The assassin had always liked St James’s Park. It was the oldest of London’s royal parks with a large acreage and a spectacular display of trees, flowers, shrubs, lawns and arbours. At that time on a Sunday afternoon, many people had flocked there to enjoy a stroll, trot on their horses or simply ride by in their open carriages to admire the view and be, in turn, admired. It was a place that held no danger for the assassin. Had there been a plan to betray him, he felt, he’d have been asked to meet after the city had been shrouded in darkness. As he watched the dandies and their ladies disporting themselves in the saddle or in their carriages, he promised that he would be doing the same when he reached Paris. Here he was just another pedestrian. When he got to France, he’d ride along the boulevards of the capital on a thoroughbred horse.

At that moment, another horse claimed his attention. He first caught sight of it out of the corner of his eye, cantering towards him from behind, then slowing to a leisurely trot. When it went past, it was only a matter of yards away, close enough for him to recognise the rider and to notice the black silk bag that hung from the pommel of his saddle by its tassels. By patting it, the rider confirmed what the man had hoped. The bag contained the final payment for services rendered. The assassin was thrilled. Paris suddenly seemed a great deal closer.

It was too public a place for the exchange, so the horseman cantered on to a stand of trees and disappeared from sight. He would be waiting near the fountain he’d designated. Heart pounding and stride lengthening, the assassin moved swiftly across the grass. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on his money. But his haste turned out to be a mistake because – when he’d almost reached the trees – his toe was caught in a clump of grass and he stumbled badly. The lurch forward saved his life. Out of nowhere a shot was fired so close to his head that he heard it whistle past his ear and end up in the trunk of an elm. He was on the defensive at once, seeking cover and pulling out a pistol from inside his coat. There was no silk bag stuffed with money. He’d been lured into a trap.

Having been hired to hunt someone, he was now the prey.

Captain Golightly was very impressed by what he’d been told. He congratulated Paul on the way in which he’d gathered a vital piece of information and thanked him for calling at the house to explain how he’d done it.