She moved forward, and heads turned as men looked at her admiringly. She skillfully evaded the clutching hand of a drunk, and then she was passing Chavasse’s table. He stood up and touched her arm quickly. “Fraulein Hartmann?” he said. “I wonder if you’d care to have a drink with me?”

She turned and looked into his face, and then she noticed the champagne and two glasses ready and waiting. “You seem to have gone to considerable trouble, Herr…?”

“Chavasse,” he said. “Paul Chavasse.”

Something seemed to move in the brown eyes, but her face betrayed no emotion. To anyone watching, she was just another of the girls accepting a drink from a customer. “That’s very kind of you, Herr Chavasse. Champagne is always most acceptable.”

As he sat down, he pulled off the ring Hardt had given him and pushed it across to her. “I hope you find this also acceptable, Fraulein Hartmann.” Then he took the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket and opened it.

As he filled her glass, she studied the ring, her face quite calm, and then slipped it into her handbag. When she looked up, there was a slight crease between her eyes, the sure sign of stress.

“What’s happened to Mark?” she said simply.

Chavasse smiled. “Drink your champagne and don’t worry. We’re working together now. You’re supposed to take me back to your flat with you. He’ll meet us there as soon as he can.”

She sipped a little of her champagne and frowned down at the glass, as if considering what he had said. After a few moments, she looked up. “I think you’d better tell me everything, Herr Chavasse.”

He gave her a cigarette and took one himself. They leaned across the table like two lovers, heads almost touching, and he brought her up to date in a few brief sentences.