'But do you know what he does?'

'We were discussing it before you came in,' said Brice. He sipped his wine. 'Must be very interesting work.'

'Mr Gunnarsson is in the same line of business,' observed Stafford. 'But in the United States. You might say that we're competitors, in a way. Or will be.' He smiled at Gunnarsson. 'I'm thinking of expanding my operations.'

'Thinking of moving into the States?' asked Gunnarsson. His smile had no humour in it. 'It's tough going.'

'It can't be worse than Europe,' said Stafford equably.

'Or Kenya.' Gunnarsson finished his soup. 'Funny things happen here, apart from people going missing. The latest is that my car was bugged. A bumper beeper.'

Stafford raised his eyebrows. 'Now who'd do that?'

Gunnarsson shrugged. 'You have the know-how.'

Stafford put down his knife and fork. 'Now look here. I told you I was in Kenya on holiday. Apart from that I'm a friend of the Hendriks family. You would say that, wouldn't you, Dirk?'

'Of course." Hendriks smiled. 'Especially since my wife named our son after you.' His tone was a fraction sour.

Brice said coolly, 'We know all about Mr Stafford. What we don't know is why you are in Kenya, Mr Gunnarsson. You found Henry Hendrix in Los Angeles and delivered him to London. Why should you then accompany him to Kenya where he mysteriously disappears?' He tented his fingers. 'It would appear that you have to make the explanations rather than Max Stafford.'

Gunnarsson looked at him. 'I don't know that I'm required to give an explanation, Mr Brice, but, since you ask, Hendrix wanted me to come with him.' He smiled. 'He's a nice, young guy and we got on well together when I found him. You might say we became friends and I came with him to Kenya at his request.'

Brice shrugged and turned to Stafford. 'Will you really take up ballooning, Max?' He was obviously changing the subject.

'I might. It seems a great sport.'

The conversation became general with Brice holding forth enthusiastically on the future of the Ol Njorowa Foundation now that it was in funds. Gunnarsson made the odd comment from time to time but his main attention seemed to be on his plate. He was aware of an interplay of tensions about the table but was unable to identify the cause. However, it was enough for him to make up his mind that there was something odd about Ol Njorowa. As he put it to himself, it was 'something phoney'. It was not what was said that drew his attention – it was what was not said. For instance, Brice and Hendriks had not said much about the disappearance of Hank Hendrix.

As Stafford sipped his coffee he had a sudden thought. He could put the picture frame bug to some use – a use that Brice could not have foreseen. He put down his cup, and said, 'Mr Gunnarsson; I'd like to have a few words with you.'

'What about?'

'Well, you know that Stafford Security is broadening its activities. I'd like to discuss a few… er… ground rules with you.'

Gunnarsson snorted. 'Ground rules!' He smiled grimly. 'I'm willing to talk, sure.'

'After lunch, in my room?' suggested Stafford.

Gunnarsson drained his coffee cup. 'After lunch is now.'

Stafford said to Brice. 'I hope you'll excuse us. It's not my usual policy to talk business in these circumstances, but since Mr Gunnarsson is here and I have the unexpected opportunity…" His voice tailed off.

'Of course,' said Brice. 'One must always take opportunity by the forelock.'

Stafford rose and left the table followed by Gunnarsson. There was a moment's silence before Brice said, 'I'd like to hear that conversation. Let's go.' They both stood up.

At the door Stafford cast a glance backwards. He saw Gunnarsson following and, beyond, Hendriks and Brice were just rising from the table. He-smiled slightly as he went up the stairs two at a time towards his room. He went in and stood aside to let Gunnarsson enter, then he closed the door. Gunnarsson swung around. 'Stafford; what are you trying to pull?'

'Sit down," said Stafford. 'Take the weight off your feet.' He looked thoughtfully at the Shepherd print on the wall and thought he had better give Hendriks and Brice time to get settled in their listening post so he took out a packet of cigarettes. 'Smoke?'

Gunnarsson took a cigarette and Stafford snapped on his lighter. He lit the cigarettes, taking his time, blew out a plume of smoke, and said, 'Is it true what Brice said? That you delivered Henry Hendrix from the States to London?'

Gunnarsson glowered. 'What's it to you?'

'Not a damn thing. But if it is true then you have some explaining to do.' He held up his hand. 'Not to me, but questions will certainly be asked. Dirk Hendriks will probably go to the police and they'll be asking the questions. They'll want to know why you came to Kenya after delivering the heir. You'd better have some good answers. I don't believe the yarn you spun to Brice.'

'I'm not here to talk about me,' said Gunnarsson. 'What about you? What ate you doing in Kenya? You were in the Masai Mara when Hank was kidnapped, and now you're here. It's too goddamn coincidental.'

'You heard about that downstairs,' said Stafford tiredly. 'I'm a family friend of the Hendriks's.' He paused. 'Well, not really. I'm more of a friend of Alix Hendriks. I might have married her at one time, and Dirk knows it. I don't think he likes me much.'

'Is it true his wife named the baby after you?' When Stafford nodded Gunnarsson said, 'Yeah, I guess he could be sore about that.' He pulled on his cigarette. 'But you were at Keekorok at the right time and pulling heroics. And now someone is trailing me.'

'When did you discover that?'

'Yesterday – about midday at the Lake Naivasha Hotel.'

Stafford spread his hands. 'Then it wasn't me. I was already here talking to Alan Hunt about a balloon trip. You can go down and ask him; he's in the dining room.' He flicked ash into the ashtray. 'I have no interest in you, Gunnarsson. But you must have been doing something for someone to take notice of you, and it's my guess that it's connected with your coming to Kenya with young Hendrix.'

'Aw, hell!' said Gunnarsson. 'It's like this. Here's this young guy still wet behind the ears who's just inherited six million bucks. He talked to me about it. He was worried, see? Hank wasn't exactly stupid; just inexperienced. He talked me into coming along as protection.'

'As a bodyguard?'

'Yeah; something like that.'

Stafford laughed. 'Gunnarsson, this is Max Stafford you're talking to. Better men than you have tried to con me. The boss of Gunnarsson Associates wouldn't take on that job himself; you'd assign it to one of your goons. Now let's have the real story.'

Gunnarsson sighed. 'Okay, why not? The truth is that I was standing right next to six million bucks and I was trying to figure a way to cut me a slice. I talked Hank into letting me come along with him to Kenya.'

'You were going to con him into something,' said Stafford flatly.

'I guess I was. I just didn't know exactly how. I was trying to work out a scam when he was kidnapped and maybe killed. How do you like that?'

Stafford got up and walked to the window. Gunnarsson sounded properly aggrieved and his story was cleverly near the truth. All that Gunnarsson had left out was that he had substituted Corliss for Hendrix in the United States. Stafford hoped that Brice and Hendriks were absorbing all this.

He looked out over the grounds of Ol Njorowa and stiffened when he saw the sheet of newspaper caught against the acacia on the other side of the fence. Nair had wasted no time in getting the prints developed and that meant they were ready to hold the conference.

He turned and said, 'Well, all this has nothing to do with me.' He picked up his suitcase, put it on the bed, and opened it. He took his toilet kit and began to put away his shaving tackle.