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‘But why was Gray so interested in the first place?’

‘Oh, good reasons. For one thing, and even you must see this, Miles, it is in nobody’s interest for someone like Partridge to step into the old boy’s shoes. The Americans have been nervous of our setup here since the 1970s. They’ve kept tabs on us. And for another...’

‘Well?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Billy, it looks to me as though Mr. Collins is itching to do you some violence.’

‘A lot of violence,’ corrected Collins.

Billy sat back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. ‘Then go ahead and do it.’

It was Miles’s turn to lean forward in his seat. ‘You were going to tell me about Gray, I think. Well, you’re not the only one who can put two and three together and come up with a conspiracy. What about this: Sizewell is on a committee investigating cooperation and the lack of it among the security services, as well as other highly secret and confidential proposals. The Americans would like to know what’s being said, and would simply love to have someone in there putting forward their own views. Sizewell was the obvious candidate because of the Hayton killing. They’d had him tucked away in their files since then in the hope that they could use him in just such a way at a later date, and that date is now. So your friend Gray was attempting to frighten a member of the British Parliament, to blackmail him, and the only way to stop blackmail like that, as we both know, is to root out the evidence. So Sizewell got in touch with his old friend, and Partridge was given another reason for eliminating the past. They must have thought the world was falling down on top of them.’ Miles looked over to Collins, who had started to sweat a little, though the central heating was temperate at most. ‘You’re a wanted man, Will. You’re the last one left alive who can jeopardize this whole stinking thing.’

‘Except that now you have it all on tape,’ said Collins.

‘Suppositions, theories. You’re the only witness, the only physical obstacle left.’

‘Which is why this CIA bastard was looking for me, to protect me?’

‘Yes. Where is Gray by the way, Billy?’

Billy shrugged. ‘France maybe. He’s heavily involved over there just now. Antiterrorism.’

‘A real troubleshooter, eh? It’s a pity. I’m sure we’d have liked to meet him, wouldn’t we, Will?’

‘Yes, Mr. Flint, we would.’

‘So, Partridge had set it up so that Latchkey could escape. Simple enough to do, I expect. An anonymous warning that he was being followed. But one of our men had to be in on it.’ Miles thought of splendor beetles and Sobranie cigarettes. ‘Phillips?’

‘Of course.’

‘Yes, he of the lateral promotion.’ But hadn’t Phillips been in Mowbray’s camp? ‘What about Mowbray? His little setup was surely more of a threat to Partridge than I was?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Not with Phillips in his camp, keeping Partridge informed of all Richard’s doings?’ Miles was thinking back to that night at the Doric. But hadn’t Felicity first approached him while Phillips was parking the car? That would mean that her first sally had been... coincidence.

‘What about Cynegetics? Where does it enter the scheme of things?’

‘Well,’ said Billy, ‘shadowy as it is, we do know that Partridge set up the group and staffed it with agents loyal to him so that he could monitor anyone within the firm who might be trying to dig up the dirt on him.’

‘But he never guessed that it was you who was doing the burrowing?’

‘There were too many others for him to keep busy with. Andrew Gray saw to that.’

‘Others like me you mean?’

‘Yes. But now I have a question to put to you.’ Billy was rubbing at his face tiredly.

‘What?’

‘Just what happened to you in Ireland?’

Collins manufactured some rough and ready sandwiches, and they ate them, washing each one down with mouthfuls of tea. During which time Miles, as he thought only fair, told Billy his own story.

‘Incredible,’ was Billy’s response. ‘Partridge didn’t overestimate you. If anything he underestimated you. We all did, Miles.’

‘What’s this fellow Partridge’s first name anyway?’ Collins asked, through a paste of cheese and tomato.

‘Nobody knows,’ said Billy, still in awe of the Irishman.

‘Somebody must know,’ said Collins, ‘even if only his mammy.’

‘Let’s come back to Gray,’ said Miles. He was obsessed now, and was not about to be led away from his obsession. He had turned the tape over, and now he switched the cassette recorder on again.

‘Gray,’ he repeated, ‘was using me as bait, was he?’

‘Not especially,’ answered Billy lethargically. ‘But you did help discomfort Partridge, which was all to the good. Gray wanted to create the maximum panic so that Sizewell would give in. It wasn’t just you. I think he kept dropping hints and clues to Mauberley, too, knowing that Richard, no matter how stupid, was bound to come up with something eventually. Then there was a newspaper reporter called Stevens. Andrew did his anonymous phone call routine on him, sending him clues, so that Stevens would go after Sizewell. He’s probably still after him.’

‘Stevens, you said?’

‘Yes.’

Miles looked at Collins.

‘That’s the man Sheila said had been pestering her about me.’

‘Well, well, well,’ said Billy, ‘he must be a better reporter than we’d thought if he’s tracked you down.’

‘But all this,’ persisted Miles, ‘the reporter, me, the whole thing, was designed merely to pile on the pressure?’

‘That’s about it.’

‘Using human lives as bits and pieces in a game?’

‘Isn’t that what we do for a living, Miles?’

A fair answer, thought Miles, but it didn’t help to make any sense of it all. But, he supposed, if he were in a game, or even a game within a game, there must be a way out. All he had to do was keep on playing.

‘I’ll tell you this, Billy, it’s got to end, and it’s not going to end with me as the corpse and you lot as the grieving colleagues.’

‘It was never planned that you’d—’

‘Wasn’t it?’

‘Christ, Miles, how long have we known each other? If I’d thought that Partridge was planning anything so drastic, I’d have stopped you from going to Ireland, and I mean that.’

Miles stared at him hard, and Billy had to fight to keep his gaze matched to that of this new Miles.

‘I wonder,’ said Miles, not in reproach or disbelief but with real curiosity. ‘You know, Billy, you’ve been sitting back throughout, letting anyone and everyone become involved except yourself, afraid of committing yourself, of being on the losing side. We’ve been walking around with third-party insurance, and you’ve been fully covered. I could admire that to some extent. I could, but I don’t.’

‘What’s done is done, Miles. There’s no escaping it.’

‘True.’

‘Listen, confession’s over on my part, no more to tell. Except to say that you must be mad, running around with the man behind the Kew bombing. He’ll be public enemy number one any day now. But I suppose none of this is my concern. Do you mind if I put a record on, something relaxing?’

‘No, go ahead.’

Billy went to the stereo, slipped the record back into its sleeve, and began to search through his collection.

‘You’ve got a lot of records,’ said Miles, coming up behind him.

‘Oh, yes, well, I like to think that my tastes are eclectic.’ He brought out a classical album, thought better of it, and looked for something else.

‘Can’t you find anything suitable?’ said Miles.