“Then let’s begin with his statement. He says there was never more than a thousand pounds in cash in his Bristol safe.”

“He’s a liar.”

“According to Miss Castle’s statement, Mellor withdrew one thousand pounds in cash from the company account every quarter, for his personal use.”

“She’s obviously covering for him.”

“Mellor’s bank, the Nat West in Queen Street, Bristol,” continued Weatherill, “has supplied the police with copies of all his business and personal accounts over the past five years. They confirm that neither he nor the company ever withdrew more than a thousand pounds a quarter in cash.”

“This is a setup,” said Sloane.

“There is one further charge,” said Weatherill. “That you have, for several years, been collaborating with a Mr. Ronald Boyle, a well-known counterfeiter. Mr. Boyle has signed an affidavit in which he alleges that you regularly met him at the King’s Arms, a public house in Soho, where you would exchange one thousand pounds in legal tender for ten thousand pounds in forged notes.”

Sloane smiled for the first time. If only you’d quit while you were ahead, Desmond, you’d have had me banged up for a decade, he said to himself. But you couldn’t resist over-egging the pudding, could you?

*   *   *

Giles was dozing when the badged messenger handed him a slip of paper. He unfolded it, read it and was suddenly wide awake: Please contact the Cabinet Secretary urgently.

Giles couldn’t remember the last time Sir Alan had asked him to call him at No.10, let alone urgently. He didn’t move immediately, honoring the House convention that you don’t leave the chamber during a colleague’s speech. But the moment Lord Barnett had finished explaining his proposed formula for Scotland and resumed his place, Giles slipped out of the chamber and headed for the nearest phone.

“Number Ten Downing Street.”

“Sir Alan Redmayne.”

“Who’s calling please?”

“Giles Barrington.”

The next voice he heard couldn’t be mistaken.

“Giles”—he’d never called him Giles before—“are you able to come across to Number Ten immediately?”

*   *   *

Sloane’s solicitor moved quickly and the police were in no position to turn down his request.

Five other men were selected to take part in the lineup. All of them were roughly the same age as Sloane, and all wore similar City suits, white shirts and striped ties. As Mr. Weatherill pointed out to the investigating officer, if his client really had visited the King’s Arms on several occasions to exchange real notes for counterfeit ones, it shouldn’t be difficult for Mr. Boyle to pick out his accomplice in an identity parade.