I wrenched my thoughts away from Gelignite and onto more mundane matters, such as remaining alive, at least for long enough to complete my exploration of her mental and physical erotic treasure-chest. One week ago an Arab had tried to murder me. He had failed, but he had escaped, and it was possible he might try again. The taxi had been stolen the day before and had false plates. There was more than a little evidence to suggest that he was not just a lone crackpot with a grudge against people who travelled in taxis. But there was no evidence yet to suggest exactly who he was. He was probably a Libyan hit man, flown over for the one job, chosen because there were no records on him in England. I didn’t know either, what his purpose in trying to kill me had been. Possibly it was to silence me in case I had picked up any information from Ahmed in the Royal Lancaster lavatory, but if that was the case, they had left it a long time. Possibly, it was to avenge the deaths of the four Libyans. The third possibility was that it may have been to get me off Whalley’s back. That was the possibility I most feared, for it would have meant Whalley knew he was being followed, and would therefore do nothing except waste our time. But I didn’t think whoever it was could be so naive as to think that if they got rid of me everyone would leave Whalley alone.

Possibly it was someone settling an old score. In this game, we never know when we are making enemies, nor, often, who our enemies are.

There were too many possibilities and not enough clues. I would have to wait until whoever it was tried again, and endeavour not to break his neck before he talked.