Involuntarily I looked towards the window and the sky. ‘In the jet?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You don’t know where she’s gone?’

‘No, sir.’

‘All right,’ I said. ‘Breakfast in half an hour.’

While splashing in the shower, I wondered why Jill had found it necessary to jump off for points unknown at an unreasonably early hour after her last words had been that she would see me on the morrow. It was fairly certain that she had left Campanilla: not even a millionaire uses a Learjet for local commuting. That would be like going from London to Paris by space rocket.

I used the electric shaver thoughtfully provided, dressed and went in search of breakfast. I had just broken the yolk of a fried egg when John came in with a telephone. ‘You are wanted,’ he said, plugged in the instrument and laid it on the breakfast table.

I picked it up. ‘William Kemp here.’

‘Detective Superintendent Hanna. I understand Mrs Salton is absent from El Cerco.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Have you any idea where she has gone, Mr Kemp?’

‘I haven’t.’

‘I see.’ He paused and I could hear a murmur of voices as he consulted with someone. He spoke again. ‘A man was severely assaulted in San Martin last night. A notebook in his pocket contained your name and a telephone number. The number proved to be Mrs Salton’s, unlisted.’

‘Who is the man?’ I noted that my knuckles had whitened as I gripped the telephone.

‘He appears to be a Mr Owen Ogilvie. Do you know him?’

‘Yes. I’ll be in your office as soon as possible. What’s your address?’

I skipped breakfast that morning. Within three minutes I was on the road to San Martin.

FOUR

I

Detective Superintendent Hanna was a tall, lanky local with a thin face and sleepy eyes. Though the hour was early, his Palm Beach suit was wrinkled and tired. Hanna himself looked exhausted and I suspected he had not been to bed that night. He lit a long cheroot and said, ‘Is Ogilvie a friend of yours?’

‘I suppose I’m his boss.’ I told him what Ogilvie had been doing and why and, as I spoke, I could see that he was becoming increasingly worried. To him, this sounded as though it might be political, and good policemen hate the taint of politics. There are too many abnormal pressures, too much interference from the top and a hell of a lot of thin ice to skate over.

‘Do you know anything about his movements yesterday?’

I ignored the question: I had enough of my own. ‘How is he?’

Hanna drew on his cheroot and inspected the end of it. ‘He was very badly beaten. Some of his ribs are broken and so is his right arm, his skull is fractured and he has many bruises and contusions. He is in hospital.’