Part 7 (1/2)

Then he remembered the telegram. There would be a record of it: though not enough to implicate him in an international conspiracy, perhaps - if he decided to pull out now. Which was exactly what Mason had done.

Oh Christ. Judith had been right. She was usually right. She was right about his drinking, about his morbid self-indulgence, about accounts and tax and all the other fiddling obstacles to a smooth and happy life. He didn't need her to be right about this too.

He realized that the telephone was ringing. He s.n.a.t.c.hed it up and controlledhis breathing. The last thing he wanted them to think was that he was nervous.

Is that 218 1293? Mr Rawcliff?' Charles Rawcliff?' A familiar voice, self-a.s.sured, c.o.c.ky. 'I've got a message for you. You're to stand by.

Everything's been taken care of. Just make sure you've got your pa.s.sport. Four o'clock this morning - marching orders. Pack only essentials. I'll pick you up at the corner of your street.'

'Is that Leslie?'

'Never mind, Mr Rawcliff. No rough stuff, I promise. Just your pa.s.sport and light luggage. And a bit of pocket-money, if you want. You won't need much - it's all found, where you're going. Four am. Okay?'

'How do you know this phone isn't being tapped?'

'I don't. But in this lovely country of ours, it takes time to tap a phone.

One of the beauties of democracy and red tape. See you.'

Rawcliff replaced the receiver, then walked slowly upstairs and kissed Torn goodnight. Then he went in and told his wife about Mason and about the call.

Eight.

John Newby stepped out into the damp winter night and stood sniffing the air like a well-groomed spaniel. He had his hands in his overcoat pockets, flapping the sides open and shut, while he waited for the doorman to bring his car round. The Lancia drew up and he pressed a twenty-pound note into the man's gloved palm.

Newby was a fast, selfish driver who took a sensual pleasure in mastering a lethal machine. But at this hour there was little traffic, no pedestrians. He ignored the glare of headlamps in the driving mirror: then saw the flas.h.i.+ng blue light as the police car came level with him. He drew up confidently, pushed” the switch and his window slid down; then he sat waiting while .they strolled deliberately towards him. It was a nuisance, but he knew how to deal with these people.

'Evening, sir. You're in a bit of a hurry, aren't you?'

'I apologize, officer. I may have been going rather fast.'

'For your information, you were touching sixty. You also committed two other moving offences. You shot a pair of lights back there, I'm afraid.'

Newby already had his wallet out and half-open, the inner pockets packed with credit cards and cash. He held it out with a practised gesture, executed with all the guile of one who knows the price of everything. 'Have you been drinking, sir?'

'I beg your pardon, officer?'

A second uniformed man came over with the sealed paper bag. 'I have reason to believe that you may have been drinking,' said the first man. 'Will you just blow into this - a few normal deep breaths.' 'This is outrageous, it is positively indecent!'

'I must caution you, sir. If you refuse, I shall be obliged to arrest you and ask you to accompany me to a police station.'

'I refuse, absolutely. I demand to speak to your superior and to call my lawyer.'

'Very well, sir. I must ask you to leave your car here.'

'Mr John Newby, I am arresting you under Section 8, Paragraph 3 of the Road Traffic Act 1972, for refusing to take the breathalyser test at a police station. Empty your pockets, please.'

'I shall not.'

'Then I shall be obliged to have you searched. Sergeant Hood,' he called, without seeming to raise his voice.

A young man in plain clothes came in and took a long look at Newby. 'Trouble, Sergeant Prentice?'

'Mr Newby here - I've charged him, but he refuses to empty his pockets.'

'Very good. I'll have him stripped.'

'I demand to call my lawyer.' Newby groped, with uncharacteristic clumsiness, inside his coat and brought out a gilt-edged address-book. His soft little hands quivered as he opened it. 'Give me a telephone.'

'I'll have that, for a start.' Hood took the book and stood tapping it against his thigh. He had a hard, sallow face, empty of all innocence and compa.s.sion.

'Empty your pockets, Newby.'

'You are no better than the Gestapo!'

'We could be worse,' Hood said, with a joyless grin.

Newby relented. He -watched, with stiff dignity, as his possessions slowly began to cover the desk, with Hood intoning each item and the Duty Sergeant methodically writing them down in the charge-book. Newby's wallet had been emptied and the money - mostly in twenties and tens -counted into neat piles.

Credit cards, business cards, a number of receipts, club members.h.i.+ps, address-book, three cheque-books; British, Belgian, and international driving-licences, gold watch, diamond ring, and string of worry-beads.

'String of beads/ Hood said. 'Right. Let's sort out this little lot. Total of nine thousand, two hundred and eighty-four pounds. I suppose you can explain how you come to be carrying all this money, Newby?'

'I won it tonight - at a private club. It is most respectable.'

'I'm sure it is. They all are.' He gave a surrept.i.tious nod to the Duty Officer, who removed Newby's address-book, and left the room.

It was very quiet; then an Irish voice shouted from somewhere in the building: 'Brits out! f.u.c.kin' Tans!'

'Shut up, Breakfast,' a voice replied amiably. 'Do they always pay you in cash?' Hood added.

'Invariably.'

'And when you lose? You pay in cash too?'

'Yes, I pay in cash.'

'Don't always trust banks, maybe? You've got at least three different accounts. In different banks. And in different names.'

'My banking arrangements are none of your business. Now, I demand to speak to my lawyer, at once!' Newby's breathing had become tight and heavy. 'And I must be allowed to see a doctor. I suffer from asthma.'

'You can see a doctor and a lawyer, just as soon as we've decided exactly who you are.' Hood looked at him and smiled like a razor. 'Where shall we start?

Two of these driving-licences have you down as Newby, the other as Monsieur Rebot' - he p.r.o.nounced the name pa.s.sably well -'and we've also got three names. Quite a choice! Tallant for the American Express and Chase Manhattan.

Burg for the Credit Suisse and Diners' Club, as well as an account at Harrods and Fortnum's. Lucky Burg! And a dozen cards for Mr Kyriades of Larnaca and Athens.' He leant forward with both hands on the table. 'Which one are you?'