The man in the bedroom was taller than Pucelli, heavier, but quiet in his movements, deft and sure as he opened Craig's suitcase. Craig spoke softly in French.
'Stay still,' he said, 'or I'll kill you.'
The man obeyed for a moment. Then, as Craig moved a step nearer, he swirled around like a great fish and charged at him, his hand clawing for the gun. Craig struck down with the gun barrel, but the man's grasping hand deflected his aim and he struck him on the shoulder. He gasped with pain but came in again, with knees and fists and feet; then his arms came around Craig, trying to pinion him. Craig's gun arm was pinned to his side, but his left hand was free, and he struck with its edge at the big man's neck. This time the man groaned aloud, and the pressure of his arms slackened; Craig struck again, slipped free, and hit the big man under the heart, then once again on the neck with a tremendous judo chop. He fell over the bed, and Craig went through his pockets, then put the money back in the suitcase, stuffed some clothes of Tessa's and his own into another case. The big man was breathing in great snoring gasps, but Craig ignored him. As he left, he put the safety lock on the door.
Once again he went down to the service entrance, and waited there till Pucelli left the Fiat and walked over to the building. Craig took a taxi to Hakagawa's house then. When Tessa came, he told her nothing, except that she must stay indoors until he returned, and that she would be perfectly safe with Hak. From there, he went to the British Museum and looked up the Glasgow University Directory. There were plenty of McLarens, and seven Ian McLarens, but only one was a thirty-nine-year-old philosophy graduate. Craig wrote down the Chelsea address and took the tube to Kensington High Street.
In the Brewers' Arms he drank bitter and ate cold roast beef and salad. Grierson was late, but as soon as he came in, a barmaid fluttered up to him like a homing pigeon.
'You're late,' said Craig.
'Business, I assure you,' answered Grierson, and Craig went on eating.
'Look,' said Grierson. 'As long as we're together, would you mind cutting out this silent man of action stuff? Not that I can stop you being rude, but it makes me angry, and that's bad for both of us.'
Craig looked at him; a big man, lean, sure in his movements; hard, bloody hard under that easy manner.
'Would you like to see my teeth too?' asked Grierson.
'Is that why you've been looking for me?'
'All right. You're tough. I admit it. Now can we please get down to business?'
'Maybe. There's something I've got to know first. Are you going to take me in?'
'My dear chap, whatever gave you that idea?'
'Don't.'
'Oh shut up and listen.'
But the barmaid came back then, and asked which of them was Mr. Grierson, and ushered him to a phone booth.
Craig went on eating for a while, then looked around. He and Grierson were sitting at the counter, the only customers there. Most of the tables behind them were empty, and in any case there was a mirror behind the bar. Looking into it, Craig could see exactly what was happening. Tessa had told him about that too. That was why he had chosen the pub; the food was terrible. Craig ordered another bitter, and the barmaid looked at Grier-son's half- finished lunch.
'He's been gone a long time, hasn't he?' she asked.
'Yes.'
'Smashin' lookin' feller, isn't he?' 'On the films,' said Craig. 'He has to look like that. Can't help it. It's his job.'
'Go on,' said the barmaid. 'What's his name?'
'Stark Wilde.'
The barmaid looked sad.
'Never heard of him,' she said.
'You will, love. Real star quality that boy's got.'
'Fancy. Are you in pictures too?'
'Casting.'
'I thought you might be one of them villains,' said the barmaid. Craig grinned in the rich brown of his beard, and the barmaid suffered a delicious terror.
'I might be, love, if you don't leave us alone. It's
Stark's big chance if I think he's right for the part.'
Grierson came back, looking worried, and the barmaid brought him more beer.
'You listen to what the gentleman tells you,' she said.
Grierson nodded and smiled, unheeding, and she went to the other end of the bar, ready to snap at anyone who might interrupt the progress of the British screen.
'I've got bad news,' said Grierson.
'No novelty,' Craig said.
'For God's sake, stop it. That girl friend of yours-.her flat-'
'What about it?'
'There was a bomb inside. It went off.' Craig drank bitter. 'They've found a body.' Craig wiped his hps. 'Well?'
'Well what?' Craig asked.
'Your girl-'
'She's out,' said Craig. 'Away. Staying with friends. The body's name's Cadella. Jean-Marie Cadella. Six feet two, I should think, and fourteen stone. Scar on right temple. He was with a man called Carlo Pucelli. Pucelli must have got away. Pity.'
'You're sure?' asked Grierson.
'I found Cadella in the flat,' said Craig. 'Pucelli waited outside in the car. I'd seen him before. It wouldn't do me any good if I forgot what he looked like.'
'Did you know he'd planted a bomb?'
Craig shrugged.
'I knew it was possible. I didn't wait to find out.' He drank more bitter. 'What do we do now?'
'I want you to come and meet somebody,' said Grierson.
'Your boss?' Grierson nodded. 'Is he the one who's going to help me?' 'Yes,' said Grierson.
'All right,' Craig said. 'But he'll have to do better than he's done so far.'
In Queen Anne's Gate, Loomis waited, sipping more of his terrifying coffee, while Grierson introduced Craig. Then Loomis did an unprecedented thing. He stood up, shook hands with Craig, and offered him a cigar, and scowled only slightly when Craig took it. Grierson thought Loomis must want Craig very badly. Craig thought so too, as he looked around the first-floor room with its superb stucco ceiling, sash windows, Chippendale desk, and overstuffed armchairs covered in flowered chintz. Grierson brought him coffee and he sank back at his ease. Whatever was going on, he'd been brought to the top man. Somewhere in all this there might be a deal for Tessa. He enjoyed his cigar as Grierson told Loomis about the body in Tessa's flat.
'You can prove this?' Loomis asked.
Craig handed over the wallet, gun, and traveler's checks he'd taken from Cadella, and Loomis pawed them happily.
'I've had a man looking at the ruins,' he said. 'They got a bit too fancy this time. The bomb was under the bed. It had some sort of time detonator on it. Set to go off at three this morning. They thought you might as well die happy. Trouble was, they didn't set it right.'
'They shouldn't have set it at all.' said Craig. 'Your boy scouts need a bit more woodcraft.'
Loomis quelled Grierson's objections with an imperious flipper. 'You're not being altogether fair,' he said. 'That clown disguised as Third Secretary to the Ministry of Dither and Footle wasn't one of ours. We had him on loan from-er-elsewhere.'
Even now, Loomis thought, Linton would be wreaking terrible vengeance, and there'd be more when he heard about the Corsicans.
'We're very short-handed, do you see,' he said.
'You must be,' said Craig.
