'Yes; I might want someone to hang my trousers. What kind of natty gent's clothing would be suitable for Kenya?'

'The Colonel doesn't want to trouble his head about that. Any of the Indian stores will make him up a suit within twenty-four hours. Cheap too, and good for the climate.'

'You're a mine of information, Sergeant. Where did you pick up that bit?'

'I've been there,' Curtis said unexpectedly. I was in Mombasa a few years ago during the Mau-Mau business. I go: a bit of travel up-country to Nairobi and beyond.' He paused L

"What kind of trouble is the Colonel expecting – fisticuffs or guns?' Stafford regarded him thoughtfully, and Curtis said, "It's just that I'd like to know what preparations to make.'

Stafford said, 'You know as much as I do. Make what preparations you think advisable.' The first thing any green lieutenant learns is when to say "Carry on, Sergeant". The son-commissioned officers of any service run the nuts and bolts of the outfit and the wise officer knows it.

Curtis said, 'Then have I the Colonel's permission to take the afternoon off? I have things to do.'

'Yes; but don't tell me what they are. I don't want to know.'

The only matter of consequence that happened before they vent to Kenya was that Hendrix crashed his car when careering down a steep hill in Cornwall near Tintagel. He came out with a few scratches but the car was a total write-off.

They flew to Nairobi first class on the night flight. Curtis was i big man and Stafford no midget and he saw no reason to be cramped in economy class where the seats are tailored for the inhabitants of Munchkinland. If all went well Gunnarsson would be paying ultimately. Stafford resisted the attempts of the cabin staff to anaesthetize him with alcohol so he would be jess trouble but, since he found it difficult to sleep on aircraft, at 3 a.m. he went to the upstairs lounge where he read a thriller over a long, cold beer while intermittently watching the chief steward jiggle the accounts. The thriller had a hero who always knew when he was being followed by a prickling at the nape of his neck; this handy accomplishment helped the plot along on no fewer than four occasions.

Curtis slept like a baby.

They landed just after eight in the morning and, even at that early hour, the sun was like a hammer. Stafford sniffed and caught the faintly spicy, dusty smell he had first encountered in Algeria – the smell of Africa. They went through Immigration and Customs and found Hardin waiting.' 'Lo, Max; 'lo, Sergeant. Have a good flight?'

'Not bad.' Stafford felt the bristles on his jaw. 'A day flight would have been better.'

'The pilots don't like that,' said Hardin. 'This airport is nearly six thousand feet high and the midday air is hot and thin. They reckon it's a bit risky landing at noon.'

Stafford's eyes felt gritty. 'You're as bad as the Sergeant, here, for unexpected nuggets of information.'

'I have wheels outside. Let me help with your bags. Don't let these porters get their hands on them; they want an arm and a leg for a tip.'

They followed Hardin and Stafford stared unbelievingly at the vehicle to which he was led. It was a Nissan van, an eight-seater with an opening roof, and it was dazzlingly painted in zebra stripes barely veiled in a thin film of dust. He said, 'For Christ's sake, Ben! We're trying to be inconspicuous and you get us a circus van. That thing shouts at you from a bloody mile away.'

'Don't worry,' Hardin said reassuringly. 'These safari trucks are as common as fleas on a dog out here, and they'll go anywhere. We're disguised as tourists. You'll see.'

Hardin drove, Stafford sat next to him, and Curtis got in the back. There was an unexpectedly good divided highway. Stafford said, 'How far is the city?'

'About seven miles.' Hardin jerked his thumb. 'See that fence? On the other side is the Nairobi National Game Park. Lots of animals back there.' He laughed. 'It's goddamn funny to see giraffes roaming free with skyscrapers in the background.'

'I didn't send you here to look at animals.'

'Hell, it was Sunday morning. My way of going to church. Don't be a grouch, Max.'

Hardin had a point. 'Sorry, Ben. I suppose it's the lack of sleep.'

'That's okay.' Hardin was silent for a while, then he said, 'I was talking to one of the local inhabitants in the bar of the Hilton. He lives at Langata, that's a suburb of Nairobi. He said all hell had broken loose early that morning because a lion bad taken a horse from the riding stables next door. Even in Manhattan we don't live that dangerously.'

Stafford thought Hardin had turned into the perfect goggling tourist. He was not there to hear small talk about lions. He said, 'What about the Foundation?'

Hardin caught the acerbity in Stafford's voice and gave him a sideways glance. He said quietly, 'Yeah, I got some information on that from the same guy who told me about die lion. He's one of the Trustees; Indian guy called Patterjee.'

Stafford sighed. 'Sorry again, Ben. This doesn't seem to be my day.'

'That's okay. We all have off days.'

'Did you get anything interesting out of Patterjee?'

'A few names – members of the Board and so on. He gave me a printed handout which describes the work of the Foundation. It runs agricultural schools, experimental laboratories – things like that. And a Co-operative. The Director responsible to the Board is called Brice; he's not in Nairobi – he's at Ol Njorowa. That's near Naivasha in the Rift Valley, about fifty miles from here.'

'Who started the Foundation – and when?'

'It was started just after the war, in the fifties. The handout doesn't say who by. I did some poking around Naivasha but I didn't see Brice; I thought I'd leave him for you. He's English and I thought you'd handle him better, maybe.'

'Did Patterjee say anything about the Hendrykxx inheritance?'

'Not a murmur. But he wasn't likely to talk about that to a stranger he met in a bar. The news isn't out yet. I checked the back issues in a newspaper office.'

They were coming into the city. Stafford had not known what to expect but was mildly surprised. He knew enough not to expect mud huts but the buildings were high rise and modem and the streets were well kept. Hardin braked hard. 'When you're driving around here watch out for guys on bicycles. They think traffic lights don't apply to them.'

The lights changed and Hardin let out the clutch. 'We're on Uhuru Highway. Over to the left is Uhuru Park.' Stafford saw black schoolgirls dressed in gym slips playing handball. There were flowers everywhere in a riot of colour. They turned a corner and then another, and Hardin said, 'Harry Thuku Road, named after a revolutionary hero who got on the wrong side of the British in colonial days. And there's the Norfolk where we're staying.'

He put the vehicle into a slot between two identically zebra-striped Nissans. 'One of those is ours. I thought we'd better have two sets of wheels.'

'Good thinking.' Stafford twisted and looked back at Curtis. 'You're very loquacious, Sergeant; you've been positively babbling. Anything on your mind?'

'Got things to do if the Colonel will excuse me,' he said stolidly. 'I could do with a street map.'

'I have one here,' said Hardin. 'But you'd better register first.'

They went into the hotel as a horde of porters descended on the Nissan. After registering Curtis gave Stafford a brief nod and went away, walking out of the hotel and into the street. Hardin stared after him. 'The strong, silent type,' he commented. 'Where's he going ?'

'Better you not ask,' said Stafford. 'He's going his mysterious ways his wonders to perform.'

Their rooms were across an inner courtyard alive with the noise of birds from two large aviaries. 'The Sergeant is bunking in with me,' said Hardin. 'You're on your own. I've ordered breakfast in your room; I reckoned you might be tired and not want to use the dining room.' They ascended stairs and he opened a door. 'Here you are.'