There was a clatter as the girl opened the bonnet of the Rolls, and a long hiss as the snow hit the hot engine.

Maganhard said with stiff patience: 'Under Caspar's rules, the time set for a meeting is thelast possible time. If all shareholders are present before that, a meeting is automatically convened. With Herr Fiez dead, all the shareholders will be present if I am there and this Calieron walks in. Therefore-'

'But he won't convene any meetings,' I said cheerfully, 'on account of me having a gun stuffed down his throat. So let's go up and view-'

'Christ,' Harvey said, 'anybody'd think you were running for election, that way you say the same thing every ten seconds. So you want to go see the body? – okay, let's go see it, if it'll keep you quiet.'

'All right,' I said. 'All right, if you insist.' The girl came up beside me. 'How's the engine?'

'I've got the radiator cap off, but we need something to put inside. The snow isn't lying yet.'

'Drain off Merlin's car.'

Henri started to look horrified, remembered all the other things that had happened to that car, and just shrugged.

Harvey and the girl went away. The snow, in bigger and slower flakes, drifted slowly around us.

Merlin coughed and said: 'Caneton – I am sorry, but-' He turned to Maganhard and said in a legal voice: 'Monsieur, as your lawyer, it is my duty to advise you against risks. To go to the house would be a risk. Done – I must advise you not to go.'

Maganhard frowned.

I said: 'As your illegal adviser, I'd say it would be nice tomeet Galleron after all this.'

Maganhard looked at me sharply. 'I do not want any more shooting! '

I shrugged one shoulder. 'Whatever you say. You're the boss.' He looked suspicious. I went on: 'But there's no need to rush a decision. Let's just get the issue quite clear.'

He shook his head impatiently, throwing off the clutching snowflakes. 'It is cold out here.'

'Be a lot colder without your share of Caspar,' I said soothingly. 'Let's see now: Caspar's got a share capital of forty thousand Swiss francs, right? I suppose it's in ten- or hundred-franc shares?'

Ten.'

'Making four thousand shares in all. How many d'you own?'

'You know already. Thirty-three per cent.'

'Not the question I asked. Howmany?'

It was very quiet in the slow, swirling snow. Harvey and the girl passed as dark ghosts beyond the lights, draining Merlin's car into the empty brandy flask, then pouring it into the Rolls.

Maganhard hunched his shoulders against the snow and said: 'I would have to work that out. But the percentage is the important factor.'

'Sure – but share certificates only show howmany shares. Now, you two have met Fiez; I haven't. Tell me if I'm reading him right. Galleron walks in a week ago, slaps down his share certificate, says: Tve got Heiliger's shares -let's have a meeting and sell out the whole company,' and Fiez remembers the trouble you'll have getting there – and goes into a galloping panic. Am I right?'

Maganhard and Merlin looked at each other. Merlin spread his hands and murmured:'C'est possible.'

Maganhard said slowly: 'He would probably do that. But-"

'Maybe he panicked a bit too quickly. Still, he knew the certificate couldonly be Heiliger's, couldonly be worth thirty-four per cent – and so it outvoted him. But a bearer certificate doesn't show either of those things: no name, no percentages. Only the number of shares held. And Fiez would be used to thinking in percentages, too. So maybe he didn't stop to work it out. Have you worked out your holding yet?'

Maganhard said stiffly: 'If you please…'

I found I was waving the Mauser at him for emphasis. It was still empty, but I'd shoved home the bolt, so nobody would know by looking at it. 'Sorry.'

He said: 'I own 1320 shares.'

'Correct. Thirty-three per cent. And thirty-four per cent is 1360 shares. Pretty easy numbers to confuse, aren't they? – when you're used to thinking in percentages. I wonder if Fiez didn't do just that – and Galleron's certificate showed just 1320 shares, same as yours, same as Flez's.'

He stared at me. 'You mean – it is a fake?'

'Why would you fake one with thewrong number of shares on it? No, it's genuine – but it isn't Heiliger's. That burned up when he crashed. No, it's yours. Right now, you don't own a centime of Caspar. How does it feel being poor?'

There was a long hush.

I said quietly: 'I suppose when you got hit with that rape charge you couldn't get around so easily, so you increased Merlin's power of attorney. I'd guess you even lodged a lot of important papers with him, or maybe gave him power to get them out of a safe deposit for you. I'd even guess one of them was the Caspar certificate.'

I grinned at Merlin. He went on watching the Mauser which was watching his stomach. 'Any Frenchman could do that heavy Belgian accent, Henri – hell, I could do it myself. Well enough to fool a Liechtensteiner like Fiez, anyway. Now give kind Mr Maganhard back his ten million quid – Galleron.'

He looked up slowly, and after a tune he smiled a little sadly. 'Legally, of course, a bearer certificate belongs to whoever bears it. But possibly we are not being strictly legal.' He sighed and reached inside his coat. A gun blasted three times beside my elbow. Merlin's face was lit by the flashes, his expression frozen in the moment of changing. Then he was pitched away into the swirling snow.

I whipped round and clouted the big Webley out of Maganhard's hand.

Harvey came cat-footed out of the curtain of snow, gun in hand. 'What in hell happened?'

'We met Monsieur Galleron.' I nodded at Merlin. 'Meet Monsieur Galleron.'

Harvey looked at me, then walked across and peered carefully down at him and shook his head.

Maganhard was standing with his eyes clenched shut, melted snow streaming down his face and glasses and glinting in the backlash of light from the headlamps.

I said: 'Welcome to the Murderers' Club.'

He opened his eyes slowly. 'Is he dead?'

I nodded. 'It's not so difficult really, is it? ' But I wished I had remembered he still had that damn revolver.

Harvey came back. 'Was he really Galleron?'

'Yes. D'you want to stand around talking about it in a snowstorm, or can it wait?'

'Can wait. But what about him?'

'Strip his pockets and stick him in the Rolls. We're going to have to dump that car before morning, so he may as well go with it '

Merlin's car had a Liechtenstein registration, so it must have been hired. So perhaps he'd hired it in the name of Galleron. But it didn't much matter. Harvey said doubtfully: 'He'll get found.'

'Christ, we've left dead men spread from here to the Atlantic,' I snarled. 'One more'll just screw things up so the cops never work it all out.'

And that was just about true. Beyond a certain point, a crime can get so complicated that the cops know no jury or judge will ever understand it – even if they do themselves. On top of everything else, finding a Paris lawyer who'd been posing as a Belgian businessman dead in Liechtenstein in the car of the distinguished British resident of Switzerland would just be a ten-aspirin headache.

Harvey grinned sourly and bent over Merlin and came up with a handful of papers and a small automatic. I took the biggest of the papers: a stiff, folded document that opened out into a spread of fancy lettering and a big seal like a 'wanted' notice for Robin Hood. The Caspar certificate. For a few seconds I was a very rich man. The snow went on falling on me.

I gave it to Maganhard. 'Yours, I think. Let's get up the hill for that meeting.'

'But Herr Fiez is dead,' he said faintly.

'Don't be silly. Saying that was just Merlin's last chance to stop you coming; he could have killed you off later, before you caught on. But using your certificate, he always needed you dead and Fiez alive. It makes sense now.'