Villiers had stopped struggling. Hepton relaxed a little, then remembered the man’s Marine training. A heel crushed down onto the toes of his left foot, and he gasped. Then two hands chopped into his ribs. Villiers crooked his index fingers and pressed hard against them with his thumbs. He jabbed the second knuckle of each rigid forefinger into Hepton’s neck. Hepton’s grip on him fell away. But when Villiers made to push him aside, Hepton clutched at him again, and the two men fell sprawling to the floor.

Jilly was shouting into the receiver. ‘It’s Villiers! He’s trying to kill Martin! It’s George Villiers!’ She wasn’t calling for help; she was just letting the facts be known.

Villiers, hearing her words, let out a growl. His hands went to Hepton’s throat again. Hepton drew back a fist and punched him deep in his stomach. Villiers had been Royal Marines, yes, but not for some years, years spent behind a desk. His gut was soft, and the blow winded him, giving Hepton time to climb back to his feet. He swung a foot at Villiers’ head, but Villiers’ reactions were still fast. He dodged the swing and grabbed Hepton’s leg, tugging him off balance and down onto the floor again, clambering atop him.

The older, heavier man’s weight was enough to pin Hepton down. A hand scrabbled at the desktop and came away again clutching a paperknife. Too late, Hepton remembered the kitchen knife in his own pocket. He caught Villiers’ wrist, but Villiers had found new strength. The knife pushed downwards against Hepton’s resistance. Villiers was smiling now, a look of tranquillity on his face. Close combat was his true calling; killing was his destiny …

The office door opened and Sanders looked in. His mouth fell open at the sight of his superior kneeling on top of Hepton with a knife poised above his throat.

‘Christ almighty!’ he gasped.

He loped towards the two men, and as Hepton watched, he seemed to turn his body sideways, raising one leg. The leg flexed, shot out, and a well-shod foot slapped into Villiers’ jaw, cracking his head to one side and throwing him off Hepton. Hepton scrambled to his knees, but Villiers was already on his feet. He seemed to take in the whole situation – Hepton, Sanders, Jilly still talking on the telephone – at a single glance, and started for the door.

‘Sir …’ Sanders laid a restraining hand on his shoulder, but Villiers pushed him aside and ran out.

‘Get after him,’ Hepton ordered.

‘What?’

‘You saw him. He was going to cut my fucking head off. Get after him!’

Sanders hesitated, then crossed to the other telephone, dialled two digits and spoke.