“Dangerous country,” Miller said. “We’ve been known to roll boulders down the hillside on unwary travellers — stone strangers.”

“How fascinating.” Vernon turned to Lazer. “Introduce me to your friend, Chuck.”

“A pleasure,” Lazer said. “Nick Miller. Detective Sergeant, Central C.I.D.”

Vernon hesitated momentarily and then extended his hand. “Always a pleasure to meet the law.”

Miller stayed where he was on the bench, hands tucked casually into his pockets. “I can’t say it’s mutual.”

“You watch your mouth, copper,” Carver said harshly.

He started to move, Lazer whistled twice and the Dalmatians arrived on the run. They stood beside him, pointing at Carver, something rumbling deep down in their throats.

Carver hesitated, obviously uncertain, and Miller laughed. “Know why they call them carriage dogs, Carver? They were specially bred during the eighteenth century as travelling companions to take care of highwaymen.”

Something glowed deep in Carver’s eyes and Vernon chuckled. “That’s damned good. Damned good.” He grinned at Carver. “See, you learn something new every day of the week.”

He turned away without another word and walked back to the Rolls, Carver and Stratton hurrying after him. Lazer leaned down to fondle the ears of the two dogs and Miller said softly, “I think you could have trouble there, Chuck.”

“If it comes, I’ll handle it.”

Miller shook his head. “You mean I’ll handle it and that’s an order.” He got to his feet and grinned. “I’ve got to get moving.”

Lazer stood up and produced a small gold-edged card from his breast pocket. “I know it’s illegal to do it this way, but there’s a membership card. Why not drop in? It’s been a long time since I heard you play piano.”

“I might just do that,” Miller said and he turned and walked away across the grass.

As the Rolls-Royce moved out into the main traffic stream, Max Vernon leaned forward and slid back the glass panel of the partition.