Indeed it is, Paul; indeed it is!

He didn't say much after that revelation and neither did I. We lapsed into silence and I was still mulling it over when we landed at Algiers.

The big Mercedes with the Arab chauffeur was waiting by the hangar as the Comanche taxied up and we were soon wafted luxuriously to the heights of Bouzarea overlooking Algiers. If the chauffeur was surprised at carrying a Targui he didn't show it.

We stopped at the small door in the wall which opened as silently and mysteriously as before, and Paul and I walked towards the house. Hesther Raulier was still lying on the chaise-longue and might never have moved but that she was wearing a different dress. As we approached she put down her cigar and stood up.

Suddenly her monkey face cracked into a big grin and she laughed raucously. 'Jesus, Stafford! What in hell do you think you're doing? Auditioning for The Desert Song?'

She put me to bed fast and summoned the doctor who, apparently, was on tap immediately. She said, 'Luke put a couple of words into his cable that meant something bad -stuff I hadn't heard since the Revolution – so I got in Fahkri. He's used to gunshot wounds and knows how to keep his mouth shut.'

Dr Fahkri examined my arm, asked how long ago it had happened, and then told me the bullet was still in there. He deadened the arm, sliced it open and took out the bullet, stitched it up again and put on a proper splint. I said to Hesther, 'Better have him look at Paul. He took a bullet in the shoulder about a month ago.'

She spoke to Fahkri in Arabic and he nodded and went away, then she turned to me. 'What happened out there?'

'Kissack happened,' I said. 'He and a man called Lash -and four others.' I gave her an edited version of what had happened, and ended up by saying, 'I don't know what we'd have done without Luke Byrne.'

'Luke's a good man,' she said simply. 'But what was it all about?'

'Whatever set it off was in England. I suppose Paul really started the ball rolling but he triggered something, a sort of time bomb that was lying around for forty-two years. I've got a few questions to ask. If I find any answers I'll let you know.'

'You do that.' She stood up. 'You can't go back to England dressed as a Targui.'

I shrugged. 'Why not? London is full of Arabs these days, and nobody there could tell the difference.'

'Nonsense. I'll get a tailor in tomorrow and you'll have a suit the day after. You and Paul both.'

We stayed in Algiers for four days, more so I could recuperate from Fahkri's surgery than anything else. I lazed about and read the English newspapers that Hesther bought me so that I could catch up on the news. Everything was going to hell in a handcart, as usual.

Once, referring to Paul, she said, 'That guy's changed -changed a lot. He's quieter and not as nervy.'

I grinned. 'God knows why. What happened to him is enough to make anyone go screaming up the wall.'

On the fourth day we left on an Air Algerie flight to Orly. The interior of the plane was decorated in a tasteful shade of emerald green. Green may be the Arab colour but this plane had pictures of jaunting cars and scenes from Killarney because it had been bought second-hand from Aer Lingus. However, it got us to Orly all right and we transferred to the London flight.

An hour later we were at Heathrow. It was raining and it looked as though it had never stopped since I had left.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

I had telephoned Heathrow from Orly and so there was a car waiting with a driver, since I could not drive a car with a broken arm. He drove us the short distance to the Post House Hotel and I told him to stick around while I booked in. There were reservations for Paul and me in adjoining rooms, so we went up and I got him settled.

Paul, of course, was dead broke – he hadn't a penny – and that suited me fine because I wanted him immobilized. I didn't give him any money, but said, 'Paul, stay here until I get back. If you want anything, order it – it's on the house. But don't leave the hotel.'

'Where are you going?'

'I have things to do,' I said uninformatively.

I went down to the lobby, cashed a sheaf of travellers cheques, picked up the driver, and gave him an address in Marlow. As we left the hotel-studded environs of Heathrow I reflected that the Post House was the ideal sort of anonymous caravanserai to hide Paul; I didn't want his presence in England known yet, nor mine, either.

The car pulled up outside Jack Ellis's house and I walked up and rang the doorbell. Judy Ellis opened it, looked at me uncertainly, and said, 'Yes?' interrogatively.

I had met Jack's wife only three or four times. Stafford Security Consultants Ltd was not the kind of firm that drew wives into the business orbit; we had other ways of ensuring company loyalty, such as good pay. I said, 'Is Jack in? I'm Max Stafford.'

'Oh, I didn't recognize you. Yes, he's just got back. Come in.' She held the door wide and let me into the hall while making all the usual excuses wives make when the boss drops in on an unexpected visit. The place didn't look all that untidy to me. 'Jack,' she called. 'Mr Stafford's here.'

As I stood in the doorway of the living-room Ellis rose from an armchair, laying aside a newspaper. He looked at me questioningly. 'Max?'

I was suddenly aware of the beard – now neatly trimmed by a barber Hesther, had brought in, the light-coloured suit of a decidedly foreign cut, and the black silk sling which cradled my left arm. I suppose that to Jack it was a disguise. 'Hello, Jack.'

'Well, for God's sake! Come in.' He seemed glad to see me.

I was aware of Judy hovering in the background. 'Er… this isn't a social call, Jack. I want to talk to you.'

'I hope to God it isn't,' he said. 'And I want to talk to you. Where have you been? Come into my study.'

He hustled me away and I smiled pleasantly at Judy hi passing. In the study he offered me a chair. 'What's wrong with the arm?'

'Just broken,' I smiled. 'It only hurts when I laugh.'

'God, I'm glad to see you. You just disappeared, and I didn't know where to look. All hell's been breaking loose.'

'I've not been away long – just over a month,' I said mildly. 'You haven't lost your grip in so short a time?'

'If you want to put it that way, I suppose I have.' His voice was grim. 'But I never had much grip to begin with, did I?'

It was evident that something was griping him so I said, 'Give me a drink, sit down and tell me all about it.'

He took a deep breath, then said, 'Sorry.' He left the room and returned with a tray on which were bottles and glasses. 'Scotch okay?' I nodded, and as he poured the drinks he said, 'As soon as you left the whole character of the company changed.'

'In what way?'

'Well, as a minor example, we're now letting dogs out without handlers.' He handed me a glass.

'Starting with Electronomics,' I suggested.

He looked at me in surprise. 'How did you know that?'

'Never mind. Go on.'

He sat down and looked broodingly into the glass which he held cradled in his hands. 'The big thing is that we're now up to our necks in industrial espionage. You've been away six weeks and I'm already running three penetration exercises.'

'Are you, by God? On whose authority?'

'Charlie Malleson twisted my arm.'

I stared at him. 'Jack, you're not there to take instructions from Charlie. He's just the bloody accountant – a number juggler. You're supposed to be standing in for me – running the operational side – and that doesn't mean penetration operations. We're in security; that's what the name of the firm means. Now, how did Charlie twist your arm?'

Ellis shrugged. 'He just told me to do it'

'Didn't you squawk?'