He had risen from his chair with that in mind when a figure appeared at his table from inside the café: a tall, broad-shouldered, middle-aged man in a dark suit and an elegant bottle-green overcoat. He was lantern-jawed and sharp-nosed, with grey quiffed hair and pale blue eyes, sparkling behind gold-framed spectacles. He stood, decisively it seemed, in Eusden’s path.

‘Excuse me,’ he said in a clipped Mitteleuropa accent. ‘You are Richard Eusden?’

‘Yes.’

‘May I join you?’ He set the cup of coffee he was carrying down on the table and extended a hand. ‘I am Werner Straub.’ The edges of his mouth curled in the faintest of smiles. ‘A friend of Marty.’

‘Really?’

They shook. Straub’s grip was hard and cold.

‘Yes. Shall we sit?’

They sat. Straub’s glance fell instantly on the attaché case, propped next to Eusden’s briefcase in the chair next to him. The clamour of the PA and the gabble of passing travellers seemed suddenly distant, as if an invisible bubble had formed round the table.

‘Perhaps you are surprised that I know who you are,’ said Straub, his voice quiet but distinct. ‘Marty told me that his ex-wife would come.’

‘There was a change of plan.’

‘I know. She phoned him… after the change.’

‘Ah. Right.’ This was a surprise. Gemma had not said she meant to warn Marty of the substitution. Eusden would have thought her keen to avoid explaining herself.

‘Then Marty phoned me. I was already on my way, you understand.’

‘Where is Marty?’

‘Cologne. He travelled there yesterday from Amsterdam. To meet with me.’

‘And your connection with him is…’

‘We are business partners as well as friends.’ Straub sipped his coffee. ‘Not such old friends as you and he, of course.’

Eusden’s surprise was turning to confusion. Straub looked about as unlike someone who would befriend Marty – or indeed do business with him – as it was possible to imagine. ‘Why did Marty send you rather than come himself?’

‘Sadly, he is unwell. A bad headache. You know about the… tumour?’

‘Yes. I do.’

‘So unfortunate.’ Another sip of coffee. ‘You must have been distressed to hear of it.’

‘I was.’

‘He is resting at the hotel. He will be better by tomorrow, I think. The headaches… come and go. It is a pity you will not see him. I know he is sorry about that.’

‘So am I.’

‘But it cannot be helped. You have brought… the article he wants?’

‘Yes.’ Eusden lifted the attaché case on to his lap, feeling strangely glad of the excuse to take hold of it. ‘Here it is.’

Straub studied the initials for a moment. ‘CEH. His grandfather, no?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Good. So, I take it from here. And you are free to go home.’ Straub smiled and extended a hand, seemingly expecting Eusden to surrender the case there and then. But Eusden made no move. Straub’s smile took on an edge of puzzlement as he slowly withdrew his hand. ‘You are… unhappy about something, Richard? I may call you Richard, I hope. I am Werner. We are both friends of Marty. We are both… obliging him.’

‘Look, I don’t want to appear suspicious, but… I don’t know you.’

‘No. Of course not. I understand. And there is no hurry. My train is not for an hour. We can talk. We can get to know each other.’ Straub snapped off a piece of the small biscuit that accompanied his coffee and ate it, regarding Eusden with apparently amiable curiosity as he did so. Then he flicked a crumb from his fingers and continued: ‘You are Marty’s oldest friend. I am probably his newest. You can tell me about his past. I can tell you about his present.’

‘So tell me.’

‘He is one of those people who… adds enjoyment to other people’s lives. I first met him on a matter of business. I liked him from the start. I became his friend. I will miss him if the doctors are right and he dies as soon as they say he will.’

‘Do you think they might not be right?’

‘No. But… there may be hope. That is where our business comes in. Do you know what is in the case, Richard?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Yet you knew his grandfather.’

‘And I’ve still no idea. Certainly none about how something belonging to a man who died more than twenty years ago could help Marty now.’

‘It is, as usual in this world, a matter of money.’ Straub leant forward, lowering his voice still further. ‘There is a doctor in Switzerland who may be able to relieve Marty’s condition. Not actually to cure him, you understand, but to give him more time. A year or two, rather than a few months. He runs a special clinic in Lausanne. It is very exclusive. Very expensive. Marty could not afford to go there.’

‘How expensive do you mean?’

‘Several hundred thousand euros.’ Straub shrugged. ‘Doctors used to bleed their patients. Now they bleed their patients’ bank accounts. Progress, no?’

‘Are you saying… the contents of this case are worth several hundred thousand euros?’

‘To the right buyer, yes. And I have found such a buyer. That is my profession. I broker deals in the collectables market. I negotiated harder for Marty than I would for most clients. And we have a result. Marty can go to Lausanne as soon as I deliver the article and take payment. I am waiving my commission, Richard. We must get the best treatment for our friend. Do you not agree?’

‘Of course.’ Eusden looked down at the case, its leather scuffed, its metal catches pinpricked with rust. ‘It’s just… hard to believe Clem owned anything so valuable.’

‘It is worth what someone is willing to pay for it.’

‘And what is it, Werner?’ Eusden shaped a smile. ‘What is the article?’

Straub grimaced. ‘I wish I could answer your question. But Marty said… you should not be told.’

‘Why not?’

Another grimace. ‘I think that amounts to the same question. You should ask Marty, not me. I am only his… representative.’

‘Why don’t I do just that? Give me his number and I’ll call him now.’

‘He said he was going to take a pill and sleep off the headache. We should not disturb him. He will have switched off his phone anyway.’

‘You won’t give me his number?’

‘It would be pointless, Richard. He would not answer.’

‘That leaves me in a difficult situation, Werner. I’ve never met you before. From what you tell me, this case means a lot to Marty. You’re effectively asking me to hand it over to a stranger with no guarantee it’ll ever get where it’s supposed to go.’

‘You do not trust me.’ Straub frowned in disappointment. ‘That distresses me.’

‘I’m sorry, but there it is.’ Eusden tried to look and sound calm, though he did not feel it. Straub might be telling the truth. Or he might not be. Eusden had so little hard information to go on that it was impossible for him to judge. He was sure of only one thing: as matters stood, he could not surrender the case to Straub. Their encounter was going to have to end without a handover. Fortunately, they were in a very public place. Eusden was free to stand up and walk away with the case any time he chose.

‘Perhaps you should call Marty after all.’

‘Perhaps I should.’

‘Allow me.’ Straub slipped a phone out of his pocket, tapped in a number and passed it to Eusden.

There were several rings, then an automated voice announcing the call could not be taken. Eusden did not leave a message. He looked across at Straub. ‘Voicemail.’

‘I did warn you.’

‘Give me the number of the hotel.’

‘He may have blocked incoming calls.’

‘I’ll risk it.’

‘Very well.’ Straub recited the number. Eusden tapped it in.

The answer was prompt. ‘Hotel Ernst.’

‘I’d like to speak to one of your guests,’ said Eusden. ‘Marty Hewitson.’

‘Your name, please.’

‘Richard Eusden.’

‘Hold on, please.’

‘They’re putting me through,’ Eusden said to Straub, whose face betrayed not the slightest reaction.

A delay followed. Then the receptionist was back on the line. ‘There is no answer from Mr Hewitson’s room.’