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problem the likes of Fradgley wanted to solve as quickly and easily as possible. And that did not necessarily involve establishing the truth of what had happened to him. ‘How very reassuring.’
    Ashley nodded in agreement, apparently believing Max meant what he had said. ‘It is, isn’t it?’
    A desolate Sunday evening stretched ahead. Max had no intention of spending it dining with Ashley and enduring another outbreak of Aldershotian reminiscence. He said he was in need of an early night and went up to his room; then, as soon as the coast was clear, he took himself off in search of entertainment.
    The ringing of the telephone roused him the following morning. Being jolted awake always had the same effect on him. He believed for a moment that he was back with his squadron and his first thought was the thought that greeted him unfailingly in those wartime dawns.
I’m damned if this will be the day I die
.
    Then the gloomy furnishings of his hotel room came into focus around him. He fumbled for the telephone.
    ‘James?’ It was his brother. And he did not sound happy.
    ‘Yes … Ashley.’ Max covered the receiver and cleared his throat. ‘Good morning.’
    ‘Fradgley and Appleby will be here in fifteen minutes. I thought I ought to check with you that you’ll be ready.’
    ‘Oh, yes, yes. I’ll, er … be down directly.’
    ‘Did I wake you?’
    ‘No, no. Of course not.’
    ‘Mmm. I’ll see you shortly, then.’
    Max was no stranger to washing and shaving against the clock. He reached the lobby with one of the fifteen minutes remaining and spotted Ashley grumpily perusing a newspaper in the writing-room.
    ‘How goes the world?’ Max ventured by way of greeting.
    ‘Badly.’ Ashley folded up his newspaper in an explosion of rustling. ‘The Reds are running amok in Budapest.’
    ‘I had no idea.’
    ‘Don’t you follow the news?’
    ‘Would it benefit me if I did?’
    Ashley frowned at him, uncertain, as so often, whether to take Max’s remarks seriously. ‘That early night doesn’t seem to have done you a lot of good.’
    ‘Sometimes you can have too much sleep.’
    ‘Symptoms of which are bags under the eyes and a deathly pallor, I assume.’
    ‘The lighting in here isn’t catching me at my best.’
    ‘Flippancy isn’t likely to serve us well today, James.’ Ashley tossed the newspaper aside and stood up. ‘I believe our visitors have arrived.’ He nodded towards the lobby.
    It was easy for Max to tell which of the two was Fradgley and which was Appleby. He took the short, thin, pale-faced man with a tight little mouth to be Fradgley, every inch the self-effacing minor diplomat, and his bulky, balding, jowly companion of the farseeing gaze and self-possessed smile was surely Appleby.
    Introductions swiftly confirmed Max’s surmise. Appleby, he noted, was plain Mr Appleby, though an admission to high police rank would have been no surprise. He had the cautious, watchful demeanour of some kind of detective, combined with an air of authority.
    He and Fradgley expressed brisk condolences before explaining what assistance they could offer. ‘Your father’s body was removed to the mortuary of the military hospital at Port-Royal,’ he said. ‘I assume you’d like to satisfy yourselves as to his identity.’
    Ashley appeared taken aback by the possibility that it could be in doubt. ‘Surely you’ve established that.’
    ‘Of course, Sir Ashley,’ said Fradgley, suddenly all of a flutter. ‘It’s merely a formality.’
    ‘We would like to view the body,’ said Max.
    ‘Naturally.’ Appleby eyed Max as if it was now obvious to him which of the brothers he should pay attention to. ‘And then the address where the fall occurred?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Then let’s proceed. We have a car waiting.’
    They were driven across the Seine by the Pont de l’Alma, then along the quais as far as the National Assembly, before heading south towards Montparnasse. Fradgley set out in exhaustive detail