'Hello, old chap. Do come in. Have a seat. How about a glass of sherry? Or would you prefer something stronger? Dry or sweet? Dry. Fine. Me too. Nothing like a glass of old Fino is there? Good for the soul I always say. My goodness though, long time no see, isn't it?'

Now knighted, Sir Percy Hancock, former Chief Executive of Trakton, and before that Head of the Delhi office of the company, sank back into his leather armchair, sherry glass in hand, eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. Dick guessed that what he meant by 'long time no see' was - 'What the hell have you come to see me about after all these years? I smell a rat. What are you trying to get out of me?'

Sir Percy was well-known for his charm. He was the son of a baronet, had been educated at Eton and Trinity College, Cambridge, had a distinguished record with the Guards during the Second World War, for which he had been awarded a DSO, had married the daughter of a banker, done very well for himself with Trakton - and was now, a widower, enjoying his sunset years alone in Cambridge. The last thing he wanted was trouble. And, despite his sophisticated, kindly, charming manner, he had a reputation for acting ruthlessly if the occasion demanded it.

But everyone said he also had the memory of an elephant. That was the key issue for Dick. Would he remember what had gone on in Madras over twenty years earlier? And, even if he did, would he tell Dick what he knew?

Dick had telephoned him, simply saying he would like to see him on a brief visit to Cambridge while carrying out some 'research'. Sir Percy had invited him to lunch; he could hardly have done less for a former colleague.

The Georgian house in Chaucer Road was spacious and comfortable in the English style. There was no sign of modern interior design. The furniture was comfortable rather than stylish. There were antique Persian rugs on the floor. The walls were covered with old pictures of Eton and Cambridge, with framed photographs of Sir Percy's father being introduced to King George V, of Sir Percy with Nehru... It was not exactly a museum but it had a strong sense of history about it. A long garden stretched away behind the house - equally English, with wide flower beds, flowering trees and perfectly kept grass. Even in winter, there were flowers.

'So what's all this about research, eh? Didn't know you were into the academic stuff. What's it all about then?'

There was a suspicious edge to his voice but he continued to smile.