It passed through them and turned towards the village. Vincent closed the heavy door with a clunk and turned to the two men behind him in the hallway. Neither of these two men spoke. Breaking the silence was Vincent’s prerogative. He was the boss, almost. He hustled back to the lounge where he poured himself a large shot of whisky and sat down on a wide leather armchair, his eyes blazing. He sipped the pale liquid, holding the glass tight to his lips, and stared dead ahead. The two men had followed him, hardly daring to speak. Eventually he turned his gaze to them. ‘Well?’ he said quietly. Neither man had an answer, but both knew what Jack Vincent was thinking. Then another man, who had been keeping out of sight, came into the room and all eyes turned to him. The sudden appearance had caught Vincent off guard, but not for long. He had fully expected Jonny Cain to come knocking, but not so soon. He’d anticipated the visit would come later, when it was realized that H. Diller and Haltenorth had not reported back.
