He waited for confirmation. John nodded dumbly. ‘So,’ Max went on, ‘I requested Mr Blenkiron to settle our outstanding account, and made plane reservations. He has not my experience; I fear the unfortunate man doesn’t realize that there will be a reception party waiting for that boat to dock.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I really must be off. Oh, do forgive me, Dr Bliss. No doubt Mr Tregarth would find it easier to release you if I returned his pocket knife.’

John had recovered enough to catch the knife, though his movements lacked their usual smoothness. ‘Thank you. I trust there won’t be any – onus – misdirected at me either?’

‘Only insofar as my employers are concerned.’ John started to protest and Max went on smoothly, ‘You must realize that I can’t accept the responsibility without incurring a reprimand, at the very least. I take pride in my record and don’t want to see it blemished. You are at liberty to tell the police whatever you choose. You needn’t worry about retribution; from a financial viewpoint this affair has been a success for us and we haven’t time to waste on personal grudges. We won’t bother you if you stay out of our way.’

‘That, I assure you, is my greatest ambition,’ John said. He had cut the ropes around my ankles. Now he moved behind me and freed my arms. I just sat there. Joining in that conversation would have strained even my gift of repartee.

‘And mine,’ Max said. ‘I don’t like you, Mr Tregarth. I hope never to see you again. Goodbye. Goodbye, Dr Bliss.’

‘Goodbye, Max,’ I said. ‘I can’t bring myself to thank you, but . . .’

‘You owe me nothing.’ He hesitated briefly, and then an odd little smile stretched his thin mouth. ‘I wish you good luck. If you gain what you clearly desire, you will need it.’

I sort of hoped that maybe, once we were alone, my hero, the man who had risked all to save me, would sweep me into his arms and hold me close, murmuring broken endearments the way they do in romantic novels. John just stood there string blank-faced at the closed door. So I got up all by myself. My legs seemed to be working all right, and I thought I was in full possession of my senses until I realized I was heading blindly for the balcony.

John caught my arm. ‘No, Vicky.’

‘She could be – ’

‘No.’

He touched my cheek. I had forgotten about the cut until his fingertip traced a line from my cheekbone to my jaw. I don’t know who moved first. His arms went around me with bruising strength, but he was shaking from head to foot and he didn’t resist when I guided his head onto my shoulder.