Parked in the gateway at the top of the field was a grey Citroen van with corrugated sides and clos pinel painted across its rear doors. Miss Jarman and somebody else were kneeling by the front wheels, pretending to be interested in the tyres.

As we staggered up, blowing like a herd of tired horses, the other person stood up and came quickly to the back of the van. It was Ginette, in a neat grey skirt and a smudged old suede jacket.

And older than when I'd last seen her, twelve years ago -but not twelve years older. Perhaps a gentle weariness in her dark eyes, a slowness and steadiness in her expression. But the same dark-chestnut hair, the soft pale skin that never seemed to be touched by the sun, the same sad amused smile I'd remembered far too well.

She touched my arm. 'Hello, Louis. You haven't changed a bit.'

My legs were soaked to the knees, my jacket and shirt were covered in mould and pine-needles, half my hair was dangling in my face, and half the forest was in my hair. And I had the big Mauser in my hand.

I nodded. 'Maybe I should have.' We started climbing into the back of the van.

When the doors opened again, we were on the gravel driveway just in front of the Chateau.

It was the sort of chateau that looks like one – to an Englishman. Probably that was why one of the earlier Comtes had built it that way: he wanted something that would make a good picture on his wine labels.

It didn't belong to this part of the country; he'd pinched the idea from up on the Loire. It was a solid piece of fake Gothic, with tall windows and a round tower at each side, with peaked witch's-hat roofs of blue slate that jarred with the warm pink southern stone of the house itself. But that wouldn't show on the neat engraving on the labels, of course.

By now the others had climbed out. I turned to Ginette. 'I don't know if you want any introductions…'

She was looking curiously at Maganhard. 'I think I'd better know,' she said.

I said: 'Mr Maganhard – Ginette, Comtesse de Maris.' Her eyebrows lifted just a fraction at his name. He took her hand, came to attention, and bowed slightly.

I introduced Miss Jarman and Harvey. He wasn't looking his best: the lines on his face weren't any deeper, but the whole face had frozen.

Ginette said: 'I believe you are wounded. If you will go inside, Maurice will bandage you.' I saw the grey-haired, white-jacketed character hovering in the background, up on the terrace in front of the windows. I went up and shook his hand, and the old brown crab-apple face crinkled into a vast grin. We asked each other how things marched, and said they marched as well as one could hope. Then he said it was quite like old times, grinned again, and led Harvey off inside. The others came up on to the terrace. Maganhard said: 'How long are we staying here, Mr Cane? I believe we have gone less than one hundred kilometres today.'

Ginette said: 'We needn't discuss that just now. Giles, will you give Mr Maganhard a drink?' She swung round on the girl. 'My dear, let me show you your room.' She collected Miss Jarman, who was looking a bit pale, and led the way.

Nothing inside the Chateau seemed to have changed much – but no reason why it should when you've got a big house filled with furniture that's taken a century to collect. The front room on the right as you went in was still a sort of office/drawing-room, and the booze was still tucked away in a solid dark Louis Treize cupboard facing the window.

I peered in at the bottles. 'What'll you have?'

Maganhard said: 'Sherry, if you please.'

'Sorry, the French don't drink the stuff.'

'A weak whisky and soda, then.'

I hauled out a bottle of Scotch and mixed him one. I poured myself three fingers of it, neat.

Maganhard sipped. 'What do you plan now, Mr Cane?'

'I want to cross into Geneva early tomorrow morning -just before dawn.'

'Dawn? Why not before?'

I found a slightly crumpled packet of Gitanes and lit one. 'We've got to cross illegally – we daren't show our passports now. So we've got to wait until night. If we get there just after dark, we'll be stuck in Geneva overnight; it'll be too late to hire a car and I don't like overnight trains. The Swiss don't use them much – we'd be too conspicuous.

'But if we cross just before dawn, we won't have to hang around looking obvious. The streets'll start filling up, we can get moving quickly.'

He frowned into his glass. 'I believe Monsieur Merlin said he would be in Geneva. If we rang him there now, he could have a car waiting for us. So we could cross immediately after dark.'

I shook my head wearily; he wasn't going to like what 1 was going to say. Hell, he probably wasn't going to understand it. 'Things have changed since I spoke to Merlin yesterday. Somebody's been tracing us; they could have done it by tapping Merlin's phone. If so, why shouldn't they be doing the same thing in Geneva?'

'You said the police would not dare do that to an important lawyer.'

'That doesn't apply to the Other Side – and it's them been doing the tracing.'

He frowned. 'Is it so easy to intercept a telephone?'

'No – in a city it's damn difficult; that's why I wasn't worried about it yesterday. But after this morning, we know a bit more about these people: if they know enough to hire a man like Bernard, then they could know anything.'

'Mr Lovell thought it was the people in Dinadan who had betrayed us.'

'Yes, but he hadn't thought that through. The Meliots wouldn't have known who to betray us to, except the police. Nobody could have got at them in advance because nobody knew we were going there.'

He took a sip of whisky to help him swallow this. Then he said: 'I must have Monsieur Merlin with me in Liechtenstein.'

'All right – but we won't ring him until we're across the frontier. From here, nobody rings anybody. I'm putting a complete ban on that phone.' I finished my Scotch with a gulp-Then I said carefully: 'Of course, there was another phone call made last night.'

I felt him staring at me. 'My secretary rang my associate in Liechtenstein,' he said stiffly.

'She says.'

After a moment he said: 'You mean that she may have rung somebody else? That is impossible.'

'I didn't listen, so I wouldn't know. But if I wanted to get at you, the one person I'd like on my side is your privatesecretary.' And this time I met his stare.

The door opened and Maurice, with his Louis Treizeexpression firmly in place, announced:'Messieurs sontservi.'

There were only three of us: Ginette, Maganhard, and. myself. Harvey didn't apparently feel like food, and Miss Jarman had gone straight off to sleep.

Ginette gave me a slight frown and asked: 'What have you been doing to that child, Louis?'

I shrugged. 'Maybe killing people near her.'

'This morning?'

I nodded. 'We got jumped, up near Dinadan.' I took a deep breath. 'One of them was Bernard.' She'd known him, in the war.

But she just went on stirring hersoupe au pistou.'I had heard he and Alain had gone to – to that sort of work. After that, I suppose it does not matter who kills them.'

I started to say that it had been Harvey, not me, then decided she must have guessed. She'd thought a lot of me at one time – but never that I could beat Bernard.

But it hadn't been quite the gay chatter you can switch round to the spring fashions, the latest Mexican divorces, and who-elected-A/m-anyway? We finished the soup and started anomelette aux fines herbesin the general atmosphere of a funeral feast at a Home for Incurables.

By the time Maurice brought in grilled trout I either had to say something cheerful or ask for half an hour alone with the gas oven.

I said: 'Thank God for fish. Now I won't have to drink your Pinel.'