Ian McGreagor went to his desk and sat down in front of the PC. In a few mouse clicks he had called up something which held his attention, and as he navigated around he paused and read, and several times he laughed aloud.

I was uneasy about leaving the office in which I had hidden, for The McGeek had never shown any interest in kilts, or anything much other than computing, and his usual reaction to anything comic was a rather simpering giggle.

Although I could not see the monitor screen, the reflection in his glasses made me suspect that he was reading the messages on the X marks the Scot forum.

There was a slight noise behind me, I felt my hair rise in alarm, and slowly turned to look into the office.

A man sat at the desk, the monitor at his elbow was showing the X marks forum, and I divined that it was spying on the one across the corridor. He smiled and using hand signs told me to close the door quietly.

I obeyed, and then with a lift of an eyebrow he turned to the keyboard and typed rapidly. There was a cry of rage from the office opposite, and then several shouts as reconnection failed - after a few minutes a door slammed and McGreagor left. The man had dropped to the floor and was invisible from the corridor as soon as the monitor showed the disconnection from the Internet.

'Has he gone?' he enquired quietly, in a disconcertingly deep voice, and he peered over the edge of the desk with a merry twinkle in his eyes.
'Who are you and how did you get in here?' I demanded.
'A friend. A chef. You may call me James Brown. I walked in.'
I glared.
'Please take your hand off the knife you carry in the small of your back - that is if you can remove it now that you have engaged the wrist strap. Otherwise you will have to draw it and disentangle yourself.'
I frowned at him and lifted my left hand which already held the nine inch blade. I saw his eyes flicker, then he looked away and slid back into the chair.

'Are you really called James Brown?'
'At the moment I do not need to use an alias - I thought I was amongst friends. Friends who might need someone with my particular skills.'
'Which are?'
'Spotting ways in and out of places, and of computers. My Aunt May, the dowager duchess, tried to get in touch with my son - but he's off doing something in a research station in the Arctic - something to do with peculiar electromagnetic activity, so as I was already in the area, I came instead.'
'The man we wanted was not called Brown.'
'For that I would have had to be married to his mother, and she decided that I was not the right sort of man to be a father. Unfortunately for her peace of mind the genes won. However, if you take me to your fellow directors, I am sure I can prove my identity. I believe they are old school friends of my aunt.'
I did not take my eyes off him as I opened the door and retreated into the corridor, then directed him to the kitchen where Daphne would be making scones for tea.
As the man entered she turned, and after a second she smiled.
'Why James - how nice of you to come.'
I sheathed my knife.