The interior held a kind of small travelling office, containing as it did a ma.s.s of papers, including invoices, receipts, cheque-books and contracts: the owner of the Coronado team obviously served as his own accountant. Harlow ignored everything except an elastic-bound bunch of expired cheque-books. He flipped through those quickly then stopped and stared at the front few pages of one of the cheque-books where all the payments were recorded together. He examined all four recording pages closely, shook his head in evident disbelief, pursed his lips in a soundless whistle, brought out his miniature camera and took eight pictures, two of each page. This done, he returned everything as he had found it and left.

The corridor was deserted. Harlow moved down to 204 - Tracchia's room - and used the same key to enter as he 'had on MacAlpine's door : hotel room keys have only marginal differences as they have to accommodate a master key: what Harlow had was, in fact, a master key.

As Tracchia had considerably fewer possessions than MacAlpine, the search was correspondingly easier. Again Harlow encountered another, but smaller, brief-case, the opening of which again provided him with the minimum of difficulty. There were but few papers inside and Harlow found little of interest among them except a thin book, bound in black and red, of what appeared to be a list of extremely cryptic addresses. Each address, if address it were, was headed by a single letter, followed by two or three wholly indecipherable lines of letters. It could have meant something: it could have meant nothing. Harlow hesitated, obviously in a state of indecision, shrugged, brought out his camera and photographed the pages. He left Tracchia's room in as immaculate a condition as he had left MacAlpine's.

Two minutes later in 208, Harlow, sitting on Neubauer's bed with a brief-case on his lap, was no longer hesitating. The miniature camera clicked busily away: the thin black and red note-book he held in his hand was identical to the one he had found in Tracchia's possession.

From there, Harlow moved on to the last of his four objectives - Jacobson's room. Jacobson, it appeared, was either less discreet or less sophisticated than either Tracchia or Neubauer. He had two bank-books and when Harlow opened them he sat quite still. Jacobson's income, it appeared from them, amounted to at least twenty times as much as he could reasonably expect to earn as a chief mechanic. Inside one of the books was a list of addresses, in plain English, scattered all over Europe. All those details Harlow faithfully recorded on his little camera. He replaced the papers in the case and the case in its original position and was on the point of leaving when he heard footsteps in the the corridor. He stood, irresolute, until the footsteps came to a halt outside his door. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and was about to use it as a mask when a key turned in the lock. Harlow had time only to move swiftly and silently into a wardrobe, pulling the door quietly to behind him, when the corridor door opened and someone entered the room. corridor. He stood, irresolute, until the footsteps came to a halt outside his door. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and was about to use it as a mask when a key turned in the lock. Harlow had time only to move swiftly and silently into a wardrobe, pulling the door quietly to behind him, when the corridor door opened and someone entered the room.

From where Harlow was, all was total darkness. He could hear someone moving around the room but had no idea from the sound as to what the source of the activity might be: for all he could tell someone might have been engaged in exactly the same pursuit as he himself had been a minute ago. Working purely by feel, he folded his handkerchief cornerwise, adjusted the straight edge to a point just below his eyes and knotted the handkerchief behind the back of his head.

The wardrobe door opened and Harlow was confronted with the spectacle of a portly, middle-aged chambermaid carrying a bolster in her hands - she'd obviously just been changing it for the night-time pillows. She, in turn, was confronted with the shadowy menacing figure of a man in a white mask. The chambermaid's eyes turned up in her head. Soundlessly, without even as much as a sigh, she swayed and crumpled slowly towards the floor. Harlow stepped out, caught her before she hit the marble tiles and lowered her gently, using the bolster as a pillow. He moved quickly towards the opened corridor door, closed it, removed his handkerchief and proceeded to wipe all the surfaces he had touched, including the top and handle of the brief-case. Finally, he took the telephone off the hook and left it lying on the table. He left, pulling the door to behind him but not quite closing it.

He pa.s.sed swiftly along the corridor, descended the stairs at a leisurely pace, went to the bar and ordered himself a drink. The barman looked at him in what came to being open astonishment. 'You said what, sir?' 'Double gin and tonic is what I said.' Yes, Mr. Harlow. Very good, Mr. Harlow.' As impa.s.sively as he could, die barman prepared the drink which Harlow took to a wall seat situated between two potted plants. He looked across the lobby with interest. There were some signs of unusual activity at the telephone switchboard, where the girl operator was showing increasing signs of irritation. A light on her board kept flashing on and off but she was obviously having no success in contacting the room number in question. Finally, clearly exasperated, she beckoned a page boy and said something in a low voice. The page boy nodded and crossed the lobby at the properly sedate pace in keeping with the advertised ambience of the Hotel-Villa Cessna.

When he returned, it was at anything but a sedate pace. He ran across the lobby and whispered something urgently to the operator. She left her seat and only seconds later no less a personage than the manager himself appeared and hurried across the lobby. Harlow waited patiently, pretending to sip his drink from time to time. He knew that most people in the lobby were covertly studying him but was unconcerned. From where they sat he was drinking a harmless lemonade or tonic water. The barman, of course, knew better and it was as certain as that night's sundown that one of the first things that MacAlpine would do on his return would be to ask for Johnny Harlow's drink bill, on the convincing enough pretext that it was inconceivable for the champion to put his hand in his pocket for anything.

The manager reappeared, moving with most un-managerial haste, in a sort of disciplined trot, reached the desk and busied himself with the telephone. The entire lobby was now agog with interest and expectation. Their undivided attention had now been transferred from Harlow to the front desk and Harlow took advantage of this to tip the contents of his gla.s.s into a potted plant. He rose and sauntered across the lobby as if heading for the front revolving doors. His route brought him past the side of the manager. Harlow broke step.

He said sympathetically: Trouble?'

'Grave trouble, Mr. Harlow. Very grave.' The manager had the phone to his ear, obviously waiting for a call to come through, but it was still apparent that he was flattered that Johnny Harlow should take time off to speak to him. 'Burglars! a.s.sa.s.sins! One of our chambermaids has been most brutally and savagely a.s.saulted.'

'Good G.o.d! Where?'

'Mr. Jacobson's room.'

'Jacobson's - but he's only our chief mechanic. He's got nothing worth stealing.'

'Ah! Like enough, Mr. Harlow. But the burglar wasn't to know that, was he?'

Harlow said anxiously: 'I hope she was able to identify her attacker.'

'Impossible. All she remembers is a masked giant jumping out of a wardrobe and attacking her. He was carrying a club, she said.' He put his hand over the mouthpiece. 'Excuse me. The police.'

Harlow turned, exhaled a long slow sigh of relief, walked away, pa.s.sed out through the revolving doors, turned right and then right again, re-entered the hotel through one of the side doors and made his way un.o.bserved back up to his own room. Here he withdrew the sealed film ca.s.sette from his miniature camera, replaced it with a fresh one - or one -that appeared to be fresh -unscrewed the back of his cine-camera, inserted the miniature and screwed home the back plate of the cinecamera. For good measure, he added a few more scratches to the dulled black metal finish. The original ca.s.sette he put in an envelope, wrote on it his name and room number, took it down to the desk, where the more immediate signs of panic appeared to be over, asked that it be put in the safe and returned to his room.

An hour later, Harlow, his more conventional wear now replaced by a navy roll-neck pullover and leather jacket, sat waiting patiently on the edge of his bed. For the second time that night, he heard the sound of a heavy diesel motor outside, for the second time that night he switched off the light, pulled the curtains, opened the window and looked out. The reception party bus had returned. He pulled the curtains to again, switched on the light, removed the flat bottle of scotch from under the mattress, rinsed his mouth with some of it and left.

He was descending the foot of the stairs as the reception party entered the lobby. Mary, reduced to only one stick now, was on her father's arm but when MacAlpine saw Harlow he handed her to Dunnet. Mary looked at Harlow quietly and steadily but her face didn't say anything.

Harlow made to brush by but MacAlpine barred his way.

MacAlpine said : the mayor was very vexed and displeased by your absence.'

Harlow seemed totally unconcerned by the mayor's reactions. He said : 'I'll bet he was the only one.'

'You remember you have some practice laps first thing in the morning?'

'I'm the person who has to do them. Is it likely that I would forget?'

Harlow made to move by MacAlpine but the latter blocked his way again.

MacAlpine said: 'Where are you going?'

'Out.'

'I forbid you - '

'You'll forbid me nothing that isn't in my contract.'

Harlow left. Dunnet looked at MacAlpine and sniffed.

'Air is is a bit thick, isn't it?' a bit thick, isn't it?'

'We missed something,' MacAlpine said. 'We'd better go and see What it was we missed.'

Mary looked at them in turn.

'So you've already searched his room when he was put on the track. And now that his back is turned again you're going to search it again. Despicable. Utterly despicable. You're nothing better than a couple of - a couple of sneak-thieves.' She pulled her arm away from Dunnet. 'Leave me alone. I can find my own room.'

Both men watched her limp across the foyer. Dunnet said complainingly: 'Considering the issues involved, life or death issues, if you like, I do consider that a rather unreasonable att.i.tude.'

'So is love,' MacAlpine sighed. 'So is love.'

Harlow, descending the hotel steps, brushed by Neubauer and Tracchia. Not only did he not speak to them, for they still remained on courtesy terms, he didn't even appear to see them. Both men turned and looked after Harlow. He was walking with that over-erect, over-stiff posture of the slightly inebriated who are making too good a job of trying to pretend that all is well. Even as they watched, Harlow made one barely perceptible and clearly unpremeditated stagger to one side, but quickly recovered and was back on an over-straight course again. Neubauer and Tracchia exchanged glances, nodded to each other briefly, just once. Neubauer went into the hotel while Tracchia moved off after Harlow.

The earlier warm night air had suddenly begun to chill, the coolness being accompanied by a slight drizzle. This was to Tracchia's advantage. City-dwellers are notoriously averse to anything more than a slight humidity in the atmosphere, and although the Hotel-Villa Cessni was situated in what was really nothing more than a small village, the same urban principle applied : with the first signs of rain the streets began to clear rapidly : the danger of losing Harlow among crowds of people decreased almost to nothingness. The rain increased steadily until finally Tracchia was following Harlow through almost deserted streets. This, of course, increased the chances of detection should Harlow choose to cast a backward glance but it became quickly evident that Harlow had no intention of casting any backward glances: he had about him the fixed and determined air of a man who was heading for a certain objective and backward glances were no part of his forward-looking plans. Tracchia, sensing this, began to move up closer until he was no more than ten yards behind Harlow.

Harlow's behaviour was becoming steadily more erratic. He had lost his ability to pursue a straight line and was beginning to weave noticeably. On one occasion he staggered in against a recessed doorway shop window and Tracchia caught a glimpse of Harlow's reflected face, head shaking and eyes apparently closed. But he pushed himself off and went resolutely if unsteadily on his way. Tracchia closed up even more, his face registering an expression of mingled amus.e.m.e.nt, contempt and disgust. The expression deepened as Harlow, his condition still deteriorating, lurched round a street corner to his left.

Temporarily out of Tracchia's line of vision, Harlow, all signs of insobriety vanished, moved rapidly into the first darkened doorway round the corner. From a back pocket he withdrew an article not normally carried by racing drivers - a woven leather black-jack with a wrist thong. Harlow slipped the thong over his hand and waited.

He had little enough time to wait. As Tracchia rounded the corner the contempt on his face gave way to consternation when he saw that the ill-lit street ahead was empty. Anxiously, he increased his pace and within half a dozen paces was pa.s.sing by the shadowed and recessed doorway where Harlow waited.

A Grand Prix driver needs timing, accuracy and eyesight. All of those Harlow had in super-abundance. Also he was extremely fit. Tracchia lost consciousness instantly. Without as much as a glance at it, Harlow stepped over the prostrate body and strode briskly on his way. Only, it wasn't the way he had been going. He retraced his tracks for about a quarter of a mile, turned left and almost at once found himself in the transporter parking lot. It seemed extremely unlikely that Tracchia, when he came to, would have even the slightest idea as to where Harlow had been headed.

Harlow made directly for the nearest transporter. Even through the rain and near darkness the name, in ( (two feet high golden letters, was easily distinguishable: CORONADO. He unlocked the door, pa.s.sed inside and switched on the lights and very powerful lights they were too, as they had to be for mechanics working on such delicate engineering. Here there was no need for glowing red lights, stealth and secrecy: there was no one who was going to question Johnny Harlow's right to be inside his own transporter. Nevertheless, he took the precaution of locking the door from the inside and leaving the key half-turned in the lock so that it couldn't be opened from the outside. Then he used ply to mask the windows so that he couldn't be seen from outside: only then did he make for the tool-rack on the side and select the implements he wanted.

MacAlpine and Dunnet, not for the first time, were 76 illegally in Harlow's room and not feeling too happy about it: not about the illegality but what they had found there. More precisely, they were in Harlow's bathroom. Dunnet had the cistern cover in his hand while MacAlpine held up a dripping bottle of malt whisky. Both men regarded each other, at a momentary loss for words, then Dunnet said : 'Resourceful lad is our Johnny. He's probably got a crate hidden under the driving seat of his Coronado. But I think you'd better leave that bottle where you found it.'

'Why ever should I? What's the point in that?'

'That way we may may know his daily consumption. If he can't get it from that bottle he'll sure as h.e.l.l get it elsewhere-you know his uncanny way of vanishing in that red Ferrari of his. And then we'll never know how much he drinks.' know his daily consumption. If he can't get it from that bottle he'll sure as h.e.l.l get it elsewhere-you know his uncanny way of vanishing in that red Ferrari of his. And then we'll never know how much he drinks.'

'I suppose so, I suppose so.' He looked at the bottle and there was pain in his eyes. the most gifted driver of our time, perhaps the most gifted driver of all time, and now it's come to this. Why do the G.o.ds strike a man like Johnny Harlow down, Alexis? Because he's beginning to walk too close to them.'

'Put the bottle back, James.'

Only two doors away was another pair of unhappy men, one of them markedly so. Tracchia, from the incessant way in which he ma.s.saged the back of his neck, appeared to be in very considerable pain. Neubauer watched him with a mixture of sympathy and anger.

Neubauer said : 'Sure it was that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Harlow?'

'I'm sure. I've still got my wallet.'

That was careless of him. I think I'll lose my room key and borrow the master.'

Tracchia momentarily ceased to ma.s.sage his aching neck. 'What the h.e.l.l for?'

'You'll see. Stay here.'

Neubauer returned within two minutes, a key ring whirling round his finger. He said: 'I'm taking the blonde at reception out on Sunday night. I think I'll ask for the keys' of the safe next time.'

Tracchia said in agonized patience: 'Willi, there is a time and a place for comedy.'

'Sorry.' He opened the door and they pa.s.sed out into the corridor. It was deserted. Less than ten seconds later they were both inside Harlow's room, the door locked behind them.

Tracchia said: 'What happens if Harlow comes along?'

'Who would you rather be? Harlow or us?'

They had spent no more than a minute in searching when Neubauer suddenly said : 'You were quite right, Nikki. Our dear friend Johnny is is just that little bit careless.' just that little bit careless.'

He showed Tracchia the cine-camera with the crisscross of scratches round each of the four screws securing the plate at the back, produced a pocket-knife, selected a small screw-driver, removed the plate and extracted the micro camera. Neubauer then extracted the ca.s.sette from the micro camera and examined it thoughtfully. He said: 'We take this?'

Tracchia shook his head and instantly screwed up his face in the agony caused by the thoughtless movement. When he had recovered, he said: 'No. He would have known we were here.'

Neubauer said: 'So there's only one thing for it then?'

Tracchia nodded and again winced in pain. Neubauer lifted off the cover of the ca.s.sette, unreeled the film and pa.s.sed it under a strong desk lamp, then, not without some difficulty, rewound the film, replaced the cover, put the ca.s.sette back in the micro camera and the micro camera in the cine.

Tracchia said: this proves nothing. We contact Ma.r.s.eilles?'

Neubauer nodded. Both men left the room.

Harlow had a Coronado pushed back by about a foot. He peered at the section of floor-board revealed, reached for a powerful torch, knelt and examined the floor intently. One of the longitudinal planks appeared to have two transverse lines on it, about fifteen inches apart. Harlow used an oily cloth to rub the front line, whereupon it became evident that the front line was no line at all but a very fine sharp cut. The revealed heads of the two holding nails were bright and clear of any marks. Harlow brought a chisel to bear and the front of the inlet wooden section lifted with surprising ease. He reached down an arm to explore the depth and length of the s.p.a.ce beneath. A fractional lifting of the eyebrows expressed some degree of surprise, almost certainly as to the unseen extent of area available. Harlow brought out his arm and touched fingertips to mouth and nose: there was no perceptible change in his expression. He replaced the board section and gently tapped it into place, using the b.u.t.t of a chisel on the gleaming nail-heads. With a suitably oiled and dirty cloth he smeared the cuts and nails.

Forty-five minutes had elapsed between the time of Harlow's departure from the Villa-Hotel Cessni and his return there. The vast foyer looked semi-deserted but there must, n fact, have been over a hundred people there, many of them from the official reception party, all of them, probably, waiting to go 'in for late dinner. The first two people Harlow saw were MacAlpine and Dunnet, sitting alone at a small table with short drinks. Two tables away Mary sat by herself, a soft drink and a magazine in front of her. She didn't give the impression of reading and there was a certain stiff aloofness in her bearing. Harlow wondered towards whom the hostility was directed. Towards himself, likely enough, but on the other hand there had grown up an increasing estrangement between Mary on the one hand and MacAlpine on the other. Of Rory there was no sign. Probably out spying somewhere, Harlow thought.

The three of them caught sight of Harlow at almost the same instant as he saw them. MacAlpine immediately rose to his feet.

'I'd be grateful, Alexis, if you could take Mary in to dinner. I'm going into the dining-room. I'm afraid if I were to stay-'

'It's all right, James. I understand.'

Harlow watched the calculated snub of the departing back without expression, an absence of outward feeling that quickly changed to a certain apprehension as he saw Mary bearing down on him. No question now as to whom the unspoken .hostility had been directed. She gave the very distinct impression of having been waiting for him. That bewitching smile that had made her the sweetheart of the race-tracks was, Harlow observed, in marked abeyance. He braced himself for what he knew was going to be a low but correspondingly fierce voice.

'Must you let everybody everybody see you like this? And in a see you like this? And in a place place like this.' Harlow frowned in puzzlement. 'You've been at it again.' like this.' Harlow frowned in puzzlement. 'You've been at it again.'

He said : that's right. Go ahead. Wound an innocent man's feelings. You have my worded bond - I mean my bonded word -'

'It's disgusting! Sober men don't fall flat on their faces in the street. Look at the state of your clothes, your filthy hands. Go on! Just look look at yourself.' at yourself.'

Harlow looked at himself.

'Oh! Aha! Well, sweet dreams, sweet Mary.'

He turned towards the stairs, took five steps and halted abruptly when confronted by Dunnet. For a moment the two men looked at each other, faces immobile, then there was an almost imperceptible lift of Dunnet's eyebrow. When Harlow spoke, his voice was very quiet.

He said : 'We go now.'

The Coronado?'

'Yes.'

'We go now.'

CHAPTER SIX

Harlow drained his coffee - it was by now his invariable custom to breakfast alone in his bedroom -and crossed to the window. The famed Italian September sun was nowhere to be seen that morning. The overcast was very heavy, but the ground was dry and the visibility excellent, a combination making for ideal race-track conditions. He went into the bathroom, opened the window to its fullest extent, removed the cistern cover, took out the scotch, turned on the hot water tap and systematically poured half the contents of the bottle into the basin. He returned the bottle to its hiding-place, sprayed the room very heavily with an airfresh aerosol and left.

He drove alone to the race-track - the pa.s.senger seat in his red Ferrari was rarely occupied now-to find Jacobson, his two mechanics and Dunnet already there. He greeted them briefly and in very short order, over-ailed and helmeted, was sitting in the c.o.c.kpit of his new Coronado. Jacobson favoured him with his usual grimly despondent look.

He said: 'I hope you can give us good practice lap-time today, Johnny.'

Harlow said mildly: 'I thought I didn't do too badly yesterday. However, one can but try.' With his finger on the starter b.u.t.ton he glanced at Dunnet. 'And where is our worthy employer today? Never known him to miss a practice lap before.'

'In the hotel. He has things to attend to.'

MacAlpine did, indeed, have things to attend to. What he was attending to at that moment had by this time become almost a routine ch.o.r.e - investigating the current level of Harlow's alcohol supply. As soon as he entered Harlow's bathroom he realized that checking the level of scotch in the bottle in the cistern was going to be a mere formality: the wide open window and the air heavy with the scent of the aerosol spray made further investigation almost superfluous. However, investigate he did: even though he had been almost certain what to expect, his face still darkened with anger as he held the half empty bottle up for inspection. He replaced the bottle, left Harlow's room almost at a run, actually ran across the hotel foyer, climbed into his Aston and drove off in a fashion that might well have left the astonished onlookers with the impression that he had mistaken the forecourt of the Villa-Hotel Cessni for the Monza circuit.

MacAlpine was still running when he arrived at the Coronado pits: there he encountered Dunnet who was just leaving them. MacAlpine was panting heavily. He said: 'Where's that young b.a.s.t.a.r.d Harlow?'

Dunnet did not reply at once. He seemed more concerned with shaking his head slowly from side to side.

'G.o.d's sake, man, where's that drunken layabout?' MacAlpine's voice was almost a shout. 'He mustn't be allowed anywhere near that d.a.m.ned track.'

'There's a lot of other drivers in Monza who would agree with you.'

'What's that meant to mean?'

'It means that that drunken layabout has just broken the lap record by two point one seconds.' Dunnet continued to shake his head in continued disbelief. 'b.l.o.o.d.y well incredible.'