Larry arrived back at his garage in Surrey just as dawn was breaking, without any further trouble. It took him a few minutes to make space at the back of the workshop but the Aurelia was soon deposited out of immediate view and mostly hidden under a tarpaulin. Satisfied, Larry locked up and retired to bed.

Andrea was now awake and enjoying a typical English breakfast down in the restaurant, at the same time reading the newspaper. There was no mention of last night and he rightly assumed it had been too late for the final editions. The waitress arrived back with the silver coffee pot but her offer of a top up was declined. “Why can’t anybody outside Switzerland make decent coffee?” he muttered under his breathe.

The area around the Dorchester Hotel had long been cordoned off and several police officers, both uniformed and plain clothed, were on the scene. Directing the investigation was Inspector David Holmes from Vine Street while Detective Sergeant Brian Moore, known by one and all as ‘Bobby’, was called in to assist. They were currently sitting in a corner of the vast hotel kitchen enjoying morning tea and toast.

“Blimey Gov, this is all a bit posh!”

“Look here my son, you’re a copper and a copper you will always be, so put your coat on and get back out there asking questions. In the meantime I’m going to grab forty winks. Give me a ring at my special number if anything happens.” He gave Bobby a wink.

David Holmes headed straight back to The Coach and Horses public house in Hill Street, where hours earlier he had been rudely interrupted while making mad passionate love to Mildred the licensee.

Meanwhile, at the Middlesex Hospital, just behind the BBC building in Portland Place, Harry Brennan was fighting for life. The doctors had operated and removed the bullet from his left temple but even with constant transfusions he was losing too much blood. Harry was drifting in and out of consciousness while his heartbeat hardly registered on the scale. It was, they all agreed, just a matter of time. Outside in the corridor young WPC Jenny Jones was trying desperately to reassure his wife, but she just smiled.

“It’s okay, I always thought something like this would happen. My husband was no angel, but that Edward Hope who he worked for was a proper villain. I told Harry time and time again.

“Harry, pack it all in and get a proper job. Of course, he wouldn’t listen. I wanted to go and live in Spain but no, he had his friends down the golf club and Edward could charm the birds out of the trees. Whenever Harry was getting restless, he just offered him more money. Once he even gave him a Bentley.” She gave a little laugh. “That Edward Hope, bloody Senior, deserved all he got.” ..........