He set to work, and even found a tray to put everything on before climbing the stairs. Outside Jilly’s room he paused, wondering whether it was necessary to knock. It wasn’t. The door opened suddenly from inside, and there stood Jilly, already dressed and looking fit and well. There were no signs of the night before, other than dark patches beneath her eyes.

‘Good morning,’ she said, opening the door wide to let him in. ‘Is that for me?’

She sat on the edge of the bed and accepted the tray, draining the glass of orange juice before starting on the food.

‘Aren’t you having any?’ she asked, chewing on a triangle of toast.

‘Not hungry,’ Hepton said. He sat on the padded stool beside the dressing table. Then he noticed that her hair, though drying, was wet. ‘How long have you been awake?’ he asked.

‘Not long,’ she answered. ‘I heard you in the bathroom, so I got up and took a shower.’

Yes, he had forgotten she was in the room with the en suite. ‘So how are you feeling?’

‘My head’s a bit groggy. I suppose I drank too much. But then we didn’t have anything to eat last night, did we?’

‘No, we didn’t,’ said Hepton, recalling that this was true. Neither of them had professed much of an appetite after the events of the afternoon.

Suddenly he heard a noise on the staircase, feet moving upstairs. He turned his head towards the open doorway just as Sanders appeared there. If anything, the young man was more smartly dressed than ever. He wore a stiff-looking pinstripe suit, with polished black shoes, white shirt and plum-coloured silk tie. Hepton wondered if perhaps he had been promoted overnight.

‘Ah, good,’ Sanders said. ‘You’ve eaten.’ This was plainly not true: Jilly had not yet touched the plate of bacon and egg. ‘Sorry to rush you,’ he continued, ‘but there’s a meeting in forty minutes at HQ. They’d like you to be there.’

‘Who would?’ Jilly asked through a mouthful of toast.

‘Wait and see,’ said Sanders, obviously flustered. ‘Now come on, will you, please. The traffic’s diabolical out there.’

They headed back towards the West End, Sanders driving with even less grace than usual. Hepton asked about George Villiers.

‘We’ve scoured the FO building. No trace of him. There are guards outside his flat, but he hasn’t been back there either. He does own a house somewhere in Scotland, but I think it unlikely he’d go there, although we’re keeping an eye on it. No, he’s vanished. But don’t worry. If he pops his head up from the trenches, we’ll have him.’ He grinned at them.

Jilly gripped the back of the passenger seat and pulled herself forward. Sanders flinched instinctively.

‘This is serious, you imbecile,’ she said.