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days to take his boat out.’
    ‘He talked about “his” boat?’
    ‘That’s what I’ve just said.’
    ‘Anything more?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘If you should remember anything, get in touch, will you?’
    ‘I’ve told you everything; I’ve a good memory.’
    ‘Then thanks for all your help.’
    The porter went over to the door, opened it, turned. ‘I’ll tell you one thing. He was a real gentleman.’ He went out.
    The assistant manager spoke drily. ‘Obviously, the señor tipped him generously.’
    Alvarez looked at his empty glass and wondered if the hotel would prove equally generous.
     

 
CHAPTER 4
    Clinica Bahia, the smallest of the state hospitals in Palma, was situated on the eastern boundary of the city. It was an ugly slab of a building and inside little attempt had been made to brighten its image so that the gloomy reception area correctly set the scene. Plans either to replace or to modernize it were regularly updated, but never exercised. Yet despite this, the staff were efficient and cheerful and they usually managed to uplift a patient’s morale.
    Alvarez took the lift to the fourth floor and then walked along the right-hand corridor to the small recess in which was a desk for the nursing staff and, on either side of this, wash- and store-rooms. A young nurse was working at some papers and he explained what he wanted.
    ‘Señor Higham? He’s in Room 413.’
    He spoke with sharp surprise. ‘Then you have managed to find out his name?’
    ‘I didn’t because I don’t speak any English and his Spanish sounds like Portuguese.’ She grinned. ‘But Dr Bauza did post-graduate work in America and so he can speak English; he discovered the señor had recovered his memory.’
    ‘Has it fully returned?’
    ‘I couldn’t say exactly, but I think it must have done because Dr Bauza said he’s making a good recovery and ought to be able to leave quite soon.’
    That’s good . . . All right if I have a chat with him?’
    ‘I don’t see why not. But if he starts looking tired, you’ll have to stop immediately.’
    Most of the rooms on the floor contained four beds, but 413 had only two and the second one was empty. Higham was sitting up reading a paperback. A man in his middle forties, he had a round, plump face. A small, neat moustache, the same light brown as his hair, was set above a wide, cheerful mouth. The only visible signs that he had been in a car accident were the plaster on his right cheek and a bruise which stretched across his right chin.
    Alvarez introduced himself, then said how delighted he was to find the other better.
    ‘No more delighted than I am, I can assure you!’ His voice was warm and tuneful. ‘These last few days have been like . . . The nearest I can get to it is, it’s been like having a spider’s web throttling my brain. I’ve kept struggling to get my thoughts lined up straight, but they just wouldn’t. Been rather frightening, really; a bit of me could still think and keep wondering if I’d gone round the twist. But, thank God, that’s all over and done with and now I can think as straight as I ever could, which maybe isn’t as straight as it ought to be . . .’ He laughed, then became serious. ‘Look, maybe you can tell me something. How’s the other man, the driver? No one here seems to know. I’ve got this very hazy idea that he must have been badly hurt . . .’
    ‘I am afraid that he died in the crash.’
    ‘My God!’ He fiddled with his moustache as he stared into the distance. ‘I didn’t realize things were that bad . . . I was lucky, then?’
    ‘Very lucky. And almost certainly because you were not wearing your seat-belt so that you were thrown clear.’
    ‘You never know, do you? Wear a belt and save your life; don’t wear it and save your life.’
    ‘Do you feel strong enough to answer a few questions?’
    ‘I’m fine.’
    Alvarez settled on the spare bed. ‘We’ve had a bit of a problem because until this morning no one knew who