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Morgan looked awful, the black, silver-streaked hair tousled like a gipsy's and he badly needed a shave. His linen suit, stained with salt, had shrunk and strained against his shoulders, seams splitting.

'Oh, it's you,' he said when Rourke came into the waiting room. 'A fine old balls-up you made of it at the airport the other day.'

Rourke was horrified at his appearance. 'Good God, sir, are you all right?'

'Of course I'm not,' Morgan said. 'I'm held together by blood, guts and piano wire, but that doesn't matter now. What I want is a temporary passport and a seat on the first plane to London this afternoon.'

'Actually, I'm not too sure about that, sir. I'd have to check elsewhere first. I've strict orders where you're concerned.'

'Brigadier Ferguson?'

'Yes, sir.'

'So, you're DI5? That's encouraging. Maybe those lectures I gave you at the Academy back in 'sixty-nine did some good after all.'

'You remembered me, sir?'

'Of course I did. Never forget a face. Now, you cut along and make your phone call.'

'Just a minute, sir,' Rourke leaned forward, concern on his face. 'Isn't that blood coming through your sleeve?'

'I should imagine so, considering the fact that a certain gentleman tried to inflict bodily injury on me with the aid of a Walther PPK. Maybe a doctor would be in order as well, while you're at it? Only make sure he's one who can keep his mouth shut, boy. I don't want anything keeping me off that plane.'

14

It was almost six o'clock when Kim answered the ring at the door of the Cavendish Square flat and found Baker and Morgan standing there.

Ferguson was in the dining-room eating alone at one end of an elegant Regency table, a napkin tucked into his collar.

'That smells nice.' Morgan said. 'What is it?'

'Beef Wellington. For a Gurkha, Kim has a remarkable talent for traditional English cooking. My dear chap, you look awful.'

'I'm not as young as I was, that's all.'

He went and helped himself to a brandy from the sideboard. Ferguson said to Baker, 'No problems, Superintendent?'

'He nearly didn't make it, sir. Fog coming in fast while I was waiting. I should imagine Heathrow will be shut down completely in another couple of hours.'

Ferguson took a sip from his glass of claret and leaned back. 'Well, Asa?'

'Well, what?'

'Come on now. You quite obviously went to Greece in search of the Cretan Lover. You deliberately gave my man the slip, then turn up four days later with a couple of gunshot wounds in you and a ruined passport, desperately keen to get back to England as soon as possible.'

'All those tourists,' Morgan said. 'I just couldn't take it.' He emptied the glass. 'Is it all right if I go now? I could do with a decent night's sleep.'

Ferguson nodded to Baker who opened the sitting-room door. Katherine Riley entered.

'Christ Almighty,' Morgan said bitterly.

'Don't be stupid, Asa. Doctor Riley has acted entirely in your best interests and under very difficult circumstances. She's told me everything.'

Katherine Riley stood there, very pale, waiting. Morgan ignored her. 'Where is he?'

'Mikali? Busy rehearsing at the Albert Hall with Andre Previn and Previn being the perfectionist he is, it looks as if they'll be there right up till concert time.'

'Rather awkward for you.'

'Why on earth should it be?' Ferguson poured himself another glass of claret. 'We could arrest him on stage now, but what would be the point? Ask the Superintendent.'

Morgan turned to Baker who nodded. 'Sealed up tight, Asa, every entrance guarded. 'I've got over fifty men down there now on top of the normal uniformed personnel usually on duty for crowd control. Mostly in plain clothes and all of them armed. I've even got long-hairs from the Ghost Squad queuing for tickets with the Promenaders.'

The phone rang in the hall and Baker went out. Ferguson said, 'So, as you can see, he isn't getting anywhere. Let him give his concert. The show, as they say, must go on. In any case, my dear Asa, Rachmaninov's Fourth is seldom played. To have John