'I was five at the time ' began Dr Grenoy, but neither Botwyk nor Abnekov were to be silenced. As Abnekov hurled himself drunkenly at the Pastor, Botwyk cursed Dr Grenoy for getting out of Vietnam and NATO, not to mention teaming up with a load of Huns in the Common Market. And what about Marshall Aid?'
'Amazing,' Professor Manake observed to Sir Arnold. 'You Europeans never seem to realize how extraordinarily barbaric you are.'
'I wouldn't call myself a European, you know,' said Sir Arnold. 'We're an island race with a seafaring tradition '
But as he spoke, Peregrine, following another English tradition, acted. Firing with all the deadlines Major Fetherington had taught him he put his first bullet through Professor Botwyk's forehead, then shot the lights out and with two more bullets plunged the courtyard into darkness as well. As the screams and shouts of the delegates echoed through the Chateau he dashed for the cover of the gateway tower. There was a little office there and from it he could command a view of the entire terrace and the stableyard where the cars were parked at the back. In short, no one could move out of the buildings without being shot. Best of all, he had the swine trapped in the Chateau and until they released Glodstone he didn't intend to budge.
Three floors above, the Countess felt the same way about budging. From the sound of the shots, the screams and the confusion below, she realized she had been wrong. Dr Grenoy had known what he was talking about. Some hit-man had come looking for her last night and she should have left while the going was good. Right now it was bad. Whipping to the door, she locked it and switched the light out. 'If anyone comes don't utter,' she told Glodstone. 'And wedge that bed against the door.'
For some time they sat on the floor in silence listening for more sounds of trouble and separately wondering how the hell they were going to get out of the mess. 'Must have shot one of the guests,' whispered the Countess finally.
'Guests?' said Glodstone.
'Either them or the think-tank merchants.'
'Think-tank merchants?'
'The futurologists. Though what they know about the future beats me. Still, they pay well. Or did. I can't see this being the world's favourite venue for conferences after tonight.'
Glodstone tended to agree, though he wasn't at all clear what futurologists were. Certainly international gangsters would be inclined to avoid the place.
'What beats me,' continued the Countess, 'is why that goon last night was looking for me and now he's shooting those poor eggheads down there. Unless it's the gendarmes doing the shooting.'
'The gendarmes?' said Glodstone. 'You mean they've had the nerve to call the police in?'
'You don't seriously imagine an international gathering of some of the world's most eminent intellectuals are going to sit on their fannies when there's a contract killer on the loose? It's a miracle we haven't got the United States Marines on call, the way that Professor Botwyk was carrying on this morning. Wanted to phone the Embassy.'
'The Embassy?'
In the darkness the Countess looked at him suspiciously. 'Do you always repeat everything anyone says to you?' she asked.
'No, but...Well, you wouldn't think men like that would have the nerve to ask for government protection.'
'I can't think why not.'
Glodstone could, but in the present circumstances it didn't seem advisable to say so. On the other hand he had the increasing feeling that there had been some terrible mistake and for a moment he began to wonder if they'd come to the wrong Chateau, before remembering that this woman
