“It was good of you to come in at such short notice, Mr. Sloane,” said Chief Inspector Stokes. “When a policeman visits someone like you in their office, it can lead to unnecessary gossip among the staff.”

“I can assure you, chief inspector, that I have nothing to hide from anyone, including my staff,” said Sloane as he sat down, leaving the policeman standing. Sloane stared at the large Grundig tape recorder on the table between them. His mind began working overtime as he tried to anticipate what might be on the tape.

“I wasn’t suggesting that you have anything to hide,” said Stokes, sitting down opposite Sloane. “But you may be able to help me by answering one or two questions concerning a case I’m currently working on.”

Sloane clenched his fists below the table, but didn’t respond.

“Perhaps you’d be kind enough to listen to this tape, sir.” Stokes leaned forward and pressed the Play button on the tape recorder.

“Customs office, Heathrow.”

“Put me through to the senior customs officer.”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“No, you may not.”

“I’ll see if he’s available.” There was a pause before another voice was heard. “SCO Collier. How can I help you?”

“If you’re interested, I can tell you about some drugs that a passenger will be trying to smuggle in today.”

“Yes, I’m interested. But first, would you tell me your name?”

“The passenger’s name is Hakim Bishara. He’s well known in the trade, and is traveling on flight 207 from Lagos. He has thirteen ounces of heroin in his overnight bag.”

Sloane remained silent after the tape had come to an end. The chief inspector removed the spool and replaced it with another one. Once again he pressed the Play button. Once again he said nothing.

“Is this Adrian Sloane?”

“Depends who’s asking.”

“Chief Inspector Mike Stokes. I’m attached to the drug squad at Scotland Yard.”

“How can I help you, Mr. Stokes?”

“I’d like to make an appointment to see you, sir.”

“Why?”

“I can’t discuss the matter over the phone, sir. Either I could come to you, or you could visit me at Scotland Yard, whichever is more convenient.”

“I’ll come to you.”

Sloane shrugged his shoulders.

“I’ve had both those tapes analyzed by an American voice specialist,” said Stokes, “and he’s confirmed that not only were they made by the same person, but from the same telephone.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Are you sure?” asked the interrogator, his eyes never leaving Sloane.

“Yes, I am, because the telephone call to the customs officer lasted less than three minutes, and is therefore untraceable.”

“How could you possibly know that, Mr. Sloane, if it wasn’t you who made the call?”

“Because I attended every day of Hakim Bishara’s trial and heard all the evidence firsthand.”