By Stealth

18

`That must be his armaments factory,' Newman commented. 'I thought Delvaux had gone out of business.'

`So did I,' Tweed replied from the back of the Mercedes.

They had reached Herstal. Tweed peered out of the window at a modern single-storey factory complex of white buildings close to the edge of the Meuse. Across the road from the plant was a large landing stage with two huge barges berthed.

A searchlight perched high on top of the main building was switched on. The spotlight of the beam hit the road ahead of Newman, moved swiftly towards him. Just in time he lowered the visor, half-closed his eyes. The glare of the spotlight focused on the car, paused, followed it for several seconds.

`Bloody traffic hazard,' Newman growled.

`Their security is extraordinary,' Tweed observed.

The factory was surrounded with a high wire fence he suspected was electrified. Behind the fence uniformed guards patrolled, holding Alsatians straining at their leashes. Even above the sound of the engine he could hear their fierce barking. The walls of the buildings had no windows but in the sloping roofs were large fanlights and from these powerful lights glowed in the night. A door opened, a fork-lift truck piled high with crates was driven inside, the door closed. A huge sign proclaimed Delvaux SA – with no indication that this was an armaments factory.

`I don't understand it,' Paula said. 'They're working full blast at this time of night.'

`Another mystery,' Tweed remarked.

`You turn off soon now,' Paula called out. 'A curving road to the right, according to the map. Just beyond this bend in the river.'

`Here, I'd say,' Newman replied. 'Yes. See that sign – Chateau Orange? This is Delvaux's place.'

`Bob!' Tweed spoke quickly. 'Look out for somewhere to park the car out of sight of the entrance to the chateau. But we're all going in together…'

The headlights were sweeping round bends as the Mercedes climbed a hill. On both sides were dense woods and wide grass verges. The headlights shone on open entrance gates. Newman drove slowly, edged the car along a track. It turned almost immediately in a clearing. He swung the car round ready for a swift departure, switched off the engine, opened his trench coat so he could reach his gun swiftly. He locked the car and they hurried back.

The gravel drive beyond the entrance gates bore evidence of neglect. Weeds sprouted through the gravel. Which didn't seem like Delvaux, a tidy man. Tweed paused in the middle of the tarred road. Just above the entrance the road curved again round a sharp bend. The silence created a brooding atmosphere, despite the light of a moon.

`What is it?' Paula whispered.

`Listening for the sound of cars. Looks as though Benoit has kept his word. I couldn't see any trace that we were being followed through the rear window.' He took a deep breath. 'Let's get on with it.'

Tweed walked with Paula alongside him while Newman came up behind them, the Smith amp; Wesson held by his side. Hemmed in by overgrown shrubberies, the drive had a creepy feel, and Paula's right hand was tucked inside her shoulder-bag, gripping the Browning. Their feet crunched on the gravel, advertising their approach.

The large three-storey chateau came into view suddenly. It had a mansard roof with circular dormer windows in the roof. A wide flight of steps led up to the main entrance, a pair of double doors. There were lights in the ground-floor windows.

`What a beautiful place,' Paula enthused.

`Must have cost a few million-'

Newman broke off as a small bare-headed man of slight build and small stature appeared round the side of the chateau. Tweed immediately recognized him as Gaston Delvaux. The night air was cold and there was frost on the shrubs, but the Belgian wore no coat over his dark business suit.

As he came forward Paula was struck by the impression of cleverness – even brilliance – he made on her. Clean shaven, his head was large, his hair grey, and his forehead bulged. He reminded her of a large elf. Newman slipped his gun behind his back, tucked it down inside his trench-coat belt.

Tweed was shocked by Delvaux's slow movements: normally he was so nimble. His face was drawn and he looked hollow eyed. Only his voice seemed normal as he greeted Tweed in English.

`The last person on God's earth I expected to see here. Would you mind if we wandered outside round the back?'

Tweed felt he was witnessing a repeat performance, experiencing the same nightmare of Andover at Prevent. His reaction was strengthened as Delvaux lowered his voice.

`There are listening devices all over the chateau. We shall not be overheard in the garden.'

Paula reacted quickly, after Tweed had made brief introductions.

`Mr Delvaux, could I possibly go inside to your loo?'

`Of course, Miss Grey.' Delvaux paused. 'It is rather a large house. No one else is inside, so do not feel afraid…'

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 an impossible position.'

`Then we will leave,' Tweed decided.

`May I come with you?' Andover asked. 'I came by taxi – and left it outside the factory, then walked the rest of the way.'

`By all means, Gerald. We have a car – concealed, by the way, Gaston. We have been very discreet..

Delvaux had started to walk away. He nodded to show he had heard, and shuffled out of sight. Tweed shook his head, looked at Andover, and then all four of them walked towards the drive. Tweed was silent: he had still not been able to bring himself to tell Andover about Irene. Best to wait until they were in some comfortable hotel suite.

Newman had slipped his Smith amp; Wesson back into its holster. Paula felt tense, full of foreboding. Again the claustrophobic drive felt creepy. Lifting the flap of her shoulder-bag, she gripped the butt of her Browning.

Near the entrance gates Paula quickened her pace. Ahead of the others, she reached the road, glanced to right and left, ran across it, and waited on the track in the shadows.

Andover was walking on Tweed's right. He began talking as they approached the deserted road. He still moved with a dragging step, but his voice was brisk and vigorous.

`Gaston is a broken man. Can you wonder at it? It's a bloody waste – a genius like that subjected to such a frightful ordeal.'

`You've had a pretty bad time of it yourself,' Tweed remarked. 'You sound better now. Ready to face anything, however grim.'

`Oh, I have braced myself for whatever the future may hold. I've still got a lot of fight left in me…'

Newman was walking a few yards behind them. Like Paula, he was tense. And very alert. The two men ahead of him reached the road. They began to cross it. Newman heard the sudden thunderous roar of the car coming as it accelerated round the bend higher up the hill to his right. Both men in front of him were crossing the road when the black Mercedes descended on them like a tornado. Andover threw up a hand to shield his eyes from the ferocious glare of the headlights.

Newman knew he could only try to save one man. Rushing forward he charged into Tweed's back, hurtling him forward to sprawl on the grass verge by the track. Newman's impetus was so great he was carried across by his own momentum, falling beside Tweed.

Paula alone saw what happened in fractions of a second. The black Mercedes smashed into Andover, lifted him high into the air, sped on as Andover crashed with a terrible thud on to the tarred surface of the road. Paula had whipped up her Browning. She fired off one shot which penetrated the rear window. Then the car was gone, skidding madly round a lower bend.

Winded, Tweed took a deep breath, clambered to his feet with surprising agility, ran to the crumpled form lying in the road. He bent down, felt Andover's neck pulse, and straightened up slowly as Newman reached him.

`Christ!' Tweed hardly ever swore. 'He's dead. At least the poor devil never knew about his daughter.'

`I'm sure the driver was a woman.' It was Paula, holding her Browning. 'The murdering bitch. I put a bullet into her rear window but I'm sure it did no damage.'

`What makes you think it was a woman?' Tweed asked quietly.

`She wore a crash helmet, goggles. It was the way she turned her head. I swear it was a woman,' she repeated.

`Help me carry the body back to the chateau, Bob,' Tweed suggested. 'I want Gaston to see it. He's got to start talking now.'