Not really. Hepton felt that he had failed badly. But at least the mood in this office had alerted him to the fact that something was going on out in the States. Perhaps Dreyfuss was in danger from the rednecks who had nicknamed him ‘Jonah’ after the crash. Perhaps, though, there was another kind of danger altogether. On the other hand, he had walked into the lion’s den, and here he was walking out again. He decided to classify this fact a minor victory.

‘Thank you,’ he said, following Sanders out of the door.

As soon as Hepton had gone, Villiers took a fountain pen from his pocket and scribbled down a brief summary of the meeting. Then he amended the information about Hepton and Miss Watson on the typed sheet of paper, initialled the summary and slipped it into the Dreyfuss file. From the top drawer of his desk, he took out another folder. This one was unlabelled, and into it he slipped the single typed sheet to which he had been referring throughout the meeting. This was the file on Martin Hepton.

He locked his drawer and picked up one of the two telephones on his desk, punching in three digits.

‘Sanders is seeing someone to the front door,’ he said in a monotone. ‘Have them followed. But keep it low-key. A one-man job, if you can.’ He listened for a moment. ‘No, no forms to fill in on this one. I want it kept strictly off the books.’ He listened again, his cheekbones showing red with suppressed anger. ‘Yes, I know,’ he hissed. ‘I’ll assume full responsibility, just bloody well do it!’ Then he slammed down the receiver and stared at it, thinking hard. Hepton wanted to speak to Major Dreyfuss. If he did so in Villiers’ presence, then Villiers would find out all he needed about what both men knew. So why keep two old acquaintances apart? He picked up the other receiver.

‘Sarah?’ he said. ‘Put through a call to Washington, will you? I want to speak to Johnnie Gilchrist.’

17

The city was swarming, and there was no shade to be found. Hepton tried to keep to the backstreets, the narrower passages that neither sun nor tourists could penetrate. The tourists were predominantly European and Japanese. The Americans were staying closer to home this summer. He went into a café for a cold drink, but found the heat indoors unbearable, so came away thirsty. The man who had been a dozen paces behind him walking in was still a dozen paces behind him when he walked out. Hepton smiled.

Where was he heading? In all honesty, he did not know. He stepped into a few shops, browsed, then came out again empty-handed. He crossed the expanse of Green Park with the man still behind him, and in Piccadilly he visited two large stores, taking lifts up, stairs down and back-door exits where possible.