The Melting Man

CHAPTER EIGHT

It was a Rolls-Royce. Kermode was driving and I sat in the back with O'Dowda. I felt in my pocket for the gun that I had borrowed from Durnford. It was gone. When O'Dowda saw that I had surfaced he handed me a flask without a word. I drank, then shivered, and blinked my eyes at the road unwinding before the headlights. We were climbing steeply through pine woods. Probably, I thought, the road back to the château.

Kermode had his chauffeur's cap pitched at a jaunty angle and was whistling gently to himself, happy at the thought of a good time ahead. O'Dowda was wearing a knickerbocker suit of hairy Harris tweed. There was a big bruise on his right temple.

Nobody spoke for a long time. Then, staring straight ahead of him, O'Dowda said, 'You're a bastard.'

It wasn't a good conversational opener, so I ignored it.

He said, 'You're a bastard. So is Durnford, but he's a drunken bastard. If it's any interest to you, I've sacked him.'

'After twisting his arm to say where I was?'

'Both arms,' said Kermode over his shoulder.

The two of them had a merry chuckle over that.

I didn't relish the thought of the next few hours. O'Dowda wanted the parcel and he wasn't, I was sure, contemplating any kind of a deal — even if I'd been in a position to offer one.

He said, 'I hate time-wasting. Someone always has to pay for that, boyo.'

I yawned, closed my eyes, and leaned back against the genuine pigskin.

O'Dowda said, 'What makes you think you can sleep?'

I said, 'Try and stop me.' I slumped lower down and gave a drowsy grunt.

Kermode said, 'He should be fun, sir.'

O'Dowda said, 'Yes. Worth waiting for.'

From the corner of a half-opened eye I saw him pull out a cigar and light up. Despite the throb in my head, I went to sleep.

I woke as we turned into the driveway of the château.

O'Dowda said, 'Feel better?'

'Thanks.'

'Good. I want you in fighting trim. And this time I'm not taking bets.'

We went up the mile-long drive but we didn't go to the château. We turned off, down a side road, and climbed for about half a mile and then pulled up. Kermode dowsed the lights. Outside I got a glimpse of an expanse of water stretching away, steely blue under the moonlight. It looked like a lake and that brought unpleasant memories.

Standing at the side of the lake was a small cottage with a boathouse attached to it. They took me across to it and into the large main room.

'My workroom,' said Kermode.

There was a long bench down one side of the room, an open fireplace at the far end and on a little plinth in the middle stood an unclothed life-size wax figure without a head.

'When it's finished,' said O'Dowda, 'it's going to be you. We'll use the suit you're wearing now, so just take it off.' He looked at Kermode. 'Turn up the heating, Kermode, so that he doesn't get cold.'

Kermode moved around the room, turning on three or four electric heaters. O'Dowda lit another cigar and went to a cabinet and poured himself a brandy.

'There's one for you,' he said, 'when you've got the suit off.'

I stripped my suit off. What else could I do? If I had refused they would have enjoyed doing it for me.

O'Dowda — going to get me a brandy — said to Kermode, 'Do we want his shoes?'

Kermode shook his head. 'Too scruffy.'

O'Dowda handed me my brandy.

He said, 'Don't be too long drinking it. We want to tie your hands behind your back.'

I said, 'Have you figured out a place for me in the rogues' gallery?'

'Not yet,' said O'Dowda.

'Do me a favour and keep me well away from the policeman. I'm allergic to them.'

'So you should be. I suppose Interpol have been telling you that you have to hand the parcel over to them, or else?'

'Something like that.'

'Powerful things, governments,' said O'Dowda. 'I should know, I practically own a couple. I also have two Interpol men on my payroll. By the way, as of this date, you are no longer on my payroll. What is more, I don't intend to pay you a penny of what I owe you for your work so far unless you hand over the parcel to me.'

'Why not? You employed me to trace the car for you. I did just that.'

'You did far more than just that. You walked off with my property.'

While we were talking Kermode was busying himself at a large cupboard. So far as I could make out he was sorting out a collection of fishing rods.

I said, 'Have you had any communication from Najib lately?'

He nodded, blinked his small blue eyes at me through his cigar smoke, and said, 'A phone call. To save unnecessary beating about the bush, boyo, let me say I am well aware of the whole position. Najib wants the parcel in return for Julia. Interpol want it from you — or else. And I mean to have it. Tricky. For you. You have my sympathy but nothing else. Oh, and there is the other thing, too. This nonsense about my late wife. That's pure poppycock. Just the kind of thing Julia would dream up and that a crazy fool like Durnford would jump at. Mind you, I knew he was having an affair with my wife just before her unfortunate accident, but it didn't worry me. I was going to divorce her anyway. I'd already instructed my solicitors to prepare a petition. One of life's little accidents saved me the cost of their fees. Tie his hands, Kermode.'

Kermode came over, politely waited for me to finish the last of the brandy, and then tied my hands behind me at the wrists tightly with thin cord.

Thinking it might interest me, he said, 'It's a piece of Corolene Dacron braided spinning line.'

'It cuts like hell,' I said.

'It's meant to.'

I looked at O'Dowda who was helping himself to another brandy.

'If I hand the parcel over to you — you know what will happen to Julia?'

'As the night follows the day. General Gonwalla can be a very mean-minded man.'

'And you don't care a damn?'

'She's not my true daughter, and anyway she has now formally severed all relationship with me. I have no responsibility for her. That's not to say that she isn't a nice-looking girl and it will be a sad thing. I wouldn't be surprised if you hadn't a soft spot for her. All this puts you in an awkward situation, but it is of no interest to me. Just hand the parcel to me, however, and I'll try and make Gonwalla see sense — though I can't guarantee anything.'

'If I do, then Interpol will rub me out.'

'Yes, I think they would do that. That's why I'm sure that I shall have to use some method to make you tell me where the parcel is. I couldn't expect you to do so willingly.'

Kermode looked towards O'Dowda. 'What do you think, sir. Let it get a bit lighter?'

O'Dowda nodded. 'I think so. Won't be as much fun then as a big sea-trout in the dark, but we mustn't expect too much. What rod do you think?'

'Salmon?'

'We'll try the A. H. E. Wood.' He turned to me. 'Of course you could save yourself all this by just telling me where the parcel is.'

'I destroyed it.'

He grinned. 'Not you, boyo. If you gave me an affidavit signed by St Peter I wouldn't believe that one.'

'What about St Patrick?'

'Less so. Think I don't know the Irish? No, you've got it somewhere safe and I'm having it. Come to think of it, I'd rather force it from you. You need some of the spunk taken out of you. I wouldn't say that your manner towards a man of my standing is deferential enough. And even if I did, there's a well-developed sadistic streak in me that says go ahead and have fun. God, it's hot in here.'

He stripped off his Harris tweed jacket. Over by the cupboard Kermode was fixing up the salmon rod with a reel. I had a fair idea of what they might be going to do, but I couldn't believe it. I tried to remember what I could about the breaking strain of lines, and then I recalled reading somewhere that a good rod and line had stopped a really strong swimmer dead after he'd done about thirty yards. I stopped thinking about it. O'Dowda was right. It was hot in the room. The lake would make an unpleasant contrast in temperature.

Then I thought about the parcel. What the hell was I to do? The whole thing had me properly confused. Give it to O'Dowda and lose Julia? Give it to Najib and save Julia — but put myself in the soup? Give it to Interpol and save myself and lose Julia, and then have Najib and O'Dowda gunning for me out of sheer political and economic spite? If there'd been time of course I could have written to some lonely hearts column and got advice. 'In the circumstances I think this is a problem where you must squarely face your own conscience…' Trouble was there was no sign of my conscience being around at this moment. It was that kind of conscience, never there when you really wanted it.

I sat and sweated. O'Dowda had a little snooze. Kermode — he was the type — kept busy, tinkering away at some metalwork job at a bench down the far end of the room. Now and again he went to the window and looked out to see how the light was coming along.

After a couple of hours he came over to me and strapped a leather dog-collar affair around my neck. There was a steel ring fitted into it just under my chin and attached to the ring was a three-yard length of line.

'It's a wire gimp,' he said. 'So you can't bite through. Some big pike have been known to — but you've got to have real teeth for a job like that.' Then he looked at O'Dowda and, believe it or not, there was a touch of gentleness on his craggy, monkey face. 'Pity to wake him. He needs his sleep, does the boss. Drives himself hard. Always on the go. Don't pay any attention to that sadistic talk. Heart of a lamb he's got really. If you just coughed up now, he'd call it a day. Probably hand you a bonus on your pay. What do you say?'

I said, 'He looks far too much overweight. The exercise will do him good — or give him a stroke. Want me to tell you which I'm cheering for?'

He went and woke O'Dowda, shaking him gently by the shoulder, and then holding his jacket for him.

And that was the beginning of the entertainment. They led me through a side door, Kermode carrying their equipment, into the boathouse.

We got into a rowing boat and Kermode took the oars and we pulled out on to the lake. It was a beautiful morning; no sun yet, but the hint of it, and the sky pearly grey with a rosy flush in the East. Not a cloud in the sky and a few late stars still flickering in protest against the coming day. Some duck got up from the weed beds near the boathouse.

'Pochards and a few garganey,' said O'Dowda. 'We tried to keep goldeneye here, but they wouldn't stay.' As he spoke he leaned forward making the end of the real line fast to the loose end of the wire gimp.

'Make sure the knot's good,' I said.

'Don't worry, boyo,' he said warmly, 'I've had my tackle broken but I've never lost a fish yet through a sloppy knot. All you have to do when you've had enough is just to shout. Don't leave it too long so that you're too weak to shout.'

I drove upwards with my right knee, trying to get him in the face before he could fix the knot, but he was too quick for me. One of his big hands grabbed my leg and held it. From behind me Kermode leaned forward and hauled me back, and O'Dowda straddled my legs and finished tying the knot.

From that position they didn't take any more chances with me. They took off my shoes and I was lifted and flung overboard.

I went under, and I thought I would go out with the sudden shock of the cold; and while I was still under I felt the strain come firmly on the collar round my neck. When I came up the boat was twenty yards away. O'Dowda was standing up, two-handing the salmon rod, and taking the strain nicely on me. Kermode was at the oars, not rowing, just holding the boat evenly.

I trod water and felt my shirt and shorts ballooning around me. The cold began to cut into me. O'Dowda increased the pressure through the line and my head name forward until my face was underwater. I was forced to kick out with my legs and swim towards the boat to get my face up into the air. I heard the reel take up the slack, and the pressure came on again as I stopped swimming. Again my face was dragged under. This time, I turned in the water, and kicked away strongly from the direction of the boat, knowing that the pull of the line would at least keep my head back and my face clear of the water. It did, and damned nearly choked me. I swam against it for as long as I could, and then the line pressure stopped me, rolled me over and I went down about two feet. If I'd been a salmon I would have come up in a great silver, curving leap, hoping to catch O'Dowda unawares and break line or rod tip. I came up like a sack of wet horse-hair, gasping and choking for breath, to hear O'Dowda shout, 'Come on, boyo, put some life into it. I've known a two-pound tench do better.'

I tried again. Not to please him, but in the hope of reaching the bank about fifty yards away. I swam towards the boat but at an oblique angle, hoping to gain a little ground towards shallow water. If I could once get my feet down and stand, I might have enough strength in my shoulder and neck muscles to hold them until I could turn round a couple of times, winding the line around my body and getting a grasp of it with my free fingers.

Kermode called, 'Watch him, sir. He's making for the weeds. Ah, he's a cunning one.'

The boat altered position and my face went under as O'Dowda tightened the line. I fought against it, jack-knifing my legs forward to bring my head up and then leaning back against the pressure of the line, taking the full power on my neck. O'Dowda held me like it for a few moments. I saw the arc of the rod bend more and I couldn't fight the power of the line and split bamboo rod. My face went under again and I had to kick forward fast to take off the full power of the line strain to get my mouth above water. I gulped in air, but before I'd had my fill, the boat moved away from me and the strain came in again. For five minutes O'Dowda played me, letting me have just enough air and respite to keep me going, but all the while I was getting weaker and more desperate, knowing that I was slowly being drowned. O'Dowda could have made a fast job of it, but he was taking his time. Now and again as I got my head up I saw them in the boat, and heard them laughing. I made a last, kicking thrust for shallow water, but I was stopped dead. Then the strain went off and I was allowed to breathe.

O'Dowda shouted, 'Well, where is it?'

He had me. There wasn't any question about it. Another five minutes of this and I wouldn't care what happened to me. But at that moment I was just conscious enough to care about the future. Quite frankly I didn't want to die, and I wasn't in any mood to make sacrifices for anybody. I wanted to stay alive. It's a powerful instinct and there's no arguing with it.

I opened my mouth to shout, but Kermode gave a couple of strokes on the oars and O'Dowda put more strain on the line and my face was under again. For a moment or two I blanked out from intelligent thought, just sinking into blackness, and stupidly telling myself that it was enough to put a man off fishing for life…

They must have seen I was all in and ready to talk, because the strain went off the line. I surfaced slowly and lay in the water on my back, facing the gold and silver morning sky, seeing a flight of starlings skeined right across it. I lay there gulping in the lovely air.

The strain was right off the line now and I heard the boat coming towards me, the reel singing as O'Dowda took up the slack line.

O'Dowda's voice called, 'Ready to talk?'

I rolled over and faced them. The boat was about four yards away. I trod water feebly and nodded my head.

O'Dowda said, 'Good. Where is it?'

'I'll have to go and get it. I posted it to myself,' I said.

'How long will that take?'

'Not long. It's poste restante at—'

Several things happened then to make me break off. There was the sound of a shot, O'Dowda ducked, raising the tip of the rod, and the strain came sharply back on to the line, choking the rest of my words silent.

Feebly I kicked to take the strain off. There was another shot from somewhere to my left. I slewed my head round to see three figures standing on the far bank. One of them plunged into the water and headed for me. At the same time one of the others raised a hand and I heard another shot. O'Dowda and Kermode went down flat in the boat and the strain was off me completely.

I made a few weak, token kicks towards whoever was coming out to me.

A few seconds later a familiar voice said, 'Hold on, honey-chile, while I get the hook out of your mouth. Yum-yum, fish for supper.'

It was, bless her black little heart, Panda Bubakar, heading for me at speed, a grin all over her face, her white teeth flashing, and, held between them, a knife.

She came threshing up to me, grabbed the wire gimp, worked her hand up to the line and slashed it with the knife. Then she turned me over on my back, grabbed the slack of my shirt and began to tow me ashore, while the two on the bank cracked off an occasional shot to keep O'Dowda and Kermode low in the boat.

When we reached the bank Panda pulled me out and helped me to my feet and went round behind to cut my hands free.

'Brother,' she said, 'have you got a thing for water! Your old lady must have been a mermaid.'

Standing higher up the bank were Najib and Jimbo Alakwe, both with guns in their hands. Najib, neat and tidy in a dark grey suit, beaming at me; and Jimbo in red jeans and a loose yellow sweat shirt with a man's head printed on it in black, a shaggy-headed, craggy-faced man with the word Beethoven under it. He beamed at me, too, but only briefly, turning away to give the row-boat another shot.

My hands free, Panda gave me a wet smack on the bottom and said, 'Start running, handsome. Mamma show the way.'

She moved off up the bank. I followed, stumbling along, clumsy from loss of circulation, but now with enough interest in life to give more than a dull data-recording glance at her long brown, heavy-breasted figure clad only in briefs and brassiere. At the top of the bank she stooped and jerked up a track suit and kept running.

'Be with you soonest,' said Jimbo as we went by.

'Sooner,' said Najib, and, nodding at me, added, 'Good morning, Mr Carver.'

Panda took me through the trees, along a small path and finally out on to the open space behind the cottage. Parked short of the Rolls-Royce was their Thunderbird.

At the car she jerked the rear door open and reached inside for a couple of rugs.

'Come on, honey,' she said. 'Get that wet stuff off and wrap up in these. And, boy,' she warned, 'no tricks. No jerking any torch out of your pants and slugging me. Jeese, was that something disappointing to a girl for a man to produce.'

She half turned from me and began to slip out of her pants and bra and then slid into her track suit. I stripped, too, and wrapped myself in the blankets and she bundled me into the car just as Najib and Jimbo appeared, running.

As they went by the Rolls, Jimbo put a shot in each of the back tyres.

Five seconds later we were streaking down the château drive towards the main road and my teeth were chattering in my head like an electric typewriter going at speed.

Najib, next to Jimbo, who was driving, handed a flask back to Panda.

With a wink, she said, 'Ladies first — which almost means me.' She took a good swig and then handed the flask over.

I took a deep pull, and she said, 'Keep sucking, baby. We'll soon have you in a nice hot bath and Mamma will give you a friction rub afterwards. Whoof! Whoof!' She put her long arm around my shoulder and gave me a great she-bear hug.

Driving, Jimbo said, 'That millionaire man sure has a thing about fishing. Only time I ever did it was with hand grenades in the river at home. Remember that, Najib?'

If Najib did, he didn't consider it worth recording. He turned back to me and said, 'Did you tell them anything?'

I said, 'Another two seconds and I would have done. I wouldn't have believed water could be so cold.'

'Healthy, though,' said Panda. 'Early morning swim, wham, gets the old corpuscles stirring and ready for mischief.'

She leaned forward and tucked the blankets round my legs. She found her cigarettes and lit one for me, sticking it into my mouth and giving me a fat, almost motherly kiss on the cheek.

'Nice. Yum-yum,' she said, and to Najib added, 'Can I have him after you've finished?'

Najib said, 'Panda, for God's sake, throttle down.'

'She always like this?' I asked.

'Even in her sleep,' said Jimbo and chuckled to himself.

'I sure am,' said Panda unabashed. 'I've got over five hundred witnesses that'll testify.'

And from there, right to Geneva and Jimbo's flat she kept it up, ignored by the two in front. Her talk didn't trouble me too much. I had a lot to think about. But I had to fight off her long arms and hands occasionally as she checked now and then to see that I was comfortable inside the blankets and nicely warming up.

Nobody paid any attention to me as I went through the lobby to the lifts wrapped in blankets. Geneva is a cosmopolitan city. If a Zuly in war paint walked down the street everyone would know that he was just over to a conference hoping to get economic aid.

Panda ran me a bath, suggested we should share it, yelped like a disappointed puppy when I managed to lock her out, but was happier when I had to shout for a towel and there was no way of escaping the friction rub.

They found me a suit of Najib's, navy blue, and a white shirt and other odds and ends, but the only spare shoes were a pair of ginger suedes.

Back in the sitting room, I said, 'Why always these suede jobs?'

'We get them wholesale from Panda,' said Jimbo. 'She has a small factory in Leichtenstein.'

Panda, coming in with coffee, said, 'Well, a girl has to do something with her profits. It's for my old age. When I retire from the entertainment business, round about eighty, I guess.'

She put the coffee tray down in front of me and the top half of her nearly fell out of the low-cut yellow dress into which she had changed.

Najib said, 'You two get off. You know where. I want to talk to Mr Carver.'

Panda winked at me, 'You want I give her your love, honey-chile? She's a peach. I'll hand you that — but she'll never have the touch I have with a towel.'

'Out,' said Najib.

Jimbo said, 'That O'Dowda might come along here.'

'Let him,' said Najib. 'And he can bring his fishing rod, too — but it won't do him any good.'

They went and I leaned back and sipped my coffee. I was feeling all right now, physically. Mentally, I was as scrambled up as ever over the problem of the parcel, except now I was beginning to feel bloody-minded, in fact, more bloody-minded than ever, towards O'Dowda. The man didn't care a damn for anyone but himself. Julia could go, I could go, everyone could go, just so long as he got his hands on what he wanted. With me, that just strengthened the desire I had to make sure that he never did get it. Just for once somebody was going to spit in his eye.

'How did you know I was out there?' I asked Najib.

'Jimbo saw them jump you from the flat window. The Facel Vega is still down there. But that's the past. You know what you're going to do, don't you?'

He was a different man, serious, calm, no babu talk, and it was easy to see him in his real role, an army officer seconded to an Intelligence position in Gonwalla's service.

I said, 'I never did believe in that old business of which would you save when the boat sinks, your wife or your mother?'

Najib nodded. 'I thought putting Julia in danger would work with O'Dowda. He's made it clear that it doesn't. That's the kind of man he is. But you're not that kind. Julia is in danger. I'm serious about that. I don't care for the situation particularly, but I have my orders. You'll never see her again — nobody will — unless I get the parcel. Life, a life, in our country isn't very important. Never has been, so don't think that I shan't carry out the order if you refuse to hand over.'

'I've got Interpol on my back, remember.'

'I know. But you've got to take a chance on that. In fact, your Western philosophy or code demands it. You know that. Up to this moment you've been trying to find a way round it — sometimes there are ways — but not this time. So — there is nothing you can do. I'm sure that you agree with me.'

I poured myself another cup of coffee and considered it. He was right, of course. In cold blood he was nothing but right. Up there at the lake, with the good air being choked out of me, I'd been ready to give up, to forget all codes, but down here, under no physical pressure, I was thinking straight, and feeling straight. He was dead right. I just had to get Julia out of trouble and then take my own chances with Interpol. I could go to ground for three or four months and they might decide to forgive me or forget me; they might. But I didn't think it likely. The only thing that would make them change their minds would be pressure, political or public.

Although my mind was made up, I said, 'When you've got this parcel, what are the chances of Gonwalla putting pressure on whoever is using Interpol? Would he? Could he?'

Najib considered this. 'When we have the parcel and it is destroyed, then our government is safe. We have friends as well as enemies among the world's governments. Many of them are members of Interpol. I should say there is a fifty-fifty chance. But to be fair — and you must have thought of this — the individual government which hopes to get this parcel through Interpol might take its own private, vindicative revenge for a failure.'

They might. But that was all part of the chance I had to take.

I said, 'All right. How do we do it? It'll take me about an hour to get the parcel.'

'You go and get it. When it's in your hands, phone here. By the time you get back I'll have Julia waiting somewhere handy and we'll do the change-over in the open, in the street outside. Satisfy you?'

I nodded, and then got up to make a note of the telephone number.

I said, 'You'll be here waiting for me to call?'

'Yes.'

'Good.'

As I went to the door, he said, 'We'll do what we can for you afterwards. I'm in no position to lecture, of course — but it's difficult to resist. You've only got yourself to blame for whatever the aftermath may be. You thought you could make something for yourself out of the parcel. Human greed. It's a constant problem.'

So it might be, I thought, as I went out, but without it the world would be a very dull place. Personally, at that moment I was all in favour of dullness. At that moment I would have liked to have been away on the holiday I had promised myself, sitting dully somewhere wondering what to do and knowing that if I thought of something I would never have the energy to do it. That's what holidays were for, to smooth you down to a nice, flat dull surface which you could take back for the rest of the year's events to mark up again.

It was a beautiful morning. The road out around the lake to Evian was choked with cars — parts of it were under repair so there was single-line traffic and hold-ups at lights which did nothing to ease down my impatience. All I wanted now was to get the parcel and have Julia back.

Away to the left, when I could see it, the lake was a great sheet of blue with the Juras somewhere beyond in the haze. Right-handed, somewhere out of sight, was Mont Blanc, and not far from that was the chalet where I had spent a night with Julia… Najib was right. Human greed. I promised myself that if I came out of this little lot with a whole skin I would really try to do something about it. I knew I wouldn't be able to cut it out altogether, but I would try to cut it down. For me that was a big promise. Money was such a comforting thing to have. The way things were I wasn't likely to get any fees or expenses from O'Dowda for this job. Wilkins would have something to say about that.

Good old Wilkins. I wondered what she would have made of Panda. I spent the rest of the journey imagining them together. For all I knew they might hit it off.

I parked the Facel Vega and went into the post office with my English driving licence, my international driving licence, and a banker's credit card, per favour of O'Dowda (all of which had been in my case in the car) in order to identify myself. Sometimes at poste restantes they asked you and sometimes they didn't. They worked on some system, probably their mood of the moment.

The woman behind the guichet had a pink nose, pink lips, flurry blue-grey hair, and big moist eyes, doe-like, and reminded me of an Angora rabbit which I had once forgotten to feed for a week so that it died and my sister had leathered me with a slipper. Sensitive green fingers she had, my sister, even at the age of fourteen, but she also had the wrists of a squash player.

I spread out my cartes d'identites like lettuce in front of the girl.

She wrinkled her pink nose with pleasure. I said, 'Carver. Rex Carver. I think there's a parcel here for me.'

She picked at the corner of the banker's card and said, 'Carvaire…?'

I knew she would.

'Oui, Carvaire.'

She turned away to the rows of pigeon holes behind her, had a brief chat with a chum on her left, and then, starting on the lower row which ran backwards from Z, gave herself the trouble of a long ride up to C. There was a wad of stuff in it which she brought over to me.

'Carvaire?' She started to sort through it.

'That's right.'

She shuffled through the lot, and then shook her head at me.

'There is nozzings, monsieur. Caballaire, there is.'

'Carvaire,' I said. But my heart was right down in my ginger suede shoes already. Nothing she held in her hand looked the size of the parcel I had sent.

'I'm sorry, monsieur. Perhaps he comes the next collection?'

I shook my head and began to gather up the lettuce leaves. I was about to turn away — wondering what the hell had happened, the thought flashing through my mind that maybe Aristide had been at work (he could have made a check of every poste restante in the East of France by now and picked it up) — when the girl said with a sudden note of recognition in her voice, 'Ah, you are Mr Carvaire?'

'Yes.'

'Then it is explained. You are guest of Monsieur O'Dowda, no?' From the way she said it, it was clear that she knew Mr O'Dowda. Who wouldn't in this district? He owned half a mountain not six miles away.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I was way ahead of her. But there was no stopping her. A guest from the château was something to relish and hold on to for a while.

'But Mr O'Dowda himself telephones this morning to see for parcel of his guest, Mr Carvaire. I say, yes, is waiting, so he send his chauffeur with passport for parcel. It is not long ago. One hour, maybe. Maybe a little more. The chauffeur I know well. Is a little man, much joking and winking the eye…'

I didn't wait for the full description of Kermode. I was on my way out.

I sat in the car and lit a cigarette, smoking it as though I hated it, sucking the life out of it. Not Aristide but O'Dowda had done it. O'Dowda had had more to go on. He had my suit with my passport in it. I had told him that the parcel was poste restante. I had told him that it wasn't far away. He could have phoned every main post office around the lake in half an hour and his name would have waived aside all question of formalities. Monsieur O'Dowda's guest? Certainly. Mr O'Dowda's guests were always important… politicians, film stars, the famous… naturally one would send the chauffeur down with a passport for identification.

So what did I do now?

O'Dowda had the parcel. I could imagine him and Kermode, sitting up there in their wax works, laughing their heads off, and probably celebrating with a few bottles of champagne. It would be good stuff, too, as the occasion demanded. Veuve Clicquot, Brut Gold Label, 1959, probably.

I chucked the cigarette out of the car window and swore. Aloud. One word. A good, coarse, satisfying one, and it did something for me. The key log in the timber jam slipped and the run began. O'Dowda was not going to keep the parcel. If ever God had made one man who was due for a disappointment it was O'Dowda. I elected myself as the chosen instrument to bring it about. I didn't know how, but I was going to do it. There wasn't any point in thinking of the hows and whys and whats. At this moment the only sensible course was to home on the target. But before I did I had to make sure of Julia's safety.

I went into the post office to the telephones and called Najib.

When he answered, I said, 'Look, there's a little hitch over the parcel. Nothing serious, but it might be rather later in the day before I can get my hands on it. Is that all right?' I tried to keep my voice normal. It wasn't easy.

Najib said, 'Let's get one thing straight, Mr Carver. I'm trusting you over this. But I cannot go on trusting and waiting for ever. If you do not telephone saying you have the parcel by six o'clock this evening, my deduction will be that you will never have it. In that case I shall have to take other steps. Just which at the moment defeats me. But one thing is certain. If someone else gets the parcel — then you know what will happen to Miss Julia. And, Mr Carver — I shall know very soon if anyone else has it because they will not delay in letting us know. Anymore than I should delay in letting them know that I had it. Understand?'

'Don't worry,' I said lightly. 'You'll get it.'

I rang off and went out.

It was difficult to keep my speed low going through the town. Once through, I put my foot down hard. But if I thought that speed would wipe out thought, I was disappointed. All the way I kept asking myself — how? How was I going to get the parcel? Long before I got there it became clear to me that the last thing I could do was to barge in empty-handed on O'Dowda. The man dealt in force, understood power. The only way to deal with him was from a position of strength. That was the logic. How did one translate it into practical terms?