Awash with tomato juice he returned me to my shop at two-thirty and I sat heavy-headed in my office regretting the whole enterprise. I would simply have to take something to spit into, I thought, even if spitting alerted the barman and disgusted the other customers. Getting half cut every lunch-time was no joke.

Mrs Palissey drove Brian away with a big load of deliveries and between each sporadic afternoon customer I sat down and felt thick with sleep. When the door buzzer roused me for the fifth time I went into the shop yawning.

'That's no way to greet manna from heaven,' my customer said.

Mrs Alexis stood there, larger than life, bringing out her own sun on a wet afternoon. I shut my mouth slowly, readjusted it to a smile, and said, 'I was coming to see you again at the first opportunity.'

'Were you now?' she said, mockery in full swing. 'So this is where our little wine merchant dwells.' She peered about her good-humouredly, oblivious to the fact that her 'little' wine merchant stood a fraction under six feet himself and could at least look her levelly in the eyes. Nearly all men, I guessed, were 'little' to her.

'I was passing,' she said.

I nodded. Amazing, the number of people who said that.

'No, I bloody well wasn't,' she amended explosively. 'I came here on purpose.' She lifted her chin almost defiantly. 'Does that surprise you?'

'Yes,' I said truthfully.

'I liked the look of you.'

'That surprises me too.'

'Bloody cool, aren't you?'

I was still half drunk, I thought. Almost a third of a bottle of scotch on an empty stomach, whichever way you looked at it. Ulcer land.

'How's the chimney?' I asked.

She grinned, showing teeth like a shark.

'Bloody Wilfred hasn't forgiven me.'

'And the fire?'

'Burning like Rome.' She eyed me assessingly. 'You're young enough to be my bloody son.'

'Just about.'

'And do you want to know about those bloody wines or don't you?'

'Yes, I do indeed.'

'I wasn't going to tell that police sergeant. Wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Pompous little killjoy.'

I said 'Mm' non-committally.

'I bought them, all right,' she said. 'But I damn soon sent them back.'

I breathed in deeply, trying to do nothing to distract her.

'I ran short of Bell's,' she said. 'So I 'phoned across to the pub opposite to borrow some. Nothing odd in that, we always help each other out. So he brings a whole unopened bloody case over, saying it came from a new supplier who offered good discounts, especially on wine, which was more my sort of thing than his. He gave me a 'phone number and told me to ask for Vernon.'

I looked at her.

'Should have known better, shouldn't I?' she said cheerfully.

'Should have suspected it had all fallen off the back of a bloody lorry.'

'But you telephoned?'

'That's right. Very good wines, just under normal price. So I said right, shunt along a case of each, I'd put them on the wine list and see if anyone liked them.'

'And did they?'

'Sure.' She gave me the shark smile. 'Shows how much some of these so-called buffs really know.'

'And then what?'

'Then I got someone in the bar one day kicking up a fuss and saying he'd been given the wrong whisky. I'd given it to him myself out of a Bell's bottle, one I'd got from my neighbour. I tasted it but I don't like the stuff, can't tell one from another. Anyway I gave him some Glenlivet free to placate him and apologised and when he'd gone I rang up my neighbour pretty damn quick, but he said he was certain it was O.K., Vernon worked for a big firm.'

'Which big firm?'

'How the hell do I know? I didn't ask. But I'll tell you, I wasn't taking any risks so I poured the rest of the case of Bell's down the drain and chalked it up to experience. Damn good thing I did, because the next bloody day I got the Weights and Measures people round with their little measuring instruments following a strong complaint from a customer. And that damned man drank my Glenlivet, too, and still reported me.'

'And I don't suppose he's been back,' I said, smiling.

Td've strangled him.'

if it hadn't been him, it would have been someone else.'

'You don't have to be so bloody right. Anyway, after that I asked a man I know who buys for a wine society to come out straight away and taste those splendid wines, and when he told me they were all the same I rang up that bloody Vernon and told him to collect what was left and repay me for the whole lot or I'd give his bloody 'phone number to the police.'

'And what happened?' I asked, fascinated.

'The same man who delivered them came back with my cash and took his wines away, what wasn't already drunk. He said he wasn't Vernon, just a friend of his, but I'll bet it was Vernon himself. He said Vernon hoped I'd keep my word about the 'phone number because if not something very nasty would happen to me.' She grinned, superbly unconcerned. 'I told him if Vernon tried anything with me, I'd eat him.'

I laughed. 'And that was that?'

'That was bloody that. Until you came round yesterday snooping.'

'Well,' I said, 'Do you still have the 'phone number?'

Her brilliant eyes shone yellowly. 'Yes, I do. How much is it worth to you? A case of Krug? Case of Pol Roger? Dom Perignon?'

I reflected. 'Case of Bell's?' I suggested.

'Done.' She picked a piece of paper without ceremony out of her handbag and gave it to me.

If you carry it,' I said.

She glanced at the sling I still wore. 'Hurt your arm?'

'Shotgun pellets... I wouldn't tell anyone, if I were you, that you'd been here to see me. I got shot at because of that wine. Vernon might not be pleased to know you'd given me his 'phone number.'

Her eyes opened wide and the mockery for once died right out of her face.

I came here,' she said flatly, 'because of the head waiter at the Silver Moondance. Murder's going too far. But you didn't say...'

I shook my head, i'm sorry. There seemed no need. I had no idea you would come here. And I'm sure you'll be O.K. if you just keep quiet. After all, others must have Vernon's number. Your neighbour, for one.'

'Yes.' She thought it over. 'You're damn right.' Her face lightened back into its accustomed lines. 'Any time you're passing, my little wine merchant, call in for dinner.'

She came with me into the storeroom to collect her trophy which she bore easily away under her arm, diving out into the drizzle with the teeth and eyes gleaming against the grey sky.

Gerard said, 'That's great,' and promised to ring back as soon as his firm had traced the number.

'It's somewhere near Oxford,' I said.

'Yes,' he agreed. 'Oxford code.'

His voice for all his enthusiasm sounded tired and when I asked after his shoulder he merely grunted without comment, which I took to mean no good news.

'I'll call you back,' he said, and within half an hour did so, but not to say he had located Vernon's number, 'Thought you'd like to know... the office has checked with the Doncaster auctioneers. Ramekin was bought for actual cash. Banknotes. They've no record of who bought it. The office did a quick check also on transporters and sure enough, as you said, Ramekin was in their books. He was shipped to California to a well-known bloodstock agent. The agent is away travelling in Japan and no one in his office will release information in his absence. He's expected home next Thursday night. Ramekin's shipment costs were paid in cash by a Mr A. L. Trent, who has sent several other horses to California via the same shipper to the same agent. So there we are. The laundered cash is in California, either banked or still on the hoof.'

'Banked, I'd bet a million.'

'Yes, I'd think so. But a dead end until Friday.'

'Pity.'

'We're making progress,' he said. 'And you might also like to know about the tanker keys.'

'What about them?'

'I talked to Kenneth Charter. He says there's nothing exceptional about the keys to the cab or the ignition keys but he has special keys for the valves into the segments in his tankers. Part of his security arrangements. There are nine separate segments in those big tankers. He says it's so the tanker can carry several different liquids in small loads on the same journey, if necessary. Anyway, each segment has its own particular key, to avoid mistakes with unloading, so the scotch tankers each have a bunch of nine valve keys. With goods in bond Charter has always posted a set of keys in advance to both shipper and destination so that they are never carried on the tanker itself, for security.'

'Most prudent,' I said.

'Yes. So Kenneth Charter went to the Simpers shop himself this afternoon, and sure enough they said they'd twice made a set of nine keys like that, and both times they'd had to send away for the blanks. The young man who'd ordered them had given his name as Harrison each time. Kenneth Charter is spitting mad as of course the shop has no record of the shapes they cut into the blanks, and he doesn't know which of his tankers is now at risk.'

'Awkward.'

'He says if he loses the whole business it won't matter a damn. What upset him most was Kenneth Junior going to such lengths.'

'Does he know how Kenneth Junior got hold of the keys?' I asked.

'He says they're usually kept in his office, but when the tankers' valves are being steam cleaned the keys are out in the workshop. He reckons Kenneth Junior took them from there.'

'Cunning little beast.'

'Absolutely. Incidentally, both Kenneth Charter and Deg-let's have now received from Rannoch the profile analysis of all three of the stolen loads of scotch. Apparently they are all slightly different because they were blends from more than one distillery. Too technical for me. Anyway, they're in our office ready, if we find anything to match.'

'Mm. I wonder if Mrs Alexis's neighbour still has any.'

'What a thought! Get onto her pronto.'

'Pity she poured hers down the drain.'

Gerard and I disconnected and I got through to Mrs Alexis who sounded breezily unaffected and said she would find out at once; but she called back within ten minutes to say her neighbour had sold the lot some time ago and couldn't get any more at that price because Vernon had discontinued the discount, but she thought Vernon must have got the wind up after his brush with her and had closed down altogether in her area.

Damn, I thought, and told Gerard.

'Whenever we get near that stuff it seems to recede from us like a phantom,' he said wearily.

'Maybe I'll find it tomorrow.'

He sighed. 'It's a very big haystack.'

SEVENTEEN.

Flora came breathlessly into the shop soon after I'd opened it on the Saturday morning, saying she was on her way to fetch Jack home and wanted to thank me again for my help with Howard and Orkney Swayle.

'There's no need. I enjoyed it.'

'All the same, Tony dear, I want you to have this.' She put a gift-wrapped parcel on the counter, and when I opened my mouth to protest said, 'Now don't argue, Tony dear, it's for you and it's not enough, it's very small and I expect you have one already, but I'll have my hands full when Jack's home so I thought I'd bring it for you now.'

She patted my hand in motherly fashion and I bent to kiss her cheek.

'You're very naughty,' I said. 'But thank you.'

'That's right dear. Where's your sling?'

'I forgot it this morning. It's at home.'

'Don't tire yourself, dear, will you? And we'll need some more drinks whenever you've time.' She fished in her handbag and produced a list. 'After Jack's home the owners will start coming again and some of them drink like fish, though I shouldn't say it, and Jack says he's going to add it on their bills as medicine for the horses, which you can't blame him for, can you, dear?'

'Er... no.'

She put the list on the counter beside the present, and, saying she had a thousand things to see to on her way to the hospital, went lightfootedly away.