On reaching the sanctuary of the Hilton, my first task was to phone Lori, but there was no reply.  I resolved to try again after dinner.

      I had just finished coffee and was feeling particularly lonely, when a waiter sidled up to me and whispered that I had a visitor in the lobby.  For a moment my heart leapt - till I remembered that John had arranged an appointment for me to meet Greenwald, the Slagg family lawyer.

      This turned out to be no more than a brief "Hallo-Goodbye" kind of visit, which nevertheless probably cost someone a few hundred bucks.  But we did establish beyond doubt that I was the rightful heir to the Slaggs' estate, and Greenwald handed me a number of vital documents including a letter of introduction to the bank manager.

      Up in my room I again tried Lori without success.  I settled down instead to study my hard-earned print-outs, but found it impossible to concentrate.   My mind was filled with questions concerning Lori's alleged promiscuity, and her recent troubles with her boss.  I was in something of a quandary over John too, a villain who may well have misappropriated the charms of his personal assistant, yet the very man who was offering to make me a millionaire.  Should I despise him on the first issue, or respect him on the second?  I needed answers, I needed guidance, and above all I needed Lori.

      Still unable to contact her, I wondered if phoning John might dispel some of my misgivings.  So I dialled his number and a charismatic voice answered.

      "Richard, my friend.  I was expecting to hear from you.  I hope you're safely tucked up in your hotel?  If so, may I call you back?"

      It seemed I'd picked a bad time, so instead I tried Lori's number again and was just picturing her languishing in a bath of hot soapy water when I remembered her saying she had an answer phone.  Why wasn't it picking up my calls?  Was this another lie?

      My unfounded suspicions were in danger of escalating into paranoia.   Much as I tried to ignore the nagging recollection of Barbara's unwelcome remarks, I couldn't shake off the distasteful image of Lori, no longer in her bath, but nestling comfortably in the arms of some strange businessman, laughing as they both deliberately ignored my phone-call.

      My spirits had just about hit rock bottom when John's return call came through.

      "Richard?  Sorry to be melodramatic, but I had to be sure I was speaking to you and not to some deviant trying to implicate me in your activities.  Did Lori tell you about the call I had yesterday?"

      "Yes," I said, "and it's important we set the record straight, John.  It wasn't Lori who was caught snooping, it was me.  Lori did a superb job of keeping a low profile, and it was only through my carelessness we were spotted.  You must understand, she was in no way to blame.  Besides, the very fact of attracting that man's attention is a bonus that we can now turn to our advantage."

      John claimed he didn't see how, and I smiled at the thought of being one-up on Mr. Flannery.  I let him wait while I updated him on the day's events.  I told him about Denis's revealing evidence of embezzlement, and he seemed interested, though I still sensed that the rapport we'd shared on Monday evening had been badly dented.  Finally I took the courage to ask what was troubling him.

      "It's Lori," he said.  "I hauled her into my office this morning, and gave her a rocket for compromising Argyle Foods, especially when I'd warned her to be extra careful.  I felt she deserved to know of my displeasure.  I naturally assumed she'd accept it as a dutiful rebuke, and take it on the chin, so to speak."

      "So, what happened?"

      "Something quite unexpected, Richard, and totally out of character.  She just stared at me in stunned silence with a grim, stony face, then stalked out of the building.  No-one's heard from her since."

      "Good for her.  I'm hardly surprised.  John, let's put our cards on the table.  Have you treated Lori fairly in this?  Did she deserve to be scolded for helping me out in a moment of bad luck?  And have you been totally honest in your dealings with me?  Come clean.  Did you leave Lori up here to help me with paperwork, or to try and influence my decision?"

      John was silent for a moment.

      "You know, Richard," he said at last, "it's beginning to make sense.  That kid clearly had a remarkable impact on you, but I've said this before, Richard, I like your approach.  Yes, I did throw you two together deliberately, and I guess I'm now paying the price for that.  I'm sorry - it's a common ploy to send your finest soldiers to the front line, and Lori has always been one of my very best.  But I don't want to lose her, and I certainly don't enjoy upsetting her.  She's a champion ally, a wonderful friend, and we work splendidly as a team.  If she's told you otherwise, then the fault is mine for mishandling the situation."

      "Then I'm bound to say, John, if you'll forgive my directness, you deserve no less a reprimand than you gave her.  Did you get through to my boss in London?"

      "I did indeed.  You're off the hook for a few more days, but he really does need you back for an important meeting on Friday.  It's the best I can do, I'm afraid.  He's like you, Richard, hot on integrity and not easily swayed by the smell of bucks - which brings me back to your point about Lori.  Richard, my friend - how can I put this?  I'm a salesman, first and foremost.  You surely don't despise a salesman who knows the value of attractive packaging?  If you suspect my motives, I can only assure you I sent Lori out as my ambassador, nothing more.  She's damned good at her job, and I've always trusted her not to overstep the mark.  You don't bring people round to your way of thinking by leading them down avenues they don't wish to take.  I admit I wanted you two to enjoy each other's company, and why not?  I enjoy Lori's company myself, but being a married man that's as far as it goes.  Do me one favour, Richard - if you hear from Lori before I do, ask her to contact me.  And please tell her I'm sorry.  Tell her I over-reacted."

      I promised to relay the message.  Lori's response would be up to her.

      "So, Richard, what did you mean about turning these events to our advantage?  I had our friends on the phone again today, threatening legal proceedings, no less.  Do you wonder I'm getting itchy?  It's vital that we resolve this business quickly and painlessly."

      "But my point, John, is that you are now involved, and that's all to the good.  You'll naturally disclaim all knowledge of what's been going on, but insist on a meeting with our friends to discuss the matter.  You can then be witness to a little stunt I intend to pull next week.  Thanks to Lori, you now have a perfect reason for being in the right place at the right time."

      I heard a boyish chuckle.  "I like it!  Very neat!  You'd make an excellent diplomat.  And when would you say is the right time?"

      "Ideally, John, about five minutes after you're in the right place."

      "Sounds good.  What are you doing tomorrow?"

      "Using my extra days here as profitably as I can."

      "Another diplomatic answer.  Okay, Richard.  Point taken.  I'll be at home if you need me.  If not, I'll call again tomorrow evening.  I can't free myself from here till Monday afternoon, but book me for a dinner-date in the evening.  Lori too, if you manage to locate her."

      I thanked him and put down the phone.  We had talked long enough, and I was restless in case Lori was waiting to get through.  After trying her once more, still without success, I got undressed, took a quick shower, and turned in for an early night.

      At the crack of dawn I was startled by the phone.  A very welcome voice began by asking how she could prepare scrambled eggs in the way she'd enjoyed them the day before.  Without further preamble, I set about giving her a detailed recipe.

      "I hope you're writing this down," I said.

      "No," she admitted.  "To be honest, I don't feel like breakfast.  I just wanted to hear a voice that I knew would cheer me up.  I miss you.  What are you planning to do today?"

      "Depends if that preposterous moustache is still serviceable after being flattened in my suitcase.  Listen, sorry to spoil this delightful badinage, but just where the hell are you?"

      "Vermont," she said sweetly.  "I told you, my aunt lives up here.  I often come and stay when I need sorting out.  You'll adore Vermont when you visit in the fall."

      "I'm sure I will.  Lori, sweetheart, be serious - what's going on?  I tried to get you all evening, but someone seems to have sabotaged your answer phone.  Then I had John on the line for ages, desperately concerned about your disappearance and very contrite at the way he over-reacted, for which he now sends his sincere apologies.  Meanwhile I miss you like crazy, and I need to know where you left that other mousetrap?"

      "You think it needs a fresh hunk of cheese?  Test the man's office window for leaks, then check your own shoes for woodworm.  Got it?  So what's new?"

      "You sound very frivolous first thing in the morning!"

      "First thing?  Listen, pussy cat, I've been leaning out of my window since four o'clock, watching the sun come up.  Richard, it's a sight you've just got to come and see, it's unbelievable."

      I assured her I'd seen sunrises before.

      "Oh, sure, in smoky old England, surrounded by all your ancient monuments and fog.  Up here, it's so different.  Oh, I miss you."

      "You know where I'm staying.  Why didn't you phone last night?"

      "Firstly, I didn't get here till late.  Secondly, I left your number at home, so I had to wait till my aunt tracked down her book of hotels, by which time I guessed you'd be asleep.  I don't suppose you were planning to see Vermont during your stay?"

      "Lori," I said, "I have two choices.  One is to drop everything and drive to Vermont in the vain hope of discovering whereabouts your aunt actually lives.  The other is to go into Slaggs and rendezvous with our good friend Denis, and make the best I can of a lonely weekend.  At least, thanks to John, I'm granted a few extra days.  I can still do lots here, my love, though I'd enjoy it far more if I had a companion."

      "Then you'd better get Denis well trained.  John said he didn't want me coming within two hundred miles of that place.  Taking him literally, I had to approach Vermont via Altoona and Corning.  Seriously, Richard, I need time to sort myself out.  You saw the emotional mess I was in on Thursday.  I seem to have reached a crisis in my life.  I have to be absolutely certain I'm doing the right thing.  There's a lot of muddy water in my pond, Richard.   It needs time to settle, which it won't do if you keep stirring it up.  You really have planted big cats among pigeons this week, and I just need a couple more days on my own.  That doesn't mean I don't miss you.  It means I need to stand back and take a long hard look in the mirror."

      "You've obviously got a huge stack of mixed metaphors in your soup, my love, and I'd hate to be another fly in your woodpile.  Listen, I have a message from John.  He'd appreciate some personal reassurance that you're okay, and again he's very, very sorry for the serious mistake he made."

      "That's two messages.  Did you say his mistake?"

      "Sure.  He didn't realise how Quinn's aggressive approach has played right into our hands.  It'll be safer to explain when I see you, and I do hope that'll be soon.  Phone John, my love; he needs your support, just as I do.  And he'd better allow you back here for the big day, or I'll personally knock his block off."

      "I'll call him tomorrow, maybe.  I'll definitely call you tomorrow, my love, so you'd better not think of changing hotels.  Have a nice day!"

      By eight o'clock I was downstairs eating a hearty breakfast.  Instead of pining over my lost weekend with Lori, I concentrated on the work that would hopefully bring our two worlds together.  The sooner it was done, the sooner I could make firm plans.

      I began the day with a hastily arranged visit to the bank.  The manager seemed well satisfied with my credentials, and ushered me into his office where we discussed the status of Slaggs' current and deposit accounts, and a third undisclosed reserve account, which wasn't altogether a surprise.

      Predictably, the current account was vastly overdrawn, but this caused no concern to the bank.  Huge credit balances in the reserve account offered all the security they needed for the overdraft on which they were happily charging high rates of interest.  When I left, I had in my possession detailed statements of each account, covering every transaction during the past twelve months.

      Back at Slaggs, I found the office throbbing with overtime workers.   Upstairs at Cheryl's desk, my accounting instincts led me to focus on the financial ledgers, where I hunted for clues about this extra bank account.   No-one seemed concerned over what I was doing.  To their simple minds, I looked busy, which was all that mattered.

      At one point, I happened to glance up and saw Quinn striding past with Pixie Oliver tamely at his heels.  They disappeared into Fowler's department, so I mumbled something about needing the rest-room, and darted across to the other building.

      Not a soul questioned me as I made my way to Quinn's office where I saw the tape recorder lying undetected beneath the window, showing every sign of having performed its task.  I just had time to slip it into the boot of my car before I was accosted by Cindy and Barbara, eager to confirm my promise of a second free meal.

      Perversely, the over-zealous Cindy made sure that our lunch-time conversations were steered well clear of all sensitive issues.  Whenever I tried to raise the subject of Lori's dismissal, she insisted on telling me about her parrot called Oliver North, who had learned new naughty words, or she went into needless detail as to where she'd taken refuge during Hurricane Gloria - any topic she could think of, except Lori D'Amico or Slaggs Sauces.  A well-meaning girl, probably with a heart of gold, but not as bright as I'd first supposed, showing that the smallest of candles can still dazzle in the dark.

      By the end of the afternoon I'd found little of the evidence I was searching for, yet its very absence told me plenty.  Clearly something was being concealed in extra accounting records that no ordinary clerk ever came to see.

      Before returning to my hotel, I paid another visit to Denis and picked up details of outlandish entertaining expenses, dubious sales and purchase orders, and costly car repairs that couldn't be verified.  Then I drove to a quiet lakeside picnic area where I sat listening to the tape of Quinn's meeting.

      Much of it was marred by the sound of a fist repeatedly thumping against the table, but I heard enough to confirm my suspicions, and a lot more besides.   Crook though he clearly was, Quinn was in fine form.

      "I want every one of those damned invoices scrubbed from the books.  I don't care how you do it, Dan, but when this bastard comes with his flock of fairies, he'll find every invoice entered at the correct price, or heads will roll.  Fowler, for God's sake get those damned gold-plated vehicles of yours off the asset register tonight.  It's no good lining them up for inspection like some Fourth of July Parade - they don't exist, they never existed, and Slaggs never paid for them, not even out of Dan's private reserve account - and let's hope Downing's man never finds out about that!  Marco, you'd better come up with a damned good reason why half the stuff we pay for never arrives.  It's no good claiming poor yields, because any five-year-old can see we have no by-products.  Mass doesn't disappear without some form of energy, and I see little sign of that around this table.  And send young Slagg off on a training course - send him to find his Italian ancestors if he has any, but keep that ass-hole out of my sales presentations in future, and don't let anyone introduce him to this damned English fairy.  Now, is there anything else we haven't mentioned, or - God forbid - that I don't know yet about?"

      A long pause indicated the lack of inspired thinking.  When Quinn next spoke, his voice was menacingly quiet.

      "Now, about this so-called will.  If this Limey thinks we're letting him walk in and grab control, he's sadly mistaken because I have here another will, and in it you'll see the entire factory bequeathed in my name, to be disposed of by me as I think fit.  And I'm not having any dissent on that, because it's all here in writing, signed - as you see - by three men who are no longer in a position to rock the boat.  Questions?"

      Apparently there were none - though I had plenty.  The most startling revelation was news of another will, which seemed to contradict every assurance I'd received from Jim Greenwald.  But who had witnessed it?   Was it legally binding, or a blatant forgery?  Only Quinn knew the answer, and the sooner I challenged him the better.

      Back in the Hilton I phoned John with the latest news, and played him the tape.  He laughed, saying Quinn had far more to worry about than I did.

      "It wouldn't be wise though," he warned, "to make any reference to hidden tapes or tapped phones.  Based on what you've unearthed so far we can simply present our views and scare the buggers into submission."

      "And what about this will?" I asked.  "Quinn may not even know that a later one exists."

      "Richard, of course he knows.  You weren't listening.  He distinctly called it another will.  Whatever he's got his hands on, you can be sure it's quite useless, or they'd have involved Greenwald by now.  You got your authority from him, and that's all you need.  Once we've kicked the rats out, I'd say your factory can again be run as profitably as any other company under my jurisdiction - which still poses the big question."

      "We'll talk about that later," I stalled him, "after we've made our official visit.  What role are you willing to play if we confront them together?"

      "I thought a prospective buyer might go down well.  We needn't quote figures, but it'll suggest the writing's on the wall.  You're surely not still thinking of running that place all by yourself?"

      "I would like to play some active part," I confessed.  "I may as well tell you, John, I'm becoming quite attached to this country and I wouldn't mind returning for a much longer visit, provided it's legal."

      Again John laughed.  "I guess you found certain attractions over here.  They say anything's possible in America, Richard, if you've got the bucks.   Did you hear from Lori yet?  I haven't, and if that damned girl doesn't soon get her act together, she's in big trouble."

      "John, you're being unfair.  You said she could take Friday off, and that's precisely what she's done.  We're all entitled to free weekends, unless you gave Lori orders to the contrary."

      "But, Richard, see it from my point of view - I have a huge investment hanging in the balance, plus a couple of crooks breathing down my neck, and I want to get both these matters resolved now before I break out in hives.   Where was Lori phoning from, do you know?"

      I felt I had no right to give away such information, but John took his cue from my hesitation.

      "I bet she's gone chasing off to Vermont, eh?" he laughed.  "Come on, Richard, I've known that girl much longer than you have.  Whenever she feels low, that's the place she invariably heads for.  I can give you the number if you want to call her."

      "Allow her another day's rest, John.  We've both given her a hard time this week, and she needs to unwind.  There's not much we can do tomorrow, and if she still hasn't shown up by Monday, then we'll both phone her.   I'll even volunteer to drive up and fetch her."

      He laughed again, and gave me Lori's Vermont number.

      "Okay, Richard.  Sleep tight.  We'll talk more on Sunday, but in view of the latest developments, I suggest you to start your confrontation as soon as we can both be there.  I'll make my own way up on Monday.  Pity Lori's not available as my chauffeur - I'd rather like to arrive in style."

      A dozen times that evening I was on the point of calling Lori, but I held back.  She'd said she would phone me.  If she had wanted me to phone, she would have given me the number herself.

      I went down for dinner, and checked again with the front desk.  Lori still hadn't left a message.  A voice in my head told me she was fully entitled to a weekend of privacy, but my heart was aching for the phone to ring.  Hoping it might preserve my sanity, I spent the rest of the evening with Denis's printouts, spread out like maps covering the entire floor of my room.

      When eleven o'clock came, I really felt as if my best friend had let me down.  Lori could easily have rung or left a message.  Now it was too late to call her - she was a self-confessed early riser.  Feeling lonely, wretched, depressed and unloved, I took a shower and got ready for bed.

      I was just gathering up my carpet of papers when I heard a faint drumming on my door.  Annoyed at being disturbed, I padded across and opened it, only to find the corridor deserted.  Back in my room I heard it again, coming from an obscure private door that led to an adjacent room.  I slowly opened it, and a diminutive figure with a raised hand grinned coyly and said in a very small voice: "Hi!"

      I confess I nearly wept.  The deluge of emotions that suddenly cascaded into my emptiness left me speechless.  Lori also was lost for words.  I flung out my arms and clung to my visitor, both of us standing motionless in the connecting doorway, locked together in a moment of blissful eternity.  Then gradually, I drew her into my own room and closed the door behind her.

      Still neither of us spoke.  We just stood looking dreamily at each other, Lori wearing her casual top and faded jeans, I in my thoroughly lived-in pyjamas.

      "Miss me?" I whispered at last.

      "Why else would a girl drive all this way in the dark?"

      "How was the traffic in Altoona?  Oh, I've got so much to tell you," and I launched into a summary of what I'd heard on Quinn's tape.

      "I've got things to tell you too," said Lori, "but first I must visit the bathroom.  I'll use mine.  Wasn't it lucky I booked two rooms?"

      But even as she hurried next door, my mind reverted to those slanderous accusations.  Silently I cursed the wretched Barbara - she'd conjured up a ghost that had to be laid to rest.  When Lori returned, she must have noticed my anxious look.

      "Trouble?"

      "In a way," I sighed.  "Difficult to handle on my own - I may need help from a special friend.  Can we both sit on the armchair together?"

      "The bed's bigger, but we'll try the chair if you prefer."

      It soon proved far from comfortable and neither of us could relax.

      "Hopeless!" she laughed.  "I guess the bed'll have to do, as long as the springs and our hormones can take it."

      Thus we lay side by side on the bed, my head resting on Lori's shoulder.

      "I may muck this up," I began, staring hard at the ceiling, "though I sure as hell don't mean to."

      "Don't worry," she said softly.  "I'm psychic.  That's the main reason I came back early."

      I continued my unburdening.  "As you know, Lori, you mean a lot to me, and I suppose I'm being hyper-sensitive but ... what are you giggling at?   This is serious."

      "I know," she nodded, "but you sound so formal.  Look, it was bound to happen.  In your two days at Slaggs you picked up ugly rumours that gave you moral indigestion, and spoiled your fond image.  Correct?"

      I nodded miserably.  "How did you guess?"

      "A flash of intuition, plus a few clues that slowly fell into place.   Richard my dear, there's nothing you need worry about.  I know my name got dragged through the gutter after I left.  I also know why, and by whom.  Remember me telling you to concentrate on the newcomers, not the old hands?   I didn't say anything before - well, there seemed no point when I hoped it had all been brushed under the carpet."

      "It was my fault," I said wretchedly.  "I missed you so much, I simply wanted to talk about you, and have the consolation of hearing someone say your name.  But then a woman called Barbara did her best to warn me off, implying you were an easy target for a spot of how's-your-father."

      Lori sat upright and stared.  "You've not brought Dad into this?"

      "A colourful Cockney phrase, my love, from our not-so-common language.  But when she said it, I couldn't help myself.  I knew I'd known you only five days and though I was sure it wasn't true, I also realised how short a time that was.  Now I utterly hate myself."

      "No, you don't," she said.  "You're confused, that's all.  Let me tell you what actually happened."

      She nestled herself into an even cosier position, placing a cool soft cheek against mine, and I fervently hoped that my pyjamas were respectable.

      "It was after I discovered some of those fraudulent expense claims you've been digging up," she explained.  "I felt it was serious enough to report it to someone, but not knowing who, I decided the one guy I ought to be able to trust would be the auditor ... after all, if you can't trust auditors, why bring them in to verify the accounts?  So I confided in Armitage.  Go on, say it!"

      I obliged her with a solemn look of soulful reproach and disbelief.

      "Anyway, he ordered me to pack my bags at once - not that I minded.  I mean, who'd want to go on working for a crooked outfit like Slaggs?  Of course, they never announced the real reason for my sudden exodus, but tongues inevitably wag when an employee storms out at a moment's notice.  I know they said rotten things about me, but I knew they were lies, so I ignored it.  I tried to warn you, but I did it the wrong way.  Look, I haven't shared a bed with anyone for years, except a female cousin who had unpleasant problems with her wind.  Is my reputation in the clear now?  Do you want to send me away, or can I stay a while longer?"

      "You're welcome to stay for ever, my love - though I hope Barbara's not peering through the blinds.  I took these six women to lunch yesterday and found myself vociferously defending your honour.  I actually threatened the slanderous woman with a lapful of soup.  Luckily she fled."

      Lori kissed my cheek.  "Thank you for that.  As soon as John mentioned someone had revealed my married name, I thought "Oh dear!"  I knew you'd hear the old gossip.  But can you imagine me trying to explain that on the phone, with my aunt listening?  She'd insist there was no smoke without fire.  That's why your soft-centred Lori drove all this way, just in case you were worried.  Try to look impressed."

      I squeezed her palm and thanked her, adding that I was sure her aunt would understand.

      "Oho!  You wait till you meet her.  Better pencil that date in your diary now, Richard, the first week of October, because you have to see Vermont in the fall - sorry, autumn.  Words can't describe it - the colours are just mind-blowing.  You've got to share it with me."

      I promised I'd be there, whether or not I could afford it.

      We could have spent the rest of the night together on my bed, but soon we were crawling across the floor like bears as we scanned the computer printouts.  I showed Lori evidence of Lanski's over-prompt payments, Quinn's penny-a-pound orders and Fowler's car fleet, and I related what I'd heard about Serraski's expense claims.  After that, not feeling at all tired, we returned to the bed and continued to absorb sales figures from printouts spread above our heads till we realised we were both doing so with closed eyelids.  I was on the point of reaching out to turn off the light, thinking Lori was fast asleep, when she slowly got up, bent lovingly over me, and kissed my forehead.

      "Good night, my darling," she whispered.  "It feels so good to be back where I belong.  See you in the morning."

      With that, she padded softly into her own room, further proof that my faith in this lovely girl was well and truly justified.

      We spent a leisurely Sunday morning, knowing we'd both earned it.   Lori phoned John to assure him she was back on active service.  We enjoyed a Hilton brunch which fully endorsed my colleagues' recommendations, and in the afternoon we went for a drive.  We hadn't planned any specific destination, but as we passed the factory Lori slowed down in reverence.   The gates were locked and the parking lot deserted.

      "An ideal moment, wouldn't you say, for a spot of industrial espionage?" she gleamed impishly.

      I asked about her boss's hundred-mile exclusion zone.

      "Cancelled, thanks to your intervention.  Besides, I'm in the mood for revenge," she added, elongating the last word with a deep and provocative growl, and performing a "Groucho Marx" with her eyebrows.

      She drove around the block once more, drew up right outside the factory gates, and waited until a figure came out of the guard house and strolled enquiringly towards us.

      "If he's new," said Lori out of the side of her mouth, "forget it.  If not, we're in with a chance.  And it's looking good," she added, stepping gracefully out of the car.

      "Lori!" the man greeted her with a cheery grin.  "Hi, hya doon?"

      "I'm doing good," she responded.  "Look, I've got a friend here from Europe on two weeks' vacation.  He was asking where I used to work, and we happened to be close by.  Any chance of me showing him around?"

      "Sure," said the helpful guard.  "Come on in."

      He opened the gates and we drove through, the guard following in attendance with his keys.

      "I'll unlock the office block," he said, "then you can take your friend through to the factory.  Feel free to wander, there's no-one else around.  Where are you working now?"

      Lori gave him a story that was easy to swallow, and we stepped inside the deserted building.  The guard hovered attentively for a few minutes while I was shown already familiar surroundings.  Finally he decided it was safe to leave us, and he strolled back to the guard house.

      "Aren't they adorable?" she whispered.  "They'd do anything for you!"

      Upstairs we found the personnel department open to all, and I showed Lori the heap of files that were still on the floor.

      "That mess in Armitage's office," I explained, "most of it was Fowler's junk, and I guess this is more.  We need to find files on all the fat cats, and also some old holiday charts."

      "You mean, like Columbus Day or the fourth of July?  What for?"

      "Sorry, I mean vacations."

      "We'll make a Yank of you yet."

      We worked in silence, ever alert for approaching footsteps, but no-one came to disturb us.  It was Sunday and the guard was doubtless engrossed in a televised baseball game.

      "Vacations," Lori whispered, and showed me a large holiday chart which held further corroborating clues.

      "See?" I pointed.  "Neither Armitage nor Lanski have taken a vacation in three years."

      "My heart bleeds.  What about Quinn?"

      "He's different.  Quinn's racket thrives on a flaw in the system.  He's doubtless trained his staff like Pavlov's dogs.  But the other two daren't take a week off, or someone else would have to fill in.  It's one of the first principles of auditing - embezzlers can't afford to delegate."

      Lori found a tell-tale file on David Slagg.

      "Look!" she squealed.  "Little David's résumé.  Oh, how sweet!  Guess what his father's name was."

      "Not Downing?"

      "Slaggierelli!  One of your shady Italian cousins."

      "And what's wrong with Italians?" I quipped.  "Some of my best..."

      I froze.  We could hear footsteps on the stairs.

      "If that's a fat cat," I whispered, "we are in Big Trouble."

      We held our breath, inventing a thousand implausible stories and expecting at any minute to see Driberg or Armitage came striding through the door.

      "It's only me," called Denis, tapping on the door as he entered.  "You suggested working overtime this weekend, so I thought I'd drop by and try to be helpful.   Don't worry - not even the security guy knows I'm here.  I left my car next door and climbed the fence.  What's up?"

      "We're gathering information," I said.  "How are things downstairs?"

      Below in the computer room we saw print-outs stacked in neat piles.

      "I went to Office Max and bought us several boxes of paper," Denis announced.  "By tomorrow I may have twice this much if no-one comes to interfere.  Take a look."

      He handed me a listing of major customers most likely to be exploited by Quinn.  I thumbed slowly through, praising Denis's initiative and admiring the extent of detail he had provided.  Lori pointed to a name she recognised.

      "I know a guy who works in their purchasing department," she said.  "How about the three of us taking him out to lunch tomorrow?"

      "Don't forget our other friend's turning up in the afternoon," I warned.  "It's imperative we're back by two."

      "Unheard of," said Lori.  "Employees returning from lunch promptly at two o'clock?  You might as well stand on the roof and blow a bugle."

      "Anyway," I said, "we've enough data here to embarrass certain people, and that's all we're planning to do tomorrow.  Denis, you've done a marvellous job.  How best can we smuggle this out to the car without being seen?"

      "Simple!" he replied.  "Rendezvous next door in three minutes."

      Back in Lori's car, we drove slowly past the guard and waved.

      "Nice chaps," she said, "it really is a shame they have to go."

      "Not necessarily," I argued.  "I believe in horses for courses.   There's nothing wrong in employing a chap who's nice.  You just have to find him a job where niceness is an asset, that's all - like in your job, for instance."

      Our valued friend was already standing patiently by his car in the adjacent lot.

      "Since I bought the damned paper," he reminded me as the handed over the pile, "this can hardly be called theft."

      "And I'm sure the new owner will be most grateful," said Lori, pressing a fifty dollar bill into Denis's top pocket.

      He grinned.  "I look forward to meeting him.  Officially, that is."

      Back at the Hilton I phoned John, and we agreed a time for his arrival.  John would phone Armitage in the morning and insist on a face-to-face meeting at precisely three o'clock to negotiate a possible out-of-court settlement over unfounded allegations of espionage.

      "And what time is Richard Downing likely to appear?" he asked.

      I told him Mr. Downing had an equally busy schedule, and that the only time he could spare would be at around three o'clock tomorrow afternoon.

      "Just imagine," I said, "you and this chap Downing both due at precisely the same moment.  Is that going to scare pants off the blighters, or what?"

      "Underpants too, I guess," murmured Lori.  "I can hardly wait."

      The following morning, Lori and I took Denis to visit several customers and suppliers on his list, and obtained from each an official letter of complaint about the ways in which Slaggs was badly letting them down.  After lunch, we returned to the factory and watched from a window as John arrived on schedule with several members of his staff in an enormous chauffeur-driven limousine, similar to the one he'd laid on for me a week earlier.

      As agreed, we then each went our separate ways.  I straightened my tie and boldly marched into Armitage's office leaving the door ajar.

      "Sorry to disturb you," I confronted the startled man, "but I'm still mystified by all these discrepancies I keep finding, and everyone says I should refer them to you.  Can you explain what's going on?"

      "You?" he flustered, "I thought you weren't joining us till August?"

      "You merely said I couldn't be paid till August.  I saw nothing in writing about not starting earlier."

      I waved my letters under Dan's nose and fired a volley of embarrassing facts at him, piling on the details as he grew more and more perplexed.  I was really beginning to enjoy myself when I heard a knock on the door behind me.

      "Sorry, Dan," whispered his secretary.  "Sorry to interrupt, but one of your visitors has arrived - I'm not sure which."

      That did it!  Dan finally exploded.

      "Arlene, just who the hell gave this man authority to go poking into the sales ledger?" he bellowed.  "And as for this nonsense about expenses, I'm the one here who decides what's reasonable and what isn't, so the sooner you get the hell out of here the better for your health."

      "But I'm not ready to leave yet," I said with an irritating smile.  "I have plenty more questions I'd like answers to."

      "You'll go, now, dammit.  Take a week's wages and go.  You're fired!"

      "But you distinctly told me your wages department could only handle payments in whole months," I bleated.

      "Get the hell out of my office," Dan hissed.  "I want you out of here, off this site, now."

      "You mean I'm unsuitable for the job?  Is that why you want to fire me?  Or could it be that I'm too honest?  I really would like to know."

      "Why?  I'll tell you why!  For exceeding your authority, that's why; for not minding your own damned business, and for wasting company time on work you haven't been asked to do.  You obviously don't understand the first thing about elementary book-keeping, that's why!  Satisfied?"

      The man was becoming purple, not with rage but from fear, and my placid attitude was driving him even wilder.

      "Then teach me," I said.  "I'm willing to learn.  But watch your blood pressure, please Dan, or you'll give yourself a heart attack.  I'd say you've been overworking."

      As I turned to go, I could see John and Lori grinning outside.

      "Oh, and incidentally Dan, I happen to be a fully qualified Chartered Accountant.  I don't know if you're familiar with the term over here, but where I come from those words are synonymous with integrity.  You don't even know the meaning of the word.  You're a disgrace to your profession.  Good afternoon."

      I picked up my letters and left, nodding cordially to John and Lori as if to total strangers.  Leaving the spluttering Armitage in John's hands, I sped over to Lanski's office.  I hadn't yet met the man, and it seemed a fruitful way of amusing myself for five minutes.

      I banged on his door and a woman came out to investigate, reappearing a moment later with a middle-aged gentleman who stood six feet tall, thin as a stick-insect, and shielded from predators by an over-sized pair of horn-rimmed glasses.  I grinned as it struck me how he resembled a long pair of wallpaper scissors.

      Before he could speak I seized the initiative.

      "Mr. Lanski, I have a problem sorting out queries on suppliers, and I understand you deal with all these personally.  There's some discrepancy here between the dates when a payment is due and the dates when cheques go out.  At first I presumed things had got slightly out of phase, but it does seem odd to me."

      "One moment," he interrupted with a pompous stare.  "Just hold it right there.  Who are you?"

      I held out my credentials, and said I was from Accounts.

      "Then I suggest you go back and get on with your work," he snapped.  "And I further suggest you find out a good deal more about this company before you go asking questions that are none of your concern.  When I want an investigation into vendors, I'll damn well do it myself."

      "Of course," I smiled.  "I only came to give you a chance to explain.  Since you're apparently too preoccupied - fine!  I'll leave you to it."

      I halted in the doorway, as if suddenly remembering something.

      "Oh, I nearly forgot!  Dan Armitage sent a message.  Something about an English visitor having arrived."

      I took a circular route back to the office block, allowing Mr. Lanski time to get there first.  Once he and Quinn had entered the conference room, I listened for a while outside the door.  John was explaining how he'd already had preliminary discussions with the new owner and was prepared to make a handsome offer.  The news wasn't going down well.

      "Apart from the disputed question of ownership," boomed Quinn, "what makes you think Slaggs is available for a take-over?"

      "The only doubts about ownership seem to be yours," John affirmed.  "As you clearly are not the owners, any of you, our negotiations need hardly concern you."

      "Hold it a minute," said Lanski.  "Dan, I thought we were here to discuss espionage?"

      John smiled pleasantly.  "I'll willingly discuss any topic you like, Mr. Lanski, though I need hardly comment on an episode that was conducted with the full knowledge and approval of Mr. Downing.  What time are you expecting him to arrive?"

      Hearing my cue, I knocked on the door and entered.  Predictably Dan Armitage was livid.

      "God dammit, man, what the hell's the matter with you?  For the last time, get out!  Haven't I made it clear you aren't needed here any more?"

      "Yes," I said quietly, "you made that abundantly clear, and I assure you the feeling is mutual.  John, good afternoon - did you have a pleasant journey?"

      As Armitage paused open-mouthed, Quinn came to his rescue.

      "Who in hell is this guy, Dan?"

      John Flannery stood up and gently tapped the table.

      "Allow me, gentlemen, to introduce Mr. Richard Downing.  I believe Mr. Downing is familiar with all your faces, and of course you've all met Miss D'Amico."

      Lori's look of triumphant satisfaction would have glowed in the dark.

      "I've been watching you all," I said, "in one guise or another, and frankly, gentlemen, I'm far from impressed with the way this outfit is being run.  I find it incomprehensible, and totally unacceptable.  You have here the makings of a fine and profitable company, but frankly I doubt if you could run a Village Jumble Sale without turning it into a major fiasco.  Fortunately there are a few dedicated employees here, who despite your careful screening will still be an asset in the new organisation.  And speaking of assets, I still have some unanswered queries here about missing motor vehicles."

      "Why not leave that to the auditors?" grunted the nervous Fowler.

      "My auditor has already been at work," I continued, "though his attempts to get reasonable answers have met with hostility, evasion and - from one of you - a childish loss of temper.  I believe, Dan, you were once an auditor yourself, in which case you may be familiar with some of the unsavoury practices I've found.  If these come as news to you, then you're downright incompetent.  But if, as I suspect, you are fully aware of what's been going on, you're worse than incompetent.  I haven't yet had the chance to question Mr. Quinn about his repeatedly undervalued invoices."

      "Undervalued?"  Quinn rose to his feet as if to make a speech, but I stole a trick from his own repertoire and jumped in ahead of him.

      "Oh, come on," I said derisively, "at a penny a pound, it'd be cheaper to give the stuff away and save on postage.  These ridiculous invoices have made this company a laughing stock, to say nothing of the fact that every adjusting entry seems to find its way into a mysterious black hole.  I'm referring to your separate bank account, set aside no doubt for a rainy day?  Well, I'm sorry gentlemen, but the rainy season has now arrived."

      Quinn fought back bravely.  "Not so fast, Mr. Downing, or whoever you are.  There's one item I do call grossly over-valued, and that is your spurious claim to my factory.  I happen to have here a will, signed as you see by the three former partners, and on it I see no mention of the name Downing.  Perhaps you would care to examine it yourself?"

      He spun his document across the table.  It was on Slaggs' headed notepaper, a prime example of a badly-worded amateur will containing typing errors which someone had tried to correct.  It was certainly signed with what could have been three authentic signatures, but it was the fourth signature that caught my eye.

      "Are all these signatures genuine?" I asked with feigned concern.

      Quinn nodded smugly.  "Dan will verify that, I'm sure."

      "Dan would verify that the moon was made of cheese," I retorted.  "And the signature of the one and only witness - is this also genuine?  I can't even read it."

      "I can," Quinn said.  "It happens to be mine."

      "Really?" I glanced at the eager faces.  "Full of spelling mistakes and corrections, and witnessed by a beneficiary.  Sadly, whoever typed it didn't think to include a date, or did you plan to add that later?"

      I passed the document to John who glanced at it for five seconds, then screwed it into a ball and tossed it across the room.  Quinn promptly sat down, and no-one else tried to intervene.

      "Thank you," I continued quietly.  "Obviously there's no point in letting this nonsense continue, so I'm going to recommend some immediate changes.  These include a number of dismissals, though if any of you would care to resign, you have until four o'clock this afternoon to do so.   A word of caution however - don't waste time trying to sabotage the computer; I assure you its contents are in very safe hands and I'll be continuing my investigations for quite some time.  Be assured that any criminal charges will be pursued with the utmost vigour, though as a warm-blooded alien I am prepared to make one concession.  The fraud squad will not be notified until nine o'clock tomorrow morning, by which time, if I were you, I'd be in South America or some remote corner of Siberia."

      The former masters of iniquity all looked at one another accusingly, then one by one they stood up and left the room - Fowler first, then Lanski and Quinn together, and finally Dan Armitage who vowed I'd not heard the last of it.  They were each given time to gather up their personal belongings under the watchful eyes of John's security men, and left through the main gate in their separate cars.

      Lori and I took John on a formal tour of the site, walking with due ceremony into each office, where news of my ultimatum had already spread like measles.  We made a point of introducing John to friends who'd been helpful, especially Denis in the computer room, who gleamed with pride at our commendation.

      During dinner that evening, I suddenly had an unnerving thought.  According to Greenwald I held ninety percent of Slaggs' shares.  Was the remaining shareholder likely to be Jonathan Quinn?  I could hardly imagine him surrendering his ten percent without a fight.

      "What makes you think Quinn's the fourth partner?" John asked as I voiced my fears.

      "Well, isn't he?"

      John shook his head.  "The remaining shares are held by an outsider, someone who helped Arthur Slagg finance a major expansion a few years ago."

      "Hadn't we better go and meet him?" I asked with an air of urgency.

      "No need," John reassured me.  "Lori's been in daily contact with him, apart from one forgivable lapse, and he's fully in favour of everything you've done so far.  I believe you've already met his personal assistant."

      Lori looked enigmatic and pensive as she sat silently in the corner.

      "Yes, indeed," I confirmed.  "But I'm not entirely sure what her own plans entail."

      "In time," came a quiet reply.  "Just give her time."

      John was adamant that we shouldn't spoil the evening by talking any further about business, and he reminded me I had still a couple of days in hand.

      "I have two suggestions," he added.  "One is that I'd like you to visit Argyle Foods if you can find the time, to get a better idea of how a factory ought to be run.  The other is that you and Lori have dinner at my house tomorrow evening, when hopefully you'll share your current thoughts about the future.  I don't want to influence you in any way, Richard, nor would I dream of persuading any member of my staff to do so.  The choice has to be yours alone."

      I smiled, having already made up my mind.  There was just one other visit I planned to make, one that needn't concern John Flannery.  His considerations were purely business - mine involved a more personal matter.   I looked across the table at his earnest face, and decided it would do him no harm to be kept in suspense for just a few more days.

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