“Simon Garr, your old acquaintance from Dartmouth, lives at number 3. He will leave the house in about twenty minutes for a lunch date elsewhere. You will wait for him on the bench across the street, near the house. When you see him, you will confront him as he looks for a cab and shoot him twice in the head. Do you understand these instructions?”

Roger turned and looked at him.

“Don’t look at me!” Alex ordered. “Tell me you understand what you are to do.”

Roger thought about it for a moment, then sagged. “I understand.”

“A taxi will appear, with its light off. You will get into the taxi, which will drive you to Sloane Square. You will walk to your new apartment from there. Are all of your instructions clear?”

“Yes.”

“Before you leave this bench, screw the silencer into the barrel of your pistol.” Alex placed a tweed hat and a pair of sunglasses on the bench between them. “Wear these,” he said. “Leave them in the taxi when you get out. There will be no need to pay the driver.”

“I understand.”

Alex got up and left.

Roger pretended to read his paper for another fifteen minutes, then got up, donned the tweed cap and the sunglasses, crossed the street, and walked to the bench near the end of Simon Garr’s street. He sat down and tried to work up some of his old hatred for Garr. It wasn’t hard; he had harbored it for thirty years. He removed the pistol and silencer from his shoulder holster and screwed them together under the newspaper in his lap, then he waited, not looking at Garr’s house.

He heard the door open and close, then get locked, before he allowed his eyes to drift in that direction without turning his head. A moment later, a tall man in a raincoat and hat walked into his field of vision. It was Simon Garr, no mistake.

Roger rose, crossed the street, and walked toward Garr from behind, the pistol concealed in his folded newspaper. Garr stopped and looked both ways for a cab. Roger approached him and at the last moment Garr caught sight of him and turned. “Roger?” he said.

Roger lifted the pistol and fired, striking Garr over his left eyebrow. Garr collapsed, and Roger walked two steps and fired another shot into his head.

He looked up and saw a cab coming, its light out. It stopped, and Roger got inside, saying nothing. He unscrewed the silencer and returned that and his pistol to the shoulder holster. The cab drove away, made a number of turns, apparently to shake any possible follower, then drove across London to Sloane Square, stopping in front of the Peter Jones department store.