DRACONMEYER IS DESPERATE Draconmeyer stood before the window of his room, looking out over the Mediterranean.

There was no finer view to be obtained from any suite in the hotel, and Monte Carlo had revelled all that day in the golden, transfiguring sunshine.

Yet he looked as a blind man.

His eyes saw nothing of the blue sea or the brown-sailed fishing boats, nor did he once glance towards the picturesque harbour.

He saw only his own future, the shattered pieces of his carefully-thought-out scheme.