multinationals. Didn't Charlie say anything about this?'
'Not a word.'
'I see.' I sipped my scotch. 'This is a surprising development but it's not what I came to see you about. Remember what we were doing just before I left?'
He nodded. 'Looking for a half-wit called Billson.'
'Well, I found him, and that led to other things. I want you to re-open the account of Michelmore, Veasey and Templeton, but do it quietly. Don't open a formal file, and keep all details locked away from prying eyes.'
'Same as before?'
'Exactly the same as before. No one sees it – especially not Charlie or Brinton. Now, this is what I want you to do.' As I reeled off my requirements Jack's eyes got bigger. I ended up by saying, 'Oh yes; and that analytical chemist must be a forensic type, able to go on to the stand in court as an expert witness.'
He looked up from the notebook in which he was scribbling. 'Quite a packet.'
'Yes. Now, don't worry about what's happening to the firm. Leave that in my hands and I'll sort it out. Carry on as usual. One more thing, Jack; I'm not in England. You haven't seen me tonight I'll arrive at the office unexpectedly one day. Okay?'
He grinned. 'Catching them in the act?'
'Something like that.'
I went away leaving Jack a great deal less troubled in the mind than when I'd arrived. I gave the driver Alix Aarvik's address in Kensington and sat back wandering how that pair of cheapjack bastards thought they could get away with it. It was very puzzling because I was the majority shareholder.
Alix Aarvik was in and pleased to see me. As she ushered me in to the living-room she said, 'Oh, you've hurt yourself.'
'Not irrevocably. Have you been keeping well?'
'I'm all right. Would you like coffee?'
'Thank you.'
She was busily domestic for a few minutes, then she said, 'I like your beard – it suits you.' She suddenly blushed because she'd said something personal to a comparative stranger.
'Thank you. I might keep it on that recommendation.' I paused, 'Miss Aarvik, I've found your brother.' I raised my hand. 'He's quite well and undamaged and he's back in England.'
She sat down with a bump. 'Oh, thank God!'
'Rather thank a man called Byrne; he got Paul out of most of the holes he got himself into. Paul will tell you about it.'
'Where was he?'
I thought of Koudia and Atakor and the Tassili. 'In North Africa. He found his father, Miss Aarvik.' Her hand flew to her mouth. 'I suppose the story will be breaking in the newspapers quite soon. A complete vindication, making nonsense of all the malicious speculation.'
'0h, I'm so glad!' she said. 'But where is Paul now?'
I wondered whether or not to take her into my confidence. She was much more level-headed than Paul, but in the end I decided against it. The truth, if and when it came out, would be so explosive that the fewer in the know the better, and there must be no possible way of Paul getting to know it.
I said carefully, 'Newspapermen in a hurry can be highly inaccurate. We'll be holding a press conference in a few days' time and Paul and I are honing our statements – making sure they're just right. I'd rather he wasn't disturbed until then.'
She nodded understandingly. 'Yes,' she said. 'I know Paul. That would be better.'
'You may find that Paul has changed,' I said. 'He's different.'
'How?'
I shrugged. 'I think you'll find that he's a better man than he was.'
She thought about that for a moment but couldn't make anything of it. 'Were you with Paul when you found… the body?'
'Yes, and so was Byrne. We helped Paul bury it.' I neglected to say that we'd helped him twice.
'Who is Byrne?'
I smiled. 'A difficult man to describe. You could call him a white Targui, except that a lot of Tuareg are as white as we are. He says he used to be an American. A very fine man. Your brother owes him a lot.'
'And you, too.'
I changed the subject. 'Are you still with Andrew McGovern as his secretary?'
'Yes.'
'I'd like you to do me a favour. I'd like to meet him.'
'That can be arranged,' she said.
'But not very easily the way I want to do it. I want to meet him not at his office, and without him knowing who I am. This is a matter of some discretion, an assignment on behalf of a client.'
'That will be difficult,' she said, and fell into thought. 'His lunches are usually business affairs. Can't you see him at his home?'
'I'd rather not. I prefer not to take business into people's homes.' Considering that I'd just busted in on Jack Ellis and here I was in Alix Aarvik's flat that was a non-starter, but she didn't notice.
'He has no lunch appointments for the day after tomorrow,' she said. 'On those occasions he hardly eats at all and, if it's fine, he nearly always takes a walk in the gardens of Lincoln's Inn. If it's not raining he'll probably be there. Would you know him if you saw him?'
'Oh yes.'
She spread her hands. Then, there you are.'
I made leave-taking motions, and she said, 'When will I be seeing Paul?'
'Oh, not long. A week, perhaps; not more than ten days.' I thought that if I didn't get what I wanted within ten days I probably wouldn't get it at all.
I didn't leave all the work to Ellis. For instance, I spent an interesting morning in the Public Records Office, and on my way to see McGovern I called in at Hatchard's and browsed through the current edition of Whitaker's Almanack- Although it told me what I wanted to know I bought it anyway as part of the dossier.
Eight days later I had all I needed. I primed Ellis to let me know the next time Lord Brinton visited the office, then sat waiting by the telephone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
I pressed the button in the lift and ascended to the floor which held the offices of Stafford Security Consultants Ltd. The girl travelling up with me was one of our junior typists; probably somebody had sent her out to buy a packet of cigarettes or a bar of chocolate or something illicit like that. She looked at me and turned away, then looked at me again as though I were someone she ought to recognize. It was the beard that did it.
I stepped into the familiar hallway, walked into Reception and straight on through towards my own office. Barbara the receptionist said, hastily, 'Here, you can't…'
I turned and grinned at her. 'Don't you recognize your own boss?'
I carried on, hearing, 'Oh, Mr Stafford!' I went into my office and found Joyce hammering a typewriter. 'Hi, Joyce; is Mr Ellis in?'
'You've hurt your arm.'
'And gone all hairy. I know. Is he in?'
'Yes.'
I walked in on Ellis. 'Morning, Jack. Got the rest of the bits and pieces?'
'Yes.' He unlocked the drawer of his desk. 'The chemist's report and the marriage certificate. It was 1937, not '36.'
I nodded. There'd be a mourning period, of course.'
'What's this all about, Max?'
