'That makes it even.' I walked round behind him and lifted a huge.45 Webley service revolver from under his raincoat. It must have given him ten sorts of rheumatism driving with that cannon back there.

'You'll be taking the Rolls, I suppose?' he said gloomily. 'You know they'll arrest you, anyway, man.'

'Not if we go down that tank path.'

'But – after that they'll think the General is involved!' He sounded honestly outraged.

'Wrong answer, Sergeant. Don't you remember? – we're not supposed to know it's a tank path – or that something's going to happen down there. And the General's already involved up to his moustache; if he gets a bit of it up his nose, well – he shouldn't have sold us out.'

He just glowered at me, a little bent man searching his little bent brain to save the reputation of a crumbling old crook back in Montreux. Nothing to give three cheers for but maybe nothing to sneer at either.

Then he said: 'He's sold out better men thanyou.'

Behind me, Maganhard said: 'I hope I'm not expected to take that as evidence of General Fay's kind heart.'

Morgan glanced contemptuously at him, then walked off back down the road to Maienfeld, moving with the last remnants of a military strut.

I watched him out of sight, round a bend, then walked across to the left-hand side of the road and started looking at the fence.

Twenty yards up I found what I was looking for: a thin place in the wire fence, guarded by a couple of barbed-wire strands. I waited for a flare of moonlight, then picked out a faint track beyond it leading off at the right angle.

I found Miss Jarman just behind me. She asked: 'Is that the path?'

'That's it.' I hauled out Morgan's big revolver, broke it open so that it couldn't fire accidentally, then caught the top wire strand between the hammer and the breech, and started twisting quickly side to side. Not as good as wire-cutters, but it works in the end.

The girl said: 'It won't be easy without lights. And it might be overgrown by now.'

'They probably clear it every few years – and anything a small tank'll knock down, so will a Rolls.'

'Can you drive a Rolls?'

I shrugged. 'They're rich men's cars, not wild men's. They can't be difficult.'

'You're used to the ignition retard-and-advance and mixture controls?' she asked sweetly. I stared at her. She said: 'I'd better drive.'

'Don't be-' The wire strand broke. 'Don't be crazy. In case you didn't know, you're not even coming on this trip. You walk back to Maienfeld and get picked up tomorrow.'

She said quickly and tonelessly: 'My father had a Phantom II as official car when he was Governor-General. I learnt to drive on one. So I'd better drive.'

I thought of asking where he'd Governor-Generalled, then decided I believed her, anyway. And she had a point about the driving; whatever I'd said about Rolls's not being difficult, this one had been built for a style of driving more than thirty years old. I started to work on the second wire. She said: 'It would let you and Harvey keep your hands free, as well.' Which was another point.

'Unless,' she added, 'you still think I'm on the other side.'

'No.' I shook my head. 'I don't think that. I don't think you were trying to get yourself – and Harvey – killed. I just wasn't sure you knew the danger of tapped phones – or just people talking. Somebody says "Maganhard's secretary rang me today from Montreux," and the word gets around. That could be just the same as selling us out.' I waited a moment, then asked: 'So who were you ringing?'

'A man who has a… a sort of hospital, in the mountains near Chamonix. For Harvey. I know he cured another man who drank too much. I thought he might help.'

'Why didn't you tell me this?'

'I don't know,' she said quietly. 'It seemed sort of… private. And I didn't think you were taking me seriously.'

And that was just about true. For the sake of honesty rather than tact, I said carefully: 'Maybe I wondered if you were just playing at helping lame dogs over stiles.'

'I can't be sure myself,' she said simply. 'Lame dogs are very rare in our world, Mr Cane. Most of them are either wolves or overfed lap-dogs. All I can do is try and help him – and try and find out why.'

'It'll be a full-time job – even if you can get him to go with you.'

'I don't suppose I can. But I can go with him. I've told Mr Maganhard I'm leaving.'

I nodded. Maybe I was getting convinced, after all. But there was one thing more to be said. 'He's the sort of man he is partly because he drinks. If he stops drinking, he'll be a different man. You may not like the different man.'

'I know. It's a risk.'

The second wire broke. She said: 'Have you lost the wire-cutters we used at the airport?'

And damn me, they'd been sitting in my briefcase all the time. I was in a marvellous state for starting a battle.

She said: 'So I can drive, then?'

Somebody with some sense had better do something. I kicked the ends of the wire clear. 'You can drive.'

We walked back. Harvey said: 'What the hell's been keeping you?'

'Short exchange of views on the political situation in the Balkans. She's driving.'

'She'swhat! We figured she'd be staying here.'

'Changed my mind. She knows how to drive these cars. Cuts down the risk, when you think about it.'

'Not for her, it doesn't.'

'True.'

The girl climbed in the driving seat, which put her head higher than if she'd been standing on the ground.

Harvey said: 'Is this the old Resistance spirit? – equal opportunity for women to get killed?'

'Something like that.'

The starter whirred, the engine began its deep burble, like a gramophone record of a voice being played far too slow.

I turned away. Harvey said doggedly: 'I still don't like it.'

I jerked back. 'D'you think I like it – any of it? If I'd known this job would end up running a Rolls-Royce through the Western Front, I wouldn't have come within a thousand miles of it. But we came – so we're going the last two kilometres.'

'She could get killed.'

'Talk her out of it, then.'

I got into the back of the car, assembled the Mauser, and then remembered Morgan's big Webley which was weighing down my raincoat pocket. I thought about it, decided I wasn't a two-gun man, and handed it to Maganhard.

He started to object. I said: 'Nobody can force you to use it, Mr Maganhard. But if things go wrong, you may just feel like it.'

When I got down again, Harvey had finished his conversation with the girl.

I said: 'Well?'

He said: 'I still don't like it.' But he swung up on the right-hand running-board, his arm wrapped around the door pillar. I climbed up on the left one. Miss Jarman shoved the lever into first gear, and we were on our way.

The first few hundred yards of track were in good condition; they must have been used as a farm path. We were passing through grazing meadows, past clumps of trees, past odd-shaped grassy humps that were part of the old stone fortifications.

The girl could drive that car, all right. The engine sometimes slowed to a deep thumping like a pom-pom gun firing in a pillow factory – but she used the ignition retard instead of the gearbox, and kept in second gear. The faster, higher pitch of first gear would have carried a lot further. ' The path was angling gently away from the road above us, keeping more or less to the floor of the small valley, but wandering from side to side in a way that was meaningless until you remembered it was a military affair. Then you saw that it was taking advantage of every small fold in the ground, every clump of trees, to find cover.

Abruptly we were in among pines, weaving along just inside the edge of a forest that stretched uphill to the Flascherberg on our left. More cover; logical. But very dark.