twelve feet across and looking up almost vertically. 'Stop a minute,' he said. 'What's that for?'

Hunt braked. 'Oh, that's the animal boys. It's a bit peripheral to us.'

'That,' Stafford said positively, 'is a radar dish and nothing to do with bloody animals,'

'Wrong,' said Hunt. 'It's a transmitter-receiver in com munication with a satellite up there.' He jerked his thumb upwards. 'And it has everything to do with animals.'