'Two point one! Two point one! Two point one!' It was MacAlpine's turn to take up the head-shaking. Impossible. A margin like that? Impossible.'

'Ask the time-keepers. He did it twice.'

'Jesus!'

'You don't seem as pleased as you might, James.'

'Pleased. I'm b.l.o.o.d.y well terrified. Sure, sure, he's still the best driver in the world-except in actual compet.i.tion when his nerve goes. But it wasn't driving skill that took him around in that time. It was Dutch courage. Sheer b.l.o.o.d.y suicidal Dutch courage.'

'I don't understand you.'

'He'd a half-bottle of scotch inside him, Alexis.'

Dunnet stared at him. He said at length, 'I don't believe k. I can't believe it He may have driven like a bat out of h.e.l.l but he also drove like an angel. Half a bottle of scotch? He'd have killed himself.'

'Perhaps it's as well there was no one else on the track at the time. He'd have killed them, maybe.'

'But - but a whole half-bottle!'

'Want to come and have a look in the cistern in his bathroom?'

'No, no. You think I'd ever question your word? It's just that I can't understand it.'

'Nor can I, nor can I. And where is our world champion at the moment?'

'Left the track. Says he's through for the day. Says he's got the pole position for tomorrow and if anyone takes it from him he'll just come back and take it away from them again. He's in an uppish sort of mood today, is our Johnny.'

'And he never used to talk that way. That's not uppishness, Alexis, it's sheer b.l.o.o.d.y euphoria dancing on clouds of seventy proof. G.o.d Almighty, do I have a problem or do I have a problem.'

'You have a problem, James.'

On the afternoon of that same Sat.u.r.day MacAlpine, had he been in a certain rather shabby little side street in Monza, might well have had justification for thinking that his problems were being doubly or trebly compounded. Two highly undistinguished little cafes faced each other across the narrow street. They had in common the same peeling paint facade, hanging reed curtains, chequered cloth-covered sidewalk tables and bare, functional and splendidly uninspired interiors. And both of them, as was so common in cafes of this type, featured high-backed booths facing end-on to the street.

Sitting well back from the window in such a booth on the southern and shaded side of the street were Neubauer and Tracchia with untouched drinks in front of them. The drinks were untouched because neither man was interested in them. Their entire interest was concentrated upon the cafe opposite where, close up to the window and clearly in view, Harlow and Dunnet, gla.s.ses in their hands, could be seen engaged in what appeared to be earnest discussion across their booth table.

Neubauer said : 'Well, now that we've followed them here, Nikki, what do we do now? I mean, you can't lip-read, can you?'

We wait and see? We play it by ear? T wish to G.o.d T could lip-read, Willi. And I'd also like to know why those two have suddenly become so friendly - though they hardly ever speak nowadays in public. And why did they have to come to a little back street like this to talk? We know that Harlow is up to something very funny indeed -the back of my neck still feels half-broken, I could hardly get my d.a.m.ned helmet on today. And if he and Dunnet are so thick then they're both up to the same funny thing. But Dunnet's only a journalist. What can a journalist and a has-been driver be up to?'

Has-been? Did you see his times this morning?'

'Has-been I said and has-been I meant. You'll see - he'll crack tomorrow just as he's cracked in the last four GPs.'

'Yes. Another strange .thing. Why is he so good in practice and such a failure in the races themselves?'

'No question. It's common knowledge that Harlow's pretty close to being an alcoholic - I'd say he already is one. All right, so he can drive one fast lap, maybe three. But in an eighty-lap Grand Prix -how can you expect an alco to have the stamina, the reactions, the nerve to last the pace? He'll crack.' He looked away from the other cafe and took a morose sip of his drink. 'G.o.d, what wouldn't I give to be sitting in the next booth to those two.'

Tracchia laid a hand on Neubauer's forearm. 'Maybe that won't be necessary, Willi. Maybe we've just found a pair of ears to do our listening for us. Look!'

Neubauer looked. With what appeared to be a considerable degree of stealth and secrecy Rory MacAlpine was edging his way into the booth next to the one occupied by Harlow and Dunnet. He was carrying a coloured drink in his hand. When he sat it was with his back to Harlow : physically, they couldn't have been more than a foot apart. Rory adopted a very upright posture, both his back and the back of his head pressed hard against the part.i.tion: he was, clearly, listening very intently indeed. He had about him the look of one who was planning a career either as a master spy or a double agent. Without question he had a rare talent for observing - and listening - without being observed.

Neubauer said: 'What do you think young MacAlpine is up to?'

'Here and now?' Tracchia spread his hands. 'Anything. The one thing that you can be sure of is that he intends no good to Harlow. I should think he is just trying to get anything he can on Harlow. Just anything. He's a determined young devil -and he hates Harlow. I must say I wouldn't care very much myself to be in his black books.'

'So we have an ally, Nikki, yes?'

'I see no reason why not. Let's think up a nice little story to tell him.' He peered across the street. 'Young Rory doesn't seem too pleased about something.'

Rory wasn't. His expression held mixed feelings of vexation, exasperation and perplexity: because of the high back of the booth and the background noise level created by the other patrons of the cafe, he could catch only s.n.a.t.c.hes of the conversation from the next booth.

Matters weren't helped for Rory by the fact that Harlow and Dunnet were carrying on this conversation in very low tones indeed. Both of them had tall clear drinks in front of them, both drinks with ice and lemon in them: only one held gin. Dunnet looked consideringly at the tiny film ca.s.sette he was cradling in the palm of his hand then slipped it into a safe inside pocket.

'Photographs of code? You're sure?'

'Code for sure. Perhaps even along with some abstruse foreign language. I'm afraid I'm no expert on those matters.'

'No more than I am. But we have people who are experts. And the Coronado transporter. You're sure about that too?'

'No question.'

'So we've been nursing a viper to our own bosom - if that's the phrase I'm looking for.'

'It is a bit embarra.s.sing, isn't it?'

'And no question about Henry having any finger in the pie?'

'Henry?' Harlow shook his head positively. 'My 'My life on it.' life on it.'

'Even though, as driver, he's the only person who's with the transporter on every trip it makes?'

'Even though.'

'And Henry will have to go?'

'What option do we have?'

'So. Exit Henry - temporarily, though he won't know it: he'll get his old job back. He'll be hurt, of course -but what's one brief hurt to thousands of life-long ones?'

'And if he refuses?'

'I'll have him kidnapped,' Dunnet said matter-of-factly. 'Or otherwise removed - painlessly, of course. But he'll go along. I've got the doctor's certificate already signed.'

'How about medical ethics?'

The combination of 500 and a genuine certificate of an already existing heart murmur makes medical scruples vanish like a snowflake in the river.'

The two men finished their drinks, rose and left. So, after what he presumably regarded as being a suitably safe interval, did Rory. In the cafe opposite, Neubauer and Tracchia rose hurriedly, walked quickly after Rory and overtook him in half a minute. Rory looked his surprise.

Tracchia said confidentially: 'We 'We want to talk to you, Rory. Can you keep a secret?' want to talk to you, Rory. Can you keep a secret?'

Rory looked intrigued but he had a native caution which seldom abandoned him. 'What's the secret about?'

'You are are a suspicious young person.' a suspicious young person.'

'What's the secret about?'

'Johnny Harlow.'

'That's different.' Tracchia had Rory's instantaneous and co-operative attention. 'Of course I can keep a secret.'

Neubauer said: 'Well, then, never a whisper. Never one word or you'll ruin everything. You understand?'

'Of course.' He hadn't the faintest idea what Neubauer was talking about.

You've heard of the GPDA?'

'Course. The Grand Prix Drivers' a.s.sociation.'

'Right. Well, the GPDA has decided that for the safety of us all, drivers and spectators alike, Harlow must be removed from the Grand Prix roster. We want him taken off all the race-tracks in Europe. You know that he drinks?'

'Who doesn't?'

'He drinks so much that he's become the most dangerous driver in Europe.' Neubauer's voice was low-pitched, conspiratorial and totally convincing. 'Every other driver is scared to be on the same track as he is. None of us knows when he's going to be the next Jethou.'

'You-you mean-'

'He was drunk at the time. That's why a good man dies, Rory-because another man drinks half a bottle of scotch too many. Would you call that much different from being a murderer?'

'No, by G.o.d I wouldn't!'

'So the GPDA has asked Willi and myself to gather die evidence. About drinking, I mean. Especially before a big race. Will you help us?'

'You have to ask me?'

'We know, boy, we know.' Neubauer put his hand on Rory's shoulder, a gesture at once indicative of consolation and understanding. 'Mary is our girl, too. You saw Harlow and Mr. Dunnet in that cafe just now. Did Harlow drink?'

'I didn't really see them. I was in the next booth. But I heard Mr. Dunnet say something about gin and I saw the waiter bring two tall gla.s.ses with what looked like water in them.'

'Water!' Tracchia shook his head sadly. 'Anyway, that's more like it. Though I can't believe that Dunnet - well, who knows. Did you hear them talk about drink?'

'Mr. Dunnet? Is there something wrong with him too?'

Tracchia said evasively, well aware that that was the surest way of arousing Rory's interest: 'I don't know anything about Mr. Dunnet. About drink, now.'

They spoke in very low voices. I caught something, not much. Not about drink. The only thing I heard was something about changed ca.s.settes - film ca.s.settes - or such-like, something Harlow had given to Mr. Dunnet. Didn't make any kind of sense to me.'

Tracchia said : that hardly concerns us. But the rest, yes. Keep your eyes and ears open, will you?'

Rory, carefully concealing his new-found sense of self-importance, nodded man to man and walked away. Neubauer and Tracchia looked at each other with fury in their faces, a fury, clearly, that was not directed at each other.

Through tightly clenched teeth Tracchia said : The crafty b.a.s.t.a.r.d! He's switched ca.s.settes on us. That was a dud we destroyed.'

On the evening of that same day Dunnet and Henry sat in a remote corner of the lobby in the Villa-Hotel Cessni. Dunnet wore his usual near-inscrutable expression. Henry looked somewhat stunned although it was clear that his native shrewdness was hard at work making a rea.s.sessment of an existing situation and a readjustment to a developing one. He tried hard not to look cunning. He said : 'You certainly do know how to lay it on the line, don't you, Mr. Dunnet?' The tone of respectful admiration for a higher intellect was perfectly done. Dunnet remained totally unmoved.

'If by laying it on the line, Henry, you mean putting it as briefly and clearly as possible, then, yes, I have laid it on the line. Yes or no? '

'Jesus, Mr. Dunnet, you don't give a man much time to think, do you?'

Dunnet said patiently : This hardly calls for thought, Henry. A simple yes or no. Take it or leave it.'

Henry kept his cunning look under wraps. 'And if I leave it?'

'We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.'

Henry looked distinctly uneasy. 'I don't know if I like the sound of that, Mr. Dunnet.'

'How does it sound to you, Henry?'

'I mean, well, you aren't blackmailing me or threatening me or something like that?'

Dunnet had the air of a man counting up to ten. 'You make me say it, Henry. You're talking rubbish. How can one blackmail a man who leads the spotless life you do? You do lead a spotless life, don't you, Henry? And why why should I threaten you? should I threaten you? How How could I threaten you?' He made a long pause. 'Yes or no?' could I threaten you?' He made a long pause. 'Yes or no?'

Henry sighed in defeat. 'd.a.m.n it all, yes. I've got nothing to lose. For 5,000 and a job in our Ma.r.s.eilles garage I'd sell my own grandmother down the river -G.o.d rest her soul.'

That wouldn't be necessary even if it were possible. Just total silence that's all. Here's a health certificate from a local doctor. It's to say you have an advanced cardiac condition and are no longer fit for heavy work such as, say, driving a transporter.'

'I haven't been feeling at all well lately and that's a fact.'

Dunnet permitted himself the faintest of smiles. 'I thought you might have been feeling that way.'

'Does Mr. MacAlpine know about this?'

'He will when you tell him. Just wave that paper.'

'You think he'll wear it?'

'If you mean accept it, yes. He'll have no option.'

'May I ask the reason for all this?'

'No. You're getting paid 5,000 not to ask questions. Or talk. Ever. '

'You're a very funny journalist, Mr. Dunnet.'

'Very.'

'I'm told you were an accountant in what they call the City. Why did you give it up?'