squatting on his haunches as darkness descended and rain began to fall.
'All right, Asta,' he said calmly. 'I think you'd better start talking.'
'Max killed Fergus tonight,' she said flatly.
'Where?'
'Back at the house. The body's still there in the cellar, hanging from a hook like an animal. He beat him to death, Paul.'
'Does he know you saw him?'
She shook her head. 'I slipped away quietly, took Murdoch's bicycle from the garage and rode over to Ardmurchan Lodge to you.'
'And arrived just as I was leaving?'
'That's right.' She gripped his arm and leaned forward, her face a pale blur. 'Tell me, Paul. Tell me everything! I must know!'
He had little choice and knowing that he took her hands and held them tightly. 'All right, angel. You asked for it. I'm a NATO Intelligence agent and your step-father and his friends are working for the other side, it's as simple as that.'
Her hands tightened in his and then suddenly she fell forward against him. He gave her only a moment and raised her chin with a finger. 'Whose side are you on, Asta?'
She gripped his arms fiercely and gave him a little shake. 'Damn you, Paul Chavasse, do you need to ask?'
The hissing stopped behind them as the compression bottles emptied themselves and he stood up. 'Where are you going-the island?'
'That's right. Donner's up to something out there and I'd like to know what it is.'
'I thought so. I knew that's what you were watching this afternoon on the hillside through the binoculars. Can I come with you?' Before he could protest she went on, 'I might as well wait for you in the boat as here on the shore.'
'All right,' he said, 'but no nonsense when we get there and you do exactly as you're told.'
She settled herself into the prow with the aqualung and he pushed off and scrambled into the stern. The moon was completely obscured by cloud and a thin rain was falling as he paddled in a wide circle that carried them into the path of the emptying river so that the current swept them in towards the northern point of the island.
Asta leaned over the prow, fending off the rocks and, when they grounded on a bank of sand and shingle, Chavasse scrambled over into the shallows, and ran the boat into the shelter of overhanging bushes.
'Now wait here,' he whispered. 'I shouldn't be very long. If you hear any kind of fuss at all, cast off, paddle back to the beach and get to Ardmurchan Lodge as quickly as you can. Colonel Craig will know what to do.' She opened her mouth to protest and he closed it firmly with one hand. 'No arguments. If the worst comes to the worst, I can swim for it. Now be a good girl.'
He splashed through the shallows, following the shoreline before cutting up through the bushes to the base of the castle wall. At this point, it was crumbling badly and he pushed his way through a wasteland of nettles, scrambling across a jumbled mass of broken stones to a point where he could see inside.
The walls formed a rectangle enclosing a paved courtyard. There was a roofless building to his right and a line of half ruined pillars stretching towards the arched gateway.
To his left, the tower of the keep lifted squarely into the night, dark and silent and he moved towards it, mounting stone steps to the battlements. At this end of the building, the walls seemed to be almost intact and where they joined the tower, there was a broad rampart and two decaying cannon still at their stations.
He peered over the edge and saw water breaking in white spray over jagged rocks forty feet below. He turned to examine the tower. It raised its head another twenty feet into the night and he stiffened suddenly. There was a light showing from the window near the top, only the merest chink as if a curtain had been carelessly drawn, probably not even visible from the shore.
A crumbling buttress made a natural ladder, but as he moved towards it, the silence was shattered by the sound of an engine breaking into life on the far side of the loch and the motor boat moved towards the island.
Chavasse hurried across to the wall and a couple of minutes later, the engine was cut and the boat drifted in. He couldn't see the jetty from that point, but he heard the sound of the landing, and the scrape of a shoe on stone.
He moved cautiously back along the battlements, crouching in a corner of darkness where the tower joined the wall and peered down. Two men crossed the courtyard talking in low voices. They paused directly beneath him and opened a door in the base of the tower. It was Donner and Murdoch. As a brief shaft of light fell across the flagstones he saw them clearly and then the door closed again.
He descended the stone steps to the courtyard and moved towards the tower, keeping to the shadow of the wall. He could hear voices, a low murmur that sounded as if it was coming from somewhere beneath him. He listened carefully at the door for a moment, then opened it gently.
An oil lamp stood in a niche, briefly illuminating a dank stone chamber whose walls glistened with moisture. To his right, circular stone stairs lifted into the darkness. To his left, another door stood open slightly. The voices were coming from inside.
He pushed it open an inch or two at a time. There was a stone landing, then the beginning of some steps, dropping away to his left. The roof was supported by ribbed vaulting, he could see that, and then someone crossed his narrow angle of vision and paused to light a cigarette.
He wore the grey-green uniform of a private in the German Army, his face a dark shadow under the peak of the combat cap. The sight was so unreal, so unexpected, that Chavasse momentarily closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the man had gone.
He pushed open the door a little further and crawled inside on his stomach, peering cautiously over the edge of the landing. The room below was large, iron, military-style beds ranged around the stone walls. Max Donner leaned over the table in the centre, Murdoch at his side, a map spread out before them and the men who crowded round him all wore German Army uniform, except for two who were in British Army battledress.
The voices were a low murmur and then one of the men spoke as if asking a question. Donner laughed harshly and when he replied, Chavasse could hear him clearly.
'It's all taken care of. Nothing can possibly go wrong. Now let's have a drink and then we'll go over it again.'
Chavasse backed out slowly, closing the door behind him and stood up. Now that his eyes had become accustomed to the half-light he could see that above his head, the spiral stone staircase halted at a wooden door. Remembering the light from the room above, he went up the stairs quickly and tried the handle, but it was locked.
But someone was up there, so much was evident. Someone who had to be kept under lock and key, which was interesting. He let himself out into the courtyard, crossed to the steps and went up on to the battlements quickly.
When he reached the rampart beneath the tower, the chink of light still showed clearly from the window above his head and he started to climb the buttress, taking care where he placed his weight on the crumbling surface.
The window was barred and a glass casement had been fitted inside. He crouched down, hanging on to the bars and peered through a narrow gap where the drawn curtain had failed to join.
At first he could see little of interest. Stone walls, the end of a bed and then he changed his angle and excitement surged through him. The man who sat at the table in the centre of the room reading by the light of an oil lamp was Boris Souvorin. There was no doubt about it, Chavasse had been shown too many photographs of the man to be mistaken.
He reached through the bars and tapped on the window. Souvorin sat up at once, a startled expression on his face. Chavasse tapped again and the Russian glanced towards the window. He put down his book and crossed the room slowly.
When he pulled the curtain and found Chavasse peering in at him, he recoiled, fear on his face. Chavasse made an urgent gesture. The Russian hesitated, then he opened the casement.
'Who are you? What do you want?' he said in a whisper.
'My name is Chavasse. I'm a NATO Intelligence agent. You're Boris Souvorin.'
