Chapter ElevenI never slept well that Tuesday night, waking early with a sour taste in my mouth. I could blame the meal or the whisky, but in neither of those lay the truth. Melissa was apprehensive when I phoned from my flat on arriving home from the West End. I could hear the nervousness in her voice and sense the anxiety on her breath. I did not tell her of my meeting with Belsize and she never asked about him. For that I was grateful, but when she asked when I would call again I could hardly conceal my guilt in the conspiratorial replied I made—when I can, Melissa. I have a lot to do.
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Godfrey Harwood was a keep-fit fanatic, having a gym at his palatial home where from six o'clock in the morning he trained for precisely an hour, warming up by a what he called a power-walk around
