orders slowly.
'Give me five minutes and then leave the house together,' he said. 'Walk past the man at the corner and lead him around in a circle before coming back here. Is that understood?'
'Yes,' replied Amalia.
'Where will you be, Captain Rawson?' asked Beatrix.
'I'll be waiting for him,' said Daniel.
After giving them all a smile of encouragement, he let himself out into the street and mounted his horse. He trotted off in the opposite direction to the corner where the watcher was stationed. Turning into the adjacent street, he rode on until he reached another corner. When he turned right again, he kept his eyes peeled.
Amalia Janssen, Beatrix and Kees Dopff stood in the parlour and watched the pendulum of the clock as it swung to and fro. Dopff wanted to point out that it was a Dutch mathematician who first invented the pendulum clock over half a century earlier but he felt it inappropriate. It would also take far too long for him to convey the information by means of gesture and facial expression. When the five minutes had elapsed, Amalia gave a nod and led them to the front door. Beatrix was still reluctant but she could not refuse to go. She pulled a scarf around her shoulders and gritted her teeth. With mixed feelings, Dopff opened the front door and the women went out into the street. They heard the door being shut behind them.
'I don't like this,' confided Beatrix.
'Stay close to me,' said Amalia.
Crossing the street, they walked side by side, trying to appear as natural as they could. They turned left at the corner and expected the burly man to confront them but he was not there. For a second, they dared to relax. The man had apparently gone away. Their sense of relief was rudely shattered when he stepped out of a doorway opposite and tipped his hat in a mocking salute. They walked quickly on. His heavy footsteps soon fell in behind them. Neither of them dared to look over her shoulder. They were both quietly terrified.
Daniel had found a dark alleyway where both he and his horse could hide. It was only a question of waiting now. Certain that Emanuel Janssen had been identified as a spy, he prayed that the man was still alive and had been spared torture. He winced at the thought of having to tell Amalia that her father had been killed. She seemed so young and fragile that the news could destroy her. From the way Lefeaux and his wife had been summarily hanged, it was evident that no mercy would be shown to spies. He could only hope that Janssen's exceptional skill as a tapestry- maker had saved him. A monarch who took such delight in the work of artists of all kinds might think twice about condemning a supreme craftsman to death.
Daniel had no more time to reflect upon what was only a faint hope. A horse and cart went past then an old man staggered by on a walking stick. What he saw next as he peered around the corner of the alleyway were the two women, walking in step and staying close together. Yards behind them, he could just pick out a brawny figure in the gloom. Flattening his back against the wall, he was ready to pounce. Amalia Janssen and Beatrix got nearer and nearer until he could hear their matching footsteps. When they went past him, they didn't even think to look down the alleyway. Neither did their stalker and it was a bad mistake. Daniel leapt out, grabbed his collar to pull him into the alleyway then held a dagger at his throat.
'Who are you?' demanded Daniel.
'I've got no money if that's what you're after,' said the man.
'I want to know why you're following those two ladies and why you've been outside their house all week.' Daniel shoved him hard against the wall then pricked his neck with the point of his weapon. The man yelped. 'Next time, I'll cut your throat. Now — who are you?'
'My name is Jacques Serval,' admitted the other, 'and I wasn't following anybody. I live nearby and was on my way home.'
'Don't lie to me or I'll slice you to pieces.' Daniel reinforced the threat with a kick on the shin and a punch on the nose. Blood gushed down on to the man's beard. He glowered at Daniel. 'Where is Emanuel Janssen?'
'I've never heard of him,' said Serval, a hand to his nose.
'Why keep his house under surveillance?'
'I don't know what you're talking about.'
'Then you're no use to me,' said Daniel, pulling back his arm as if to thrust the dagger into him. 'Goodbye, my friend.'
'No — wait!' exclaimed Serval, cowering.
'Have I jogged your memory?'
'I didn't take him away. The others did that. I was just asked to watch the house to see what his daughter did. You've got no argument with me, sir. I'm not important.'
'You're important to me because you're the one person who can solve this mystery. I'll ask you once more and, if you still insist you don't know, I'll send you off to the Hell you deserve for tormenting those ladies.' With his free hand, he slammed the man against the wall, knocking off his hat. 'Consider your answer very carefully, my friend. Where is Emanuel Janssen?'
'Somewhere you'll never reach him,' said Serval, defiantly.
'He is alive, then?'
'Yes.'
'Is he still here in Paris?'
'Janssen won't ever be leaving here.'
'Why do you say that?'
'He's in the one place where nobody leaves.'
'And where's that?'
Serval smirked. 'The Bastille.'
Daniel was stunned. Relieved to hear that Janssen was still alive, he was dismayed to learn that he was being held in the city's most notorious prison. It was like a body blow to Daniel. As he tried to absorb the impact, he took a step backward. Serval saw his chance and took it. Lunging forward, he grabbed the wrist of the hand that held the dagger and tried to twist it away from him. Daniel fought back at once, grappling hard, looking into the Frenchman's crazed eyes and recoiling from his foul breath. With a sudden move and a swing of his leg, he managed to trip Serval up. Falling to the ground, Serval kept an iron grip on his wrist and pulled Daniel after him. They struggled violently. It was a trial of strength now.
Serval was a powerful man who had come off best in many tavern brawls. He spat into Daniel's face then turned his head sharply to bite his wrist, forcing him to drop the dagger. They were on even terms, needing to subdue or kill their opponent with bare hands. After trying to gouge Daniel's eyes, Serval rolled over so that he was on top for the first time, his substantial weight bearing down on Daniel. The Frenchman was sweating freely and panting hard but he now had the advantage. Rising up to sit astride Daniel, he got both hands to his throat and began to throttle him, blood from his nose dripping on to Daniel's face. Anticipating success, Serval let out a growl of triumph.
It was premature. Daniel was not finished yet. Gasping for breath, he put all his strength into a punch that caught Serval on the ear and knocked him sideways, weakening his hold on Daniel's neck. A second punch dislodged his hold altogether and Daniel was able to throw him off and scramble to his feet. Serval was quick to recover, getting to his knees and pulling out his own dagger. Daniel reacted by instinct. If he let the Frenchman get up, then the result would not be in doubt. Serval had to be disarmed. With a firm kick, Daniel caught him in the crotch and made him double up in agony. Then he dived in to grab Serval's wrist, twisting it so that the dagger turned towards the Frenchman's chest. With a howl of rage, Serval tried to pull himself upright and turn the weapon back on Daniel but he slipped on the cobbles and fell backwards. As Daniel tumbled to the ground on top of him, the dagger went straight through the Frenchman's heart. Serval's body convulsed for a moment then all resistance drained out of him.
When he was sure that the man was dead, Daniel searched him quickly and took some papers from his pocket. Then he lugged the body down the alleyway and hid it in a doorway. Retrieving his own dagger, he put it in its sheath and went to collect his horse. Now that the fight was over, he was able to address his mind to what he had found out. He did not relish the task of passing on the information to Amalia Janssen. Her father might be alive but he was incarcerated in the infamous Bastille. That was a death sentence in itself.
