‘Someone tried to kill me back there,’ commented Hepton, seeking a reaction. Sanders raised an eyebrow, nothing more. Hepton decided to try another tack. ‘I lost your first tail, though, didn’t I?’

‘First tail?’ Sanders seemed genuinely puzzled. Hepton beamed. He’d been right: Villiers was using the department for his own ends, without everyone knowing about it. Sanders, for one, didn’t seem to be aware of the tail. He would bear that in mind.

‘I’d still like to know where we’re going,’ he persisted.

‘There’s an old friend who wants to speak to you,’ Sanders answered, his irritation showing.

‘Who? Villiers?’

‘Mr Villiers, yes. Indirectly. But someone else.’

‘Who?’ Jilly asked, wondering herself now; the mention of Villiers bringing with it a renewed sense of menace.

‘A Major Michael Dreyfuss,’ said Sanders, sliding into the driver’s seat. ‘Now come on …’

22

George Villiers was frowning when they arrived at his office. One hand rested on the telephone in a manner suggesting his frown had something to do with a recent call. He looked up as Hepton and Jilly entered. Sanders stayed outside, closing the door on them. The evening light was a deepening orange, casting long shadows in the room and creating a nimbus around Villiers’ head.

‘You really have caused us a great deal of trouble,’ he stated. ‘God knows whether we can keep it out of tomorrow’s papers.’

‘Blame your henchmen,’ said Jilly, sitting down without being asked. She had regained her composure during the drive to Whitehall. Indeed, having realised that she was about to get away with breaking every traffic regulation in the book, she was on something of a high. She crossed her legs and folded her arms. ‘They were like maniacs,’ she explained, studying Villiers. ‘Martin’s life is in danger, and then they came racing after us. What were we supposed to do?’

Villiers’ face showed no emotion. He turned to Hepton, who was about to sit down.

‘Is your life in danger, Mr Hepton?’

‘Oh yes,’ Hepton said quietly.

Villiers appeared to ponder this, then picked up his telephone and waited.

‘A pot of tea,’ he ordered when the line was picked up. Then he replaced the receiver.

‘What’s this about Mickey?’ Jilly asked.

‘Mickey?’

‘Major Dreyfuss,’ Hepton explained.

‘Ah.’ Villiers paused. ‘Sanders told you then.’

‘He wouldn’t say anything other than that.’ Jilly was up on her feet again. She was nervy still; that much was more than obvious. Hepton hoped she could keep in control. It was a kind of madness to have come here, and yet it felt like the right course of action. The questions still needed answering, and who better than Villiers to do it?