"Your honor," said Hunsacker, "Sir Alexander Moncrieff died on December seventeenth 1998-three months before the stamp was issued. So one thing is for certain: that sure can't be his signature scrawled across Her Majesty."

REVENGE IS A dish best served cold.

Danny placed Les Liaisons Dangereuses in his briefcase as the plane began its descent through a bank of murky clouds that hung over London. He had every intention of exacting cold revenge on all three men who had been responsible for the death of his closest friend, for preventing him from marrying Beth, for depriving him of being able to bring up his daughter Christy and for causing him to be imprisoned for a crime he did not commit.

He now had the financial resources to pick them off slowly, one by one, and it was his intention that by the time he'd completed the task, all three of them would consider death a preferable option.

"Would you please fasten your seatbelt, sir, we'll be landing at Heathrow in a few minutes."

Danny smiled up at the stewardess who had interrupted his thoughts. Mr. Justice Sanderson hadn't been given the opportunity to pass judgment in the case of Moncrieff v. Moncrieff, as one of the parties had withdrawn its claim soon after Mr. Gene Hunsacker had left the judge's chambers.

Mr. Munro had explained to Nick over dinner at the New Club in Edinburgh that if the judge had reason to believe a crime had been committed, he would have no choice but to send all the relevant papers to the Procurator Fiscal. Elsewhere in the city, Mr. Desmond Galbraith was informing his client that if that were to happen, Hugo's nephew might not be the only Moncrieff to experience the slamming of the iron door.

Munro had advised Sir Nicholas not to press charges, despite the fact that Danny was in no doubt who had been responsible for the three policemen waiting for him on the last occasion he had landed at Heathrow. Munro had added, in one of those rare moments when his guard came down, "But if your uncle Hugo causes any trouble in the future, then all bets are off."

Danny had tried inadequately to thank Munro for all he had done over the years-think like Nick-and was surprised by his response, "I'm not sure whom I enjoyed defeating more, your uncle Hugo or that prig Desmond Galbraith." The guard remained down. Danny had always thought how lucky he was to have Mr. Munro in his corner, but he had only recently become aware what it would be like to have him as an opponent.

When coffee was served, Danny had asked Fraser Munro to become a trustee of the family estate as well as its legal adviser. He had bowed low and said, "If that is your wish, Sir Nicholas." Danny had also made it clear that he wanted Dunbroathy Hall and the surrounding land to be handed over to the National Trust for Scotland, and that he intended to allocate whatever funds were necessary for its upkeep.

"Precisely as your grandfather envisaged," said Munro. "Although I have no doubt your uncle Hugo, with the help of Mr. Galbraith, would have found some ingenious way of wriggling out of that commitment."

Danny was beginning to wonder if Munro had had a wee dram too many. He couldn't imagine how the old solicitor would react were he to find out what Danny had in mind for another member of his profession.

The plane touched down at Heathrow just after eleven. Danny was meant to have caught the 8:40 flight, but had overslept for the first time in weeks.

He put Spencer Craig out of his mind when the aircraft came to a halt at its docking gate. He unbuckled his seatbelt and joined the other passengers standing in the aisle waiting for the door to swing open. This time there would be no policemen waiting outside for him.

After the case had come to its premature end, Hunsacker had slapped the judge on the back and offered him a cigar. Mr. Justice Sanderson was briefly lost for words, but he did manage a smile before politely refusing.

Danny pointed out to Hunsacker that if he had stayed in Geneva, he would still have ended up with Sir Alexander's collection, because Hugo would have been happy to sell it to him and probably for a lower price.

"But I wouldn't have kept my pact with your grand-daddy," Hunsacker replied. "Now I've done something to repay his kindness and shrewd advice over so many years."

An hour later Gene took off for Texas in his private jet, accompanied by 173 leather-bound albums, which Danny knew would keep him engrossed for the entire journey, and probably the rest of his life.

As Danny climbed aboard the Heathrow Express, his thoughts turned to Beth. He desperately wanted to see her again. Maupassant summed up his feelings so well: "What's the point of triumph if you've no one to share it with?" But he could hear Beth asking, "What's the point of revenge now you have so much to live for?" He would have reminded her first of Bernie and then of Nick, who had also had so much to live for. She would realize that the money meant nothing to him. He would have happily exchanged every penny for…

If only he could turn the clock back…

If only they had gone up to the West End the following night…

If only they hadn't gone to that particular pub…

If only they had left by the front door…

If only…

The Heathrow Express pulled into Paddington station seventeen minutes later. Danny checked his watch; he still had a couple of hours before his meeting with Ms. Bennett. This time he'd go by taxi, and would be waiting in reception long before his appointment. The judge's words were still ringing in his ears: "I intend to sign an order today which will ensure that you will be returned to prison for a further four years should you break any of your license conditions in the future."

Although settling scores with the three Musketeers remained Danny's first priority, he would have to put aside enough time to work on his degree, and honor his promise to Nick. He was even beginning to wonder if Spencer Craig might have played some role in Nick's death. Had Leach, as Big Al suggested, murdered the wrong man?

The taxi drew up outside his house in The Boltons. For the first time Danny really felt as if it was his home. He paid the fare, and opened the gate to find a tramp lounging on his doorstep.

"This is going to be your lucky day," Danny said as he took out his wallet. The dozing figure was dressed in an open-neck blue and white striped shirt, a pair of well-worn jeans and a pair of black shoes that must have been polished that morning. He stirred and raised his head.

"Hi, Nick."

Danny threw his arms around him, just as Molly opened the door. She put her hands on her hips. "He said he was a friend of yours," she said, "but I still told him to wait outside."

"He is my friend," said Danny. "Molly, meet Big Al."

Molly had already prepared an Irish stew for Nick, and as her portions were always too large, there was more than enough for both of them.

"So tell me everything," Danny said once they were seated at the kitchen table.

"No a lot tae tell, Nick," said Big Al between mouthfuls. "Like you, they released me after I'd served half my sentence. Thank God they shipped me oot, otherwise I might 've been there fur the rest of ma life." He reluctantly put down his spoon and added with a smile, "An we know who wis responsible fur that."

"So what have you got planned?" asked Danny.

"Nothing at the moment, but ye did say tae come and see you wance I got oot. "He paused." I hoped ye'd let me stay fur a night."

"Stay as long as you like," said Danny. "My housekeeper will prepare the guest bedroom," he added with a grin.

"I'm not your housekeeper," said Molly sharply. "I'm your cleaner what occasionally cooks."