The Labyrinth Makers

which wouldn't do at all. Except that the rich were often greedier than the poor . . .

Roskill's man was waiting for them in his hotel room across the street, from which he had been able to keep a comfortable view of the shop.

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'Richardson–Miss Jones–Dr Audley, I've been looking forward to meeting you!'

Richardson had a long brown face made longer by a jutting chin, but redeemed by good-humoured dark eyes, and Audley couldn't imagine why he had been looking forward to the encounter.

'I saw you play for the old Saracens, Dr Audley,' explained Richardson.

'That was a long time ago,' said Audley. He felt pleasantly flattered, despite the implication of hoary old age in the young man's memory of him. He searched for something suitable to add.

'You've got the build of a wing three-quarter.'

'Scrum-half, actually. And it wasn't so long ago that you played either–I was always afraid I might meet you on the receiving end!'

Faith laughed. 'He was brutal, was he?'

'Sheer murder, Miss Jones. It must have been like being run over by a locomotive! Do you know the game?'

'I've got two young step-brothers who are besotted with it.'

They were suddenly like children sharing a joke, and Audley felt he had to call them to order. Their sudden pleasure didn't fit his mood.

'Is Tierney in?' he asked sharply.

'He is,' said Richardson, unabashed. 'By the grace of God he lives in a flat above the shop, with no rear entrance. The flat entrance is just to the left there. So I've had it easy!'

'Give me a run down on him.'

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Richardson flipped open a notebook.

'Arthur Lawrence Tierney, born Leeds 1922—'

'Not a biography, man. Tell me about him here and now. I know what he was. But what do people think of him here? What's his credit like? Don't read it out. Tell me.'

Richardson looked uncertainly at his notebook.

'There's one thing I should have told you first, sir. They want you to phone the department, extension 28–as soon as you can. Sorry about not telling you right away.'

Audley sat unmoving. Richardson's jumbled impressions would be all the better if he wasn't given time to rearrange and edit them.

The department could wait.

'Tell me about Tierney.'

The young man took a breath, stuffing his memory into his pocket.

'A nasty character, for my money. Tricky, certainly. He's a sharp enough businessman–he's respected for that. Always got an eye on the main chance, and not too finicky about what sort of chance it is too. I talked to a detective sergeant –he didn't say so in so many words, but I think he'd like to get his hands on him, and he thinks he will one of these days.'

'What sort of thing has he been up to?'

'Nothing proved–but otherwise, you name it and he's done it.'

'Name it.'

'Receiving mostly. But the sergeant reckoned he'd squeezed out of a nasty dangerous driving charge. And he's beaten the breathalyser.

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And they think there was something very smelly about his divorce.

He's had a convenient fire in small warehouses he rented, too–an electrical fire. I tell you, sir, they don't like him at all.'

Tierney hadn't changed; the 'receiving stolen goods' was a shaft in the gold.

'And his credit?'

'That's rather hard to say. The business seems sound enough. But in a small way, and he's a big spender–runs an "E" registration Jaguar, drinks a fair bit. Girl friend in Harrogate, and an expensive one, according to rumour. The same source says that's why the business hasn't expanded: never enough loose money in the kitty.'

Audley felt better now, so much so that he began to regret pushing Richardson. Tierney's nerves would be in middling shape, his sense of public responsibility non-existent and his greed unlimited. That had been the original assessment of him, and it was always reassuring to find leopards with all their original spots in place.

He smiled at them both, wondering as he did so what Faith made of her father's choice of a right-hand man.

'That's well done,' he said. 'You must have sunk a few beers to get that lot.'

Richardson grimaced. 'They all drink whisky in Tierney's circles. It was touch and go at the end whether they were going to tell me about him or I was going to tell them about me! And it's cost the nation a fortune.'

A few minutes later Audley added to that cost with a reversed call to the department. Mercifully the hotel's public telephone was dummy4

located in an enclosed sentry box of dark varnished wood, with additional privacy provided by a giant plant which flourished aggressively beside it.

Extension 28 eventually brought him Stocker, as he had expected.

For the time being, and perhaps permanently, Fred was no more than a friend at court. And at this time of a Sunday morning he would be only just leaving the church he so dutifully attended.

But Stocker beamed insincerely at him down the phone.

'David!'–So he had ceased to be Audley at some point in the last twenty-four hours–'I'm glad you were able to get through to me so soon'–was there a reprimand there?–'I gather you know all about G

Tower?'

At least he wasn't prevaricating.

'I do–yes.'

'You must tell me about your private network some time. It appears to have the virtue of efficiency.'

Audley grunted non-commitally. That would be the day.

'And I gather you have also heard about the missing Trojan antiquities.'

It was a statement, not a question. Audley gloated briefly over the vision of Sir Kenneth Allen's reaction at being disturbed twice in one evening to answer the same question.

'You consider it likely that that was Steerforth's cargo?'

'I'm reasonably certain it was.'

'You have corroborative evidence? From the daughter?'

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Roskill was reporting back everything to Stocker, for no one else had known about Faith until that morning. But it was only to be expected. If he was dealing with someone as awkward as himself he would have done no less.

'Yes.'

'Good. And you consider her involvement in the next stage necessary?'

'I think it may be essential.' Fred had become resigned to monosyllabic answers until he was ready with a full report, but it would be too much to expect the same of Stocker, Audley warned himself. He was already forgetting the tactical errors which had got him into this mess in the first place.

'I don't think Roskill and Butler will get anything out of Tierney,'

he elaborated. 'Not unless we let them lean on him hard, and probably not even then. So I'm going to try a different approach and Miss Jones will be my–my passport.'

'Proof of your mala fides! I see! And is she a chip off the old block?'

Audley found the suggestion that Faith had inherited anything from her father except that physical resemblance oddly distasteful.

'Not in the least. But she's an intelligent young woman, and she wants to help.'

'Very well–I leave her to your discretion. Now about last night's business. Your three visitors.'

'They put–devices in the cars and they may have bugged the house.'

'They did bug the house. I received an interim report half an hour dummy4

ago. They're still looking.'

Audley loathed asking questions of his nominal superiors. Apart from their reluctance to give straight answers, which provided him only with negative intelligence, it suggested incompetence on his own part. But he had been pitchforked into this puzzle at such short notice that it would be folly to pretend that he understood what he was about.

'I don't understand why they did it,' he admitted. 'I can't see why it's so important. And I can't see why a man like Panin has involved himself personally in it. I take it we've offered him full co-operation?'

'We have–yes.'

'In that case there must be something I don't know about.'