'And we're driving into a trap,' he said harshly.

'Let's just say we've conned them into giving us a free ride past the cops. And telling us where the trouble's coming.'

Harvey slanted his eyebrows again. 'You were planning this?'

I shrugged. 'I was spinning a coin. Either he wasn't working for Calieron, so he could have sold us some genuine help, or he was, and he'd try to steer us into a trap. When he came down, I just had to know if he was heads or tails.'

Miss Jarman said curiously: 'Howdid you know?'

'He didn't make enough money out of us. Three thousand is nothing in this game; he didn't even charge for getting Maganhard out of jail. Then he tried to fool us over the fortifications.'

'You mean the map's a fake?' Harvey said.

'No. What good would a fake do them? And, anyway, why should he have one lying around? – he didn't know we were coming. No – when I sounded worried about walking through the fortifications, he backed me up. He knows all about fortifications, but he didn't think I would, seeing they weren't much used in the last war.

'In fact, a fortified zone's one of the easiest things in the world to walk through; trenches are just a lot of paths sunk seven feet down. They're planned just so that you can rush up reinforcements or retreat down them or whatever. But he wanted us to think it was difficult – so he could steer us into just one place. That's why he called that map a "patrol path". There's no such thing: a patrol would go up through the communications trenches, if it didn't start from the front line itself.'

'So what's the map?'

'A tank path. A fixed line's also a base for the counterattack, and you've got to be able to send up your tanks: they can't go through the trenches. You'd have to have a path for them: bridges over the trenches and so on. That's what he tore off the bottom of the map: the title.'

Harvey nodded slowly. 'And a copy of the map's on its way to Liechtenstein by train right now?'

'I hope so. They should have plenty of time to get ready for us.'

'That's great.' He eased down comfortably in his seat. 'So we know they'll wait till then?'

'They're professional^'

He closed his eyes. 'That's always nice to know.'

We rolled past the last of the big cuckoo-clock style chalets of Montreux residents who don't like living in hotels or don't have bad enough consciences to make it necessary, and came into open farmland. Children at the roadside tried to sell us bunches of wild narcissus by waving them at us, but we steamed on past. On this trip, no flowers by request.

Beside me, Harvey was dozing, which wasn't typical for him. Maybe his short night and the long hangover had caught up. Behind, Maganhard settled down to reading the Journal de Genevewhich he'd picked up in the General's rooms, and muttering things about share prices to Miss Jarman. I stretched my neck and caught her writing them down. I suppose it mattered.

About half past three we burbled through the outskirts of Fribourg, the great cliff of the old town hanging over us until we were on our way out on the other side. I did a bit of work on the Michelins with my watch and reckoned we were well on time.

I felt sleepy, despite the jolting and creaking of the car, but I wasn't sure I ought to be asleep. I tried to convince myself that the last thing the General would do was set up a gun-fight for when we were still inhis car withhis driver. I convinced myself, all right, but by then I wasn't sleepy any more.

Just before Bern, Harvey woke up. He did it slowly, like a man climbing out of mud, or out of an hour's sleep when what he needs is another six. He lit a cigarette, still moving slowly, and coughed several times. Then he asked: 'Where are we?'

'Bern.'

'How far now?'

'About four and a half hours.'

'Jesus.' He wiped a hand over his face and then looked at the hand. I tried not to look as well, but I was as interested as he was – and for the same reason. The fingers were quivering.

I waited, but he didn't say anything. We sailed majestically through the middle of Bern, sprang past the national Parliament, across the river, and out along the Thunstrasse. We got a lot of interested looks from the citizenry, and a couple of cops gave us half-official salutes. They knew the car, all right.

We ran out of the city and the road surface turned rough again. The Rolls gave out a faint squeaking and creaking of wood rubbing on wood. It was an oddly reassuring noise, perhaps like being in a cabin of an old tea-clipper under full canvas.

I turned and peered into the shadow of the back seat. 'You say you haven't heard of this man Calieron?'

Maganhard said: 'Never.'

I nodded. 'He's turning out quite a boy, isn't he? He knows enough to employ the General, to hire a gunman like Bernard, maybe enough to frame you on a rape charge – and he gets hold of Heiliger's shares.'

'To me,' he said, 'that is the most remarkable thing. Max believed in personal possession. He carried everything with him.'

'A big black briefcase,' Miss Jarman said softly. 'Chained to his wrist. And full of bearer shares, bonds, deeds. It must have been worth millions.'

'So?' I looked at her. 'Then why wasn't he carrying it when he crashed?'

She smiled in the gloom. 'Nobody seems to know, Mr Cane.'

Maganhard said suddenly: 'You saidmaybe this Calieron arranged the – the charge against me. Is it not obvious it must be him?'

'Not quite. If he fixed that charge, then he gave himself a system for keeping you away from Caspar meetings: getting you pinched by the cops. He could have put the cops on to you several times in the last two days – but every time he tried to kill you instead. I don't see why. He doesn't need you dead to be able to outvote your partner Fiez. He only needs to stop you coming to the meeting.'

Maganhard said: 'He dare hardly leave me alive if he proposes to try and destroy my company.' And he sounded rather smug about it.

I shook my head. 'I don't buy that. What could you do to him, once he's forced the decision to sell Caspar out? He isn't stealing anything, he's just turning the company into cash. He gets his share – but you get yours. Where's your complaint?' Before he could start telling me, I added: 'I mean legal complaint.'

Miss Jarman said: 'Are you trying to tell us that this Calieron person is not really trying to kill us?'

Harvey chuckled quietly.

'No,' I said. 'But if he was going to the trouble to hire people like Bernard to kill you, I don't see why he needed the French rape charge as well.' Then I got another bright idea. 'Maybe it's all a stunt by Fiez, trying to get control of Caspar. Maybe there's no Calieron, maybe Heiliger's certificatedidgo up in the crash. You've never met Calieron.'

'No, but Monsieur Merlin has. As soon as I heard from Herr Fiez, Merlin flew out to see them.'

'He saw Calieron?'

'Yes.'

'Why the hell didn't he kick Calieron's teeth in and grab the certificate?'

'That is not the waylawyers work, Mr Cane. And you forget – this Calieron may legally own the certificate. He may be Max's legal heir.'

'Yes. I forgot there must besomething legal about all this.'

'And in any event,' he went on smoothly, 'Herr Fiez could not hold a meeting by himself. Under the rules, there must always be two shareholders present.'

I nodded. 'All right. Now we know Fiez is a Good Guy. So why isn't Calieron killing him instead of you? He can outvote either of you as long as the other isn't there – but you're skidding all over Europe and Fiez is sitting in Liechtenstein. I'd've thought it was a lot easier to knock off Fiez instead.'

Maganhard chewed this over. Then he said: 'Also under Caspar's rules, Herr Fiez, as resident director, has a special responsibility. He must be at a company meeting. If he is not, and he is still alive, his vote is taken for granted on the majority side. This, you understand, is to stop him deliberately preventing a meeting by not appearing when only one other shareholder can be present.