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I hung up the receiver and fumbled in vain for any change which might have been returned by the payphone. None at all, of course. These inter-world calls are horrendously expensive. A blow to the wallet I just have to take on the chin, so to speak. I set off again, not particularly hurrying, turning over in my mind the twin problems of how to tackle Methven and the best way of getting to his office. I had already settled on a route when I realised that I had picked up a tail - one of my tails, at least. Fortunately, it was the bad one. Whoever it was, he was terrible, truly dreadful. He was so obviously following me that I had to work hard not to signal that I had spotted him. Maybe he wouldn't have noticed anyway. Now, in my line of work, people follow me all the time. Just one of the perils of the job. But few are as awful at the task as this one. I was already irritated by the lack of progress on the case and now I was insulted by the implied suggestion that the Goblin following me could be as incompetent as he so obviously was and still expect to get away with it. It was time to turn the tables. I ducked into a maze of narrow streets and alleyways, making it look as if I had a sudden change of plan. This area I knew reasonably well: a rambling labyrinth of twisty passageways, dark tunnels and narrow overpasses all linked with jumbled flights of steps and steep slopes down which a less sure-footed race would slide down in a trice. I picked up the pace, giving my best method acting impersonation of suddenly having some place to go in a hurry. I zigged and zagged, nearly at a run, always heading approximately in the same direction, trying to make it appear that I had a destination in mind but wasn't sure of the exact route. Behind me, the tail broke cover, abandoning almost all of his half-hearted attempts at stealth in the effort to keep up with me. Now he was turning corners behind me well before I made the next turn, so he would be clearly visible down the passage if I was to stop and turn around. Which I didn't do. I kept going, not looking behind me, keeping track of his progress by sound alone. I zagged around the next corner, ducked into a convenient alcove not five feet beyond the turn. I pulled a heavy-calibre unfriendly-looking automatic from its habitual resting-place under my coat and flicked off the safety. No point in packing heat if you don't intent to use it. The Goblin following me turned the corner, then stopped dead, trying to work out where I had disappeared to. I took advantage to the moment of confusion to reach out a long arm, grab him by the coat collar with one hand and stick the business end of the heater into his cheek with the other. Shaken by the sudden appearance of a large and scary gun under his nose, he sagged and trembled in my grip. I'm big and bulky for a Goblin, and I towered over the slightly-built youngster I had grabbed. I inspected him top to toe with a sneer. He was elegantly dressed in a two-piece tweed and a tasteful shirt held together at the neck by an expensive-looking tie. The whole ensemble was covered over with a cheap brown raincoat that looked as if it had been chosen to blend into the background, with only moderate success. I pulled the twitching Goblin closer. "Who are you?" I growled in his ear, "And why are you following me?" "Err," he tremored. His eyes swivelled wildly this way and that, as if looking for a way out. I followed up my questions by tapping the muzzle of my automatic on his cheekbone. "What's your name?" I repeated, showing more of my teeth. "I'm Cutmal Lundie," he muttered, almost too quietly to hear. Of course it was.
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Part 73