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turned away as if put off by the quietude, and said:
    ‘Let’s try somewhere else.’
    They walked out of the hotel and turned right. Jonathan knew the next bar, the Café du Sport or some such, roistering at this hour with boys at the pinball machines and workmen at the counter, and on the threshold of the bar-café Wister stopped as if he had come unexpectedly upon a battlefield in action.
    ‘Would you mind,’ Wister said, turning away, ‘coming up to my room? It’s quiet and we can have something sent up.’
    They went back to the hotel, climbed one flight of stairs, and entered an attractive room in Spanish décor – black ironwork, a raspberry-coloured bedspread, a pale green carpet. A suitcase on the rack was the only sign of the room’s occupancy. Wister had entered without a key.
    ‘What’ll you have?’ Wister went to the telephone. ‘Scotch?’
    Tine.’
    The man ordered in clumsy French. He asked for the bottle to be brought up, and for plenty of ice, please.
    Then there was a silence. Why was the man uneasy, Jonathan wondered. Jonathan stood by the window where he had been looking out. Evidently Wister didn’t want to talk until the drinks arrived. Jonathan heard a discreet tap at the door.
    A white-jacketed waiter came in with a tray and a friendly smile. Stephen Wister poured generous drinks.
    ‘Are you interested in making some money?’
    Jonathan smiled, settled in a comfortable armchair now, with the huge iced scotch in his hand. ‘Who isn’t?’
    ‘I have a dangerous job in mind – well, an important job – for which I’m prepared to pay quite well.’
    Jonathan thought of drugs: the man probably wanted something delivered, or held. ‘What business are you in?’ Jonathan inquired politely.
    ‘Several. Just now one you might call – gambling. – Do you gamble?’
    ‘No.’ Jonathan smiled.
    ‘I don’t either. That’s not the point.’ The man got up from the side of the bed and walked slowly about the room. ‘I live in Hamburg.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘Gambling isn’t legal in city limits, but it goes on in private clubs. However, that’s not the point, whether it’s legal or not. I need one person eliminated, possibly two, and possibly a theft – to be done. Now that’s putting my cards on the table.’ He looked at Jonathan with a serious, hopeful expression.
    Killed, the man meant. Jonathan was startled, then he smiled and shook his head. ‘I wonder where you got my name!’
    Stephen Wister didn’t smile. ‘Never mind that.’ He continued walking up and down with his drink in his hand, and his grey eyes glanced at Jonathan and away again. ‘I wonder if you’re interested in ninety-six thousand dollars? That’s forty thousand pounds, and about four hundred and eighty thousand francs – new francs. Just for shooting only one man, maybe two, we’ll have to see how it goes. It’ll be an arrangement that’s safe and foolproof for you.’
    Jonathan shook his head again. ‘I don’t know where you heard that I’m a – a gunman. You’ve got me confused with someone else.’
    ‘No. Not at all.’
    Jonathan’s smile faded under the man’s intense stare. ‘It’s a mistake…. Do you mind telling me how you came to ring me?’
    ‘Weil, you’re —’ Wister looked more pained than ever. ‘You’re not going to live more than a few weeks. You know that. You’ve got a wife and a small son – haven’t you? Wouldn’t you like to leave them a little something when you’re gone?’
    Jonathan felt the blood drain from his face. How did Wister know so much? Then he realized it was all connected, that whoever told Gauthier he was going to die soon knew this man, was connected with him somehow. Jonathan was not going to mention Gauthier. Gauthier was an honest man, and Wister was a crook. Suddenly Jonathan’s scotch did not taste so good. ‘There was a crazy rumour – recently —’
    Now Wister shook his head. ‘It is not a crazy rumour. It may be that your doctor