The smells came in from the street as a man went through the swing-doors into the morning sunshine where I couldn't go, where I might, by nightfall, be carried.

'Can you describe him for me?'

It wasn't useful: a characteristic Hindu, 5 foot 9, 10 stone, black hair, brown eyes, no scars, no other distinguishing features.

'What are his methods?'

'Excuse me?'

The line wasn't very clear.

'How does he kill?'

'With the garrotte, exclusively.'

Thuggee.

'Does he use assistants?'

'No. He has always worked alone. He is a man of great pride in his efficiency.'

'Does he prefer daylight or darkness?'

'He kills only by night. That is understandable, since he must approach from behind the victim. It was Kishnar who dealt with one of the agents mobilised by Thai Intelligence against Mariko Shoda.'

Two men came in from the street and I watched them through the archway.

'Is there anything else you can think of, Inspector, that might help me?'

There was a short silence. 'Miss McCorkadale mentioned that you might at some time find yourself in danger from this man. Is that correct?'

'Yes.'

'I could send you a copy of his dossier, if you like.'

'That's not necessary. I think you've given me all I need.'

They were at the desk now, talking to Lily Ling; I caught snatches of Italian. Neither of them had been part of the surveillance team I'd seen outside.

'If you would like my advice,' Thongswasdi said, 'you should take the utmost care to avoid Manif Kishnar.'

'I'll do that.'

I thanked him and rang off and went out to the lobby and listened for a minute or two while the Italians were booked in, representatives of a minor shoe company in Naples. Then I went upstairs and made routine sightings again.

One of them was a woman who'd worked with the team that had got onto me when I'd been on my way to see Johnny Chen; I recognised her because it had taken me two hours to get clear of them. Another was the young Chinese standing near the salted fish stall fifty yards from the hotel entrance, lifting on his toes all the time, flexing his ankles; he'd been in the previous team and had the walk of a karateka. At the back of the hotel there were two more men and a woman, one of them on the balcony of a shop-house backing on to the river, two of them in the street and keeping on the move the whole time, blending into the crowd on the narrow pavement as far as the intersections and then coming past again, not looking upwards because my room was on the other side, looking only at the gate of the little courtyard and along the low whitewashed wall.

13:15.

No call from Pepperidge. At intervals I centred on the area at the top of the stairs where Al or Lily Ling would pass if they wanted me to go down to the telephone. Then as the long afternoon began I went through the whole building as I'd done as soon as I'd got here, but now more critically.

He would come for me barefoot. The nerves and muscles in the sole of the foot are infinitely sensitive, controlling and balancing and refining all the movements made by the upper body as well as the legs and hips. To put shoes on is to deaden the information received by the naked foot from the terrain, so that all the body has to work on is the crude fact that it's more or less upright, the inner ear alone controlling the balance. Shoes also create noise, and he would need to come for me in total silence.

If he came into the hotel he would look for me in my room first, and I ignored it, because I wouldn't be there. I concentrated on the only areas where he could come at me from behind: the corridors, the landings and the stairs. I started from the roof and worked downwards, noting whatever looked useful. The roof was dangerous for three reasons: access was difficult, with small skylights and only one trap door. I used the trap door because the skylights were jammed with paint and I might break the glass. On the roof itself there was almost no cover and even at night I'd show a partial silhouette against the city-lit haze. Thirdly the drops were mostly sheer, except where the rusted fire-escape ran down on the north side; but I noted that a jump could be made from the roof to the first landing of the fire-escape seven or eight feet below, providing the tiles at the edge of the roof didn't break or shift and send me wide of the landing and into the courtyard five storeys down - a killing drop.

At intervals I had to stop work and wait until one of the guests or a whole party of them had left the corridors and gone into a room or down the stairs. I saw Lily Ling twice and she didn't say there'd been a call for me.

14:10.

I would have liked, I would have liked very much, to hear the voice of Pepperidge this afternoon. He was a burnt out spook with no network behind him but in the last couple of conversations with him over the phone I'd begun sensing a calmness in the man that had come from experience in the field. He knew more than most what I was up against, how lonely I was out here, how afraid. He understood my paranoia, almost as well as Ferris had when he was running me. And Pepperidge had pride: I don't sleep when there's work to do, you know. I've been in signals with the Thais most of the night.

But I didn't just want to hear his voice on the telephone. I wanted to set up the last-chance thing in case nothing else would work.

The hours were going by, and the stress of a trapped animals mounts progressively. The work I was doing now was essential, vital, and could save my life, but it was an intellectual exercise, and in the brain stem there was a primitive creature shaking the bars of its cage.

If I went out of the hotel I'd still be in a trap: they'd move with me through the streets and wherever I went they would go, and this time they wouldn't let me get clear, because Kishnar was coming and their orders were to hold me ready for him.

I was beginning to know Shoda. You know how to do this thing, by knowledge of woman. Sayako. I knew there were enough of them out there to make a concerted kill by sheer weight of numbers, but they'd tried it before, five of them in the limousine, and this time Shoda had known that the only way to make certain was to send Kishnar. To let these minions attempt a kill would be like asking the peons in the plaza de tons to go for the bull instead of leaving it for the matador.

She had style, Shoda. This time she wanted the act accomplished with certainty, discretion and grace. She would be praying for me, I knew, at some time in the hours of this night.

14:25.

Most of the vacant rooms were on the fifth floor because there wasn't a lift and the stairs were steep; they were also ancient, and creaked. That would be the terrain of my main defence: the staircase. It would send me immediate and accurate signals if anyone set foot in it, even bare. Kishnar would know that. He was a professional. He would look at this building and know by its age and construction that the stairs would creak. He would therefore try to bring me out to the street, and lead me to dark places. I didn't know how he would do this, but with the passing of these uneasy hours I might come to know, or catch a gleam of intuition. My mind was already engaged with his, as the distance closed between us.

At three o'clock I went downstairs and asked the kitchen boy to bring me some food in the bar, a two-egg omelette and wholewheat toast; fat, protein and carbohydrate. I sat with the long window at my right side, the window overlooking the street, where they could see me and be reassured that I knew nothing, felt myself to be in no danger.

'We're here for the gee-gees.' A sly laugh.

Al was booking them in, wouldn't know what gee-gees were, unless he was versed in the vernacular of the suburban Londoner.

'It's always too bloody wet at Epsom.' Rueful chuckle.

Have a nice stay, Al told them, not knowing what Epsom was, or where, it's good to have you folks at the Red Orchid, so forth, while this compatriot of theirs, this undistinguished spook, sat eating his eggs and toast and tried to keep his mind off the fact that there was a narrow-angled vector running from this window to the roof on the other side of the street, from this head to the muzzle of a .22 single-shot rim-fire Remington 40XB with Redfield Olympic sights, one quick squeeze and the glass of the window flying inwards and the little grey cylinder meeting the skin and then the bone and then the brain and nuzzling into the consciousness at two thousand revolutions a second and blowing the world away, morbid, yes, just a touch melodramatic but the fact remained, the fact remained, damn you, dial a calculated risk is still a risk and this was going to be a long day and it wasn't over yet.

'Hell's Epsom?'

'What?'

Al looking down at me, a toothpick in his mouth, his lazy, cynical smile covering his habitual apprehension.

'Oh. A race-track near London.'

Just a thought, that was all. They wouldn't use a gun.

'And the gee-jaws?'

'Al, you slay me.' Now what a turn of phrase. 'Gee-gees, horses, don't ask me why.'