Taking a set of keys from his pockets, he climbed slowly up the steps. At one time, Tweed thought, you'd have run up them. Selecting two keys, the Belgian unlocked the right-hand door, opened it, stood aside.
`You go across the hall. On the left you will see a door with S'il vows plait on a metal plate. Then perhaps you will join us in the garden.'
`Thank you…'
Paula walked slowly across the marble-floored hall. It was illuminated by a huge chandelier suspended way above her head. She paused, looked back, listened. Delvaux would now be well away from her.
Ignoring the door with the plate, she walked on to the rear of the hall where a door was half open, the room beyond lit by fluorescent strips. As she had hoped, it was the kitchen. A beautiful wood-block floor, all the latest equipment, including a de luxe island unit. She was relieved to see the curtains were closed.
Beyond the island unit was another door with a large frosted-glass panel. She opened it quietly. Again she had guessed right. It was the utility room – also equipped with the latest gadgets. Including a huge freezer.
This was what she had been looking for. She sucked in a deep breath as she approached it. Standing gazing down at the closed lid, she gritted her teeth, steeled herself. She was feeling very tired. Already it had been a long day. Get on with it, she told herself.
Stopping, she grasped the lid, lifted it back in one swift motion. Even though she was expecting something like this, the shock was still great. The freezer was packed with food. Motionless she stared at the plastic carton full of ice laid along the top of the food. It was smaller than the carton in Andover's freezer – because what it contained was smaller. The severed hand of a woman, amputated at the wrist, where it was covered with a bandage stained with blood.
She knew it was a woman's hand. The slim fingers suggested a woman. But what confirmed it was a woman's hand – a left hand – were the two rings on the third finger. A ruby engagement ring, a gold wedding ring. The final obscenity was a single wilted rose which had been placed between the fingers.
`You bastards!'
Paula's lips formed the words soundlessly. She had not forgotten the listening devices. She closed the lid, walked slowly towards the front entrance.
When Paula had gone inside the chateau Delvaux had led the way along a footpath beside the building to the grounds at the rear. Newman, following Tweed, almost gasped at what he saw.
Illuminated by lanterns, spaced out at intervals, the estate was laid out like a miniature Versailles. A vast lawn, heavily coated with glistening frost, was criss-crossed with paved walks. Beautiful stone urns were perched on shapely plinths. In the shadows decorative conifers – expensive specimen trees – rose up like small exclamation marks. In the distance a coloured fountain spurted vertically, falling back into a round walled lake.
`I used to love this,' Delvaux commented as he stood on a terrace running the length of the back of the chateau. `Why have you come, Tweed?'
Newman, standing with the gun by his side hidden from Delvaux, was staring at the shadow of a man. He stood quite motionless, in the darkness close to the wall of tall evergreens shielding the estate.
`There's someone hiding over there,' he interjected. `Do not worry,' Delvaux assured him. 'He is a friend.
Why have you come, Tweed?' he repeated.
`Because I've found out what happened to Sir Gerald Andover.'
There was silence for several long minutes. Delvaux's hands began to tremble. He hastily shoved them inside his jacket pockets. Before he could answer Paula walked on to the terrace. She looked at Tweed, jerked her head towards the chateau.
`The same situation as at Prevent,' she whispered as she stood closer to him. She extended her left hand, made a chopping motion with her right on her other wrist. 'The freezer again.'
`What have you been doing inside my house?' Delvaux demanded in a high-pitched voice. He had moved near enough to catch her last three words. 'What have you found?' he screeched, his facial muscles working.
Over Paula's arm were folded some clothes she had found inside a cupboard in the hall. She turned to face the Belgian. Just before she turned round Tweed nodded to her and she knew he wanted her to talk.
`Your coat and a scarf, Mr Delvaux,' she replied. She helped him on with the coat, wrapped his scarf round his neck. 'You'll catch your death out here in this temperature.'
`Thank you, my dear. Most considerate. It is chilly.'
`It is even more chilly inside the freezer,' she told him. Only shock tactics would make this man talk. 'And I found a woman's severed left hand. Lucie is supposed to have run off with a millionaire. Would he send that to you?'
Delvaux crumbled. He shook like a leaf in a breeze. He was shuddering all over. He came to Paula and she put her arms round him as he hugged her close for comfort. Then he stiffened, let go of her, stood back, stood upright.
`I'm sorry. I'm making a fool of myself. Yes, that is Lucie's hand. She's been kidnapped. Over three months ago.' He had spoken calmly. Now he became agitated, speaking in an anguished manner to Tweed. 'You must not tell the police. Please! Not the police! They will kill her.'
`Which is why I came alone,' Tweed said in a matter-of- fact tone. 'What are their demands? How much?'
`No ransom has been demanded. I was given precise instructions. I must go into retirement, resign from all public bodies – including INCOMSIN. They emphasized INCOMSIN. Otherwise Lucie's body would be delivered to me in a casket. I did everything they told me. I fended off Chief Inspector Benoit, who was suspicious.'
`And the listening devices all over the chateau?' Tweed probed.
`One day when I was at the factory they broke in and placed the listening devices. As soon as I returned I had a phone call from a woman. She told me what they had done. She warned me they would know if I interfered with – removed – any of the devices. She said I knew what the ultimate consequences would be. Ultimate. That is why we are talking out here…'
He stopped talking. Newman had raised his gun, holding it with both hands. The man in the shadows was walking towards them. Newman's voice rang out clear in the crisp silent night.
`Raise both hands above your head or get a bullet in the guts.'
Put the gun away,' Tweed ordered. He had recognized the way the approaching man walked. 'It's all right,' he called out.
Sir Gerald Andover, clad in a heavy overcoat, lowered his hands. He walked towards them as though his shoes were made of lead. God! Tweed thought. Shall I tell him now about Irene – that she is dead, dragged out of the Solent?
`I recognized you, Tweed,' Andover began. 'And Paula.' He turned to her, gave a formal bow. She realized he was making a tremendous effort to appear to be in control of himself. Delvaux spoke.
`Gerald sailed to Antwerp in his motor yacht to come and see how I was getting on, to ask my advice about a certain matter.'
`Instead,' Andover said with a note of irony, 'I found myself advising Gaston. You might say we're in the same boat. You've told him, Gaston?'
`Some of it,' Delvaux replied cautiously.
`I don't understand the severed hand, Gaston,' Tweed remarked in as casual a tone as he could muster. He looked at Andover. 'Just as I didn't understand the severed arm of Irene.•
`We think – we know,' Delvaux intervened, 'that these barbaric acts were to encourage us not to inform anyone in the outside world of what was happening. Including the police. The woman phoned me again, said so after I found that horrible carton in the freezer. It happened last night after I'd returned from a discreet visit to the factory. She told me to look in the freezer, was still on the phone when I got back. I swore at her, called her a sadistic fiend. She said it was a reminder – not to go to the police – and rang off.'
`Tweed,' Andover said grimly, 'that's what we are up against – sadistic fiends. And we don't know why.'
`What I would like to know,' Tweed remarked, turning to Delvaux, 'is why your plant is working full blast – also why you are making discreet visits, as you phrased it.'
`I have nothing more to say,' the Belgian said. 'But I ask you as a friend – do not inform the police. For the sake of Lucie. Now, you had better go.' He turned to Paula. 'Please do not think me discourteous, but I find myself in
