‘Especially if we used someone else’s car and dumped it later. There’s one thing, though. Who else saw him come in?’

‘Only Jango,’ Donner said. ‘Luckily it was the staff break before the main floor show. They were all in the kitchen. He kept Brady talking at the bottom of the stairs and buzzed for me.’ He hesitated. ‘There’s always Garvald.’

‘We’ll see to him later. First, we’ve got to get rid of our friend here. We’ll take him up the alley between us to Stank’s Yard, then you go and pick up a car and don’t waste any time.’

The alley was deserted and they moved through the darkness, Brady’s limp body a dead weight between them. Stank’s Yard was at the far end near the main road and the door to it from the alley was never kept locked.

It was a dark well of a place between tall warehouses due for demolition. Much used by scrap merchants, it was choked with the accumulated junk of the years. Wide gates giving access to a narrow lane leading into the main road stood permanently open.

Manton leaned against the wall, trying to shelter from the driving rain, a cigarette cupped in one hand. Strangely enough, he wasn’t afraid. Excited, if anything. In a strange way it was as if he were living again for the first time in years and he grinned ruefully. Now that would have given Ben Garvald a laugh if you like.

Someone entered the alley behind him from the main road and moved quickly along the uneven flagstones, footsteps echoing between the high brick walls. Manton stood back and waited. A moment later, Jango passed the doorway, his face clear in the dim light of the gas lamp which hung at the entrance to the alley.

Manton called softly to him and Jango turned and came hurrying back. He peered cautiously through the darkness. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Brady died on us. We’ve got to get rid of him. I’m waiting for Donner to show up with a car.’

The Cypriot’s breath whistled between his teeth. ‘That isn’t so good, Mr Manton. I’m not so sure I like to be mixed up in a killing.’

‘You’re in it up to your neck whether you like it or not,’ Manton told him brutally. ‘Unless you’d like me to remind someone about all that killing you did for EOKA. Now cut out the double talk and tell me about Garvald.’

‘He’s staying at a place called the Regent Hotel in Gloyne Street. It’s no more than five minutes’ walk from here. A fleapit. They don’t even have a night porter on duty, just a chambermaid.’

‘Did you speak to her?’