Hardin grinned. 'Not if it's going to be like this month. The pay's not enough.'

'It isn't always as exciting as this. How would you like to go to New York? I want someone across there fast- someone who knows the ropes.'

Hardin looked at Stafford appraisingly. 'Yeah, Gunnarsson Associates will be up for grabs now Gunnarsson has gone. That's what you mean, isn't it?'

'Something like that. I need you there; you know the business. With a bit of luck you could get to be the boss of the American end of Stafford Security.'

'Gunnarsson always kept the reins in his own hands,' said Hardin musingly. 'I guess things could tend to fall apart now. Sure, I'll give it a whirl and see if I can pick up a few of the pieces. To tell the truth I've gotten a bit homesick. All this fresh air seems unnatural; I miss the smell of gasoline fumes. Hell, I'd even take Los Angeles right now.'

'Go by way of London,' said Stafford. 'I'll give you a letter for Jack Ellis. Arrange for whatever expenses you need with him.' He paused. 'Talking of Los Angeles, I wonder what happened to Hank Hendrix – the real one?'

'I'll ask around but I don't think we'll ever know,' said Hardin.

When Hardin had gone Stafford felt tired and was beginning to see double again. He closed his eyes and composed himself for sleep. His last waking thought was of Alix Hendriks who would never know the truth about the death of her husband. It occurred to him that every time he helped Alix she got richer and he achieved a few more scars. This time she would inherit her husband's fortune by courtesy of the South African government, and might even get Henry Hendrix's money with a bit of luck.

He made a mental note that the next time Alix appealed for help or advice was the time to start running.