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With a sudden convulsive movement he tossed his cigarette far out into the rain and crossed to the toilet door. A small rounded oval plate had 'Toilet' printed on it in black letters, and was secured by two screws. Marlowe took out his screwdriver and started to unscrew the plate with hands that trembled slightly.

When he had taken one screw completely out, the plate swivelled and the thing which had been concealed behind it fell to the floor. He dropped to one knee and picked it up with trembling fingers. It was a small metal key. He held it in the palm of his hand, staring at it, and a sudden exultation lifted inside him. It was there. After all this time it was there.

He heard nothing and yet some instinct told him that he was not alone. He was conscious of a slight draught on one cheek and knew that the door was open. He turned slowly. Faulkner was standing just inside the door. He held up what was obviously a duplicate key to the room and twirled it gaily round one finger. 'I've got one too, old man, though nothing like as valuable as that one. What's it open, a safe-deposit box? Very clever of you.'

He came into the room followed by Butcher and Harris, who closed the door and leaned against it. Marlowe slipped the key into his pocket and said, 'How the hell did you manage to follow me?'

Faulkner sat down on the bed and fitted a cigarette into an elegant holder. 'We didn't need to, old man. You see, I knew something the police didn't. The day you were arrested I had a bit of luck. A pal of Butcher's happened to see you coming out of this place. I took the room for a couple of days, and we went over it with a fine-tooth comb. Couldn't find a thing, but I always had a hunch about it. There had to be a connection.'

Marlowe took out a cigarette and lit it carefully. 'I'm surprised at you, Faulkner,' he said. 'You must be slipping.' He looked quickly towards the two men at the door. Butcher was watching his every move, hate blazing out of his eyes. Harris had produced a flick-knife with which he was quietly cleaning his fingernails.

Faulkner said, 'Actually it was a damned ingenious hiding place, Hugh. But then you always were a cut above the average.' He smiled and leaned forward. 'Now come clean like a good chap and tell me where I can find the lock that key fits.' His smile became even more charming. 'I wouldn't try anything silly if I were you. Butcher and Harris are praying for an excuse to cut you into pieces.'

A quick fierce anger surged in Marlowe, and he grabbed Faulkner by the tie and jerked him up from the bed. 'You lousy bastard,' he said coldly. 'Do you think I'm scared of you and your third-rate toughs?'

Faulkner's eyes started from his head as he began to choke, and then Marlowe was aware of a movement to his left. He released Faulkner and turned as Harris cut viciously at his face with the knife. He warded off the blow with his right arm and was conscious of pain as the knife ripped his sleeve. He caught the small man by his left wrist and with a sudden pull, jerked him across the room to crash against the wall.

As he turned, Butcher struck at him with a heavy rubber cosh, the blow catching him across the left shoulder and almost paralysing his arm. He chopped Butcher across the right forearm with the edge of his hand and the big man cried out in pain and dropped the cosh. Marlowe turned towards the door and Faulkner pushed out a foot and tripped him so that he fell heavily to the floor. Butcher moved in quickly, kicking at his ribs and face. Marlowe rolled away, avoiding most of the blows and scrambled up. Harris was back on his feet, shaking his head in a dazed fashion. He stumbled across the room and stood beside Butcher. For a moment there was a brief pause as the four men stood looking at each other and then Faulkner pulled an automatic out of his inside breast pocket.

Marlowe moved backwards until he faced them from the other side of the bed, the open window behind him. Faulkner appeared to be having