‘Record?’

‘Average. There’s a commendation for the way he handled a currency fiddle being run by some of the marines on security duty in Moscow, to avoid a scandal. Got them posted back here for a discreet court martial, which prevented the Russians getting upset.’

‘Could have brought him to their attention, if they’d been investigating it as well,’ suggested Wilson.

‘Yes,’ agreed the deputy.

‘What about the Australian wife?’

‘Name’s Jill,’ said Harkness. ‘Enjoys parties, described as a popular woman.’

‘Marriage happy?’

‘They spent three months apart when he was posted to Tokyo: stated reason was that her mother was ill in Canberra.’

‘Was that confirmed?’

‘No,’ said Harkness. ‘I’ve already cabled for the inquiry to be made.’

‘Money?’

‘Only what he earns. The bank records will be here tomorrow.’

Wilson went closer to the blackboard, gazing at the personnel photograph for several moments. ‘Who’s the other one?’ he said, turning away.

Again Harkness pinned a picture on the board before he started talking. This time it was of a smaller-featured, darker man, heavily bearded. He was staring intently and unselfconsciously towards the camera.

‘Richard Semingford,’ listed Harkness. ‘Career diplomat. Father’s a colonel, so the boy went to Stowe but didn’t seem to fancy a military career. Modern history at Cambridge, graduated with a Second. Married an undergraduate there. Entered the Foreign Office with an average pass mark. Good record as trade counsellor in Washington. Initial secretaryship in Tokyo, at the start of the trouble over Japanese car imports, and did well. Three years in Moscow: distinction rating when he left. Posted to Rome eighteen months ago as Second Secretary. Regarded as promotion material and likely to get an ambassadorship if he doesn’t make any sort of major mistake.’