Diamond Dust

reconstruction with actors. It's worked in the past.'

'And the best of British.'

'And what about you?' McGarvie said. 'What have you learned?'

'I'm not on the case.'

'Get real, Peter. We know you've been out and about talking to snouts - or is that just a blind?'

He wasn't being provoked into passing on information until he judged the moment right. He'd handle Dixon- Bligh himself.

'If I hear anything, you'll be told.' He almost said, You'll be the first to know. There were limits.

20

No question. Harry looked every inch the aristocrat when, precisely at two, he strode up to the desk at the Dorchester with a porter in tow wheeling in his smart suitcase filled with telephone directories.

'Sir John Mason. I made a reservation. You have my details.'

'Yes, Sir John. One moment.'

Harry glanced through his horn-rimmed frames at the staff behind the desk busy issuing keys and taking phone calls and printing out accounts. No chance of spotting the stoolie who had tipped him off. He'd be somewhere behind the scenes preparing medallions of venison with chestnuts.

'We've got you down for one of the roof garden suites, Sir John.'

'That's what I asked for.'

'Would you care to make a reservation for dinner?'

'Tonight I shall dine out, thank you.' True. Instead of sampling the haute cuisine of his fellow-conspirator he'd be grabbing a bacon sandwich at the airport cafe while he waited for his flight to Cork.

'Very good, sir. And would you care to order a newspaper for tomorrow morning?'

' The Times' An uncollected paper outside the door was better than a 'do not disturb' sign at keeping the staff away.

'Jules will take you to your suite and show you how the key works. Enjoy your stay with us.'

'I intend to.'

He followed Jules to the lift and up to the roof garden level.

'Are you staying long, sir?' Jules asked.

Under an hour, if the Arabs are up to the job, he thought privately. 'Just the week.'

'London has so much to offer this time of year.'

'Let's hope so. Is the hotel busy?'

'Very.'

'Full of wealthy foreigners, I expect.'

'Quite a few visitors, yes.'

He hoped Jules might throw in a mention of the Kuwaiti Royal Family, but you don't get everything you wish for. And they didn't pass any white-robed gentlemen in the walk from the lift to the door of the suite.

He was shown how to use the plastic key and they entered a light, luxurious sitting room with original paintings on the walls. Jules hoisted the suitcase onto a stand and switched on the TV. A message flashed up saying 'Welcome to the Dorchester, Sir John Mason,' and giving a rundown of the facilities. Jules showed how the curtains worked and opened the doors to the bedroom and bathroom. Harry tipped him two pounds.

Alone in the suite, he took out his mobile and called Zahir.

'Yes?'

'Yes.' He gave the name of the suite.

So professional. Nothing more was said. He switched off and put on a pair of polythene gloves he'd thoughtfully brought with him, collected some tissues from the bathroom and busied himself wiping the suitcase to remove any prints of his own. His part in the scam was nearly over, thanks be to Allah. He looked at the time.

The doorbell buzzed. He opened it.

A woman in hotel uniform carrying a bunch of flowers. 'I'm Mary the housekeeper, just checking you have everything you require, Sir John.'

Everything except my dusky friends, he thought. 'I'm quite content, thank you.'

'May I change your flowers?'

He hadn't even noticed the lilies on the coffee table. 'If you're quick. I'm expecting visitors.'

She fussed with the vase and left with yesterday's blooms. Harry looked at his watch again.

Ten more minutes passed. 'Shortly after, Zahir will knock. You will admit him, and Ibrahim, and your job will be over.'