‘Come on,’ I said, ‘let’s get busy. We’re not tourists any more.’Not that Bel had seen many of the sights of London, unless ‘sights’ was broad enough to encompass Tottenham and a couple of low-class restaurants. I listened at her door until I could hear her getting out of bed.‘I’ll meet you downstairs,’ she called.I went back to my room and tried phoning again. This time I got through. I was calling someone at British Telecom. His name was Allan and he didn’t come cheap.‘It’s me,’ I said. ‘Have they started tapping your line yet?’‘No, just everybody else’s. I can give you the latest royal dirt if you like.’He didn’t sound like he was joking. ‘No thanks,’ I said. ‘I’m after a couple of numbers.’‘I take it you mean unlisted, or you’d be calling Directory Enquiries.’‘I’ve checked, they’re unlisted. The first is a woman called Eleanor Ricks.’‘The one who got shot?’‘Could be.’‘You’ve got to be careful, man. Sometimes Scotland Yard or MI5 stick keywords into the system.
