“I want to keep this meeting brief. Very brief. We have no time for quoting literature. So let us assume that you want to go through with the original plan. What we need to do is establish credentials so that we can trust one another and take it from there. Would you agree?”

“I suppose so. Though I have no idea…” He was cut short by another Weber frown.

“I have a photograph to show you.” Weber reached into the breast pocket of his coat and pulled out a photograph. He showed it to Richard, taking care not to wave it around indiscriminately, so that only Richard could see it, though there seemed to be no reason for such care.

Richard saw a much younger version of himself looking out of the photograph. He must’ve been nineteen, maybe as much as twenty-one in the photo. Standing next to him was Stuart Douglas and, beside Stuart, Eddie. They all looked scruffy, young and defiant. There was a poster with a clenched fist in the background. The poster used to hang on the wall of Stuart’s student flat. Richard remembered the place fondly. It was a sprawling old Victorian house in Glasgow’s Kelvinside. The epitome of radical chic, it was more or less a squat with all sorts of people coming and going without bothering to contribute to the rent. People would simply hand over their keys on a whim to acquaintances. Hardly any of the assortment of hippies, free-loaders and naïve young people realised that Stuart paid a substantial rent to the owner, or that that money came from a wealthy actress who believed she was making a contribution to the socialist cause. How utterly decadent and pretentious it had all been. But so much better than the dull, organised squalor students went through for no apparent reason these days.

“So you have an old photograph of me. What do you want now? An autograph?”

“You probably need more time to consider what you want to do. That’s understandable.” Weber took a gulp of coffee. “We don’t need to rush into anything, but I think it’s worth our while having a proper talk sometime soon. Somewhere less public and in the open. I’d prefer the park.”

“Which park?”

“Any park. Regent’s Park is nearer for you though.”

“OK.” “Shall we meet at the Clarence Gate entrance on Sunday?”

“What time?”

“Ten a.m. One more thing. Take this card. It will get you into the Turkish baths in Porchester Gardens without paying. Go there tonight and stay for half an hour. It is a club for homosexuals. Don’t worry, no one will bother you and I will not meet you there. All you have to do is drink for free in the reception area for half an hour and then leave. Of course, if you want to make friends or use the facilities there, you are free to do so. It is a very exclusive club with good standards of behaviour.”

“What? Wait, why do I have to go there?”

“If you don’t do this before we meet again it will be very dangerous for you. In fact, our present conversation may already have put you in danger. You must do it.” Weber pushed the plastic card towards Richard.

Richard took the card obediently.

Standing up, Weber tossed a ten-pound note onto the table and left.

Once Weber had left, Richard almost felt sorry he had been so uncooperative. This had been a chance to piece together a few bits of the jigsaw. What if something were to happen between now and Sunday? What if Weber were to decide to top himself too?

◆◆◆

That evening, Richard made a visit to the club as Weber had told him to. It was only much later that he found out why he had to do it – Weber liked to ensure that anyone he met frequented, or at least visited, the Turkish baths in Porchester Gardens. It was good cover. It explained why he met so many random men. The fact the club was not exclusively gay explained why he could meet straight men randomly too.