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By Root 422 0

background though the absence of uniform, medals, regimental tie or any other identifying signs made this uncertain. His dark tweed suit was of fashionably rugged cut and would not have looked out of place on the grouse moor or strolling round the British Museum. The leather briefcase at his feet was a good one though well-worn, and spoke of the businessman hurrying to Paris. But there were disconcerting contradictions about the man. The black felt fedora whose wide brim he’d pulled low over his eyes gave him a bohemian air and the gaily coloured silk Charvet scarf knotted casually about his neck was an odd note and, frankly . . . well . . . a little outré. An artist perhaps? No – too well dressed. Architect? One of those art deco chappies? Bound no doubt for the exhibitions that came and went along the Seine.

Apretty redhead wearing a sporty-looking woollen two-piece and a green cloche hat changed places with one of her friends to sit beside the stranger. She leaned slightly to catch a glimpse of the papers which were so absorbing him. Joe wondered what on earth she would make of the learned treatise he was scanning: Identification of Corpses by G. A. Fanshawe, D.Sc. (Oxon) with its subheadings of Charred Bodies, Drowned Bodies, Battered Bodies . . .

Aware of her sustained curiosity, Joe mischievously shuffled to the top a printed sheet of writing paper. Under the bold insignia of Interpol, and laid out in letters so large she would have no difficulty in reading them, was an invitation to The Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, Scotland Yard, London, to attend the second conference of Heads of Interpol in Paris. A detailed programme of lectures and events followed. Joe took out a pencil and began to make notes in the margin.

She addressed him with the open confidence of a fellow passenger aboard a boat, all companions for the duration of the voyage. ‘I see you’re not on pleasure bent in the capital of frivolity? Er . . . Commissioner? Should I address you as Commissioner? Is that who you are?’

He grinned and passed her a card. ‘Not Commissioner, I’m sorry to say. He’s the villain who’s deputized me to come along in his stead. This is me. I’m Joseph Sandilands. How do you do, Miss . . .?’

‘Watkins. Heather Watkins.’ And she read: ‘Commander Sandilands. DSO. Légion d’honneur. Ah, I was right! I took you for a military or naval man of some sort. But Commander sounds very impressive!’ And she added in a tone playfully inquisitive: ‘May we look to see “Commissioner” on your card one day?’

‘I do hope not! Annoying my boss is one of my chief recreations. I should hate to find myself at the top of the pyramid keeping order. Who would there be to keep me in order? I should have to do it myself!’ Good Lord! That was the first time he’d given words to any such feeling. And he’d expressed it in unbelievably artless words to a complete stranger. It must be the fear of the next few hours that was sweeping away his defences, making him reckless.

The arrival of a steward in Imperial Airways livery made unnecessary any further revelations and they were called for boarding. The group, jostling and joking with each other, surged forward. But, at the point of putting her foot on the ramp, the lively and confident Miss Watkins, who had trailed behind finishing a conversation with Joe, balked. She shook her head like a horse refusing a fence, turned pale and began to breathe raggedly. Joe, close behind, recognized the symptoms and put a comforting arm under hers. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘And, above all, don’t be concerned if the wings appear to wobble alarmingly. They’re supposed to do that. Watch them carefully and, should they stop wobbling, then you may start to worry. These big planes are perfectly safe, you know, and the company has an unblemished record. Look – do you see – it’s an Argosy. That means it’s got four wings, three engines and two pilots. That should be enough to get us through.’ He wished he could believe all this rot himself. ‘And, look, Miss Watkins . . . Heather . . . take this. I find it really helps.’ He passed