‘I don’t really know, Al.’ She brightened and added, ‘But everyone just loved your eulogy!’

‘I know we’ve not met until this week,’ Haut said, ‘but I’ve spoken to you many times during the five years I’ve been dealing with William. What’s going on?’

‘I can’t answer that.’

‘Can’t or won’t?’

‘Now that William has gone,’ she said, her voice shaky, ‘God rest his soul, the brothers have other agendas. They’re going to invest in other things.’

‘William’s soul is not resting,’ Haut said, ‘not now.’

Shelley looked startled.

‘I’m in touch with him,’ Haut said, ‘he has not gone over yet.’

Shelley stood and said, ‘I really must be going.’

‘Can you send my models of the elements to me? They’re in William’s office.’

‘Those doughnut-shaped things William called the holy grail of science?’

‘That’s them,’ Haut said, standing.

‘They’re cute, but I never understood what they stood for.’

‘The models unify everything: the elements, sound, colour, positive and negative charges, valency, paramagnetism, biomagnetism …’

Shelley’s eyes glazed over. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said, walking towards the front door. ‘But all his property is owned by Mrs Donnelly and his brothers.’

‘Not those models!’ Haut said. ‘Send them to me at the Roosevelt.’

Haut glanced around and noticed a bald man in a grey suit and bland tie. He was a few metres from him. Their eyes met. The man’s pupils were dead. Haut, from long experience, recognised the look. This grim-looking fellow was there to assassinate him.

He walked up to the bar to buy another drink and noticed the man circling closer. He could sense he was a few metres behind him. The barman took Haut’s order. He moved in front of a mirror behind the bar and could see his stalker. Haut pretended to gather the drink, but left it on the counter as he noticed his phone flashing a message. It was from Cavalier. Haut phoned him and, keeping his voice calm, while smiling, told him of his predicament.

‘Leave there fast,’ Cavalier said. ‘Head for the Flatiron building at Fifth Avenue and Broadway on Twenty-third Street.’

‘Why there?’

‘It has plenty of security guards.’

Haut dashed for the door. Something told him to run left—left! He lifted his knees high as he dashed along 23rd Street for several blocks. He looked back. The stalker was less than forty metres behind. Haut dashed for the triangular-shaped Flatiron building. He scurried inside and startled five security guards who were taking up a night shift from five others.

‘I’m being chased by a killer!’ Haut said. He turned and pointed. The man was already pushing his way through the revolving doors. ‘That’s him!’ The stalker was holding a handgun. He was confronted by all ten guards, who drew their weapons.

‘Drop it!’ one of the guards yelled. ‘Now!’