Drums of War

Chapter Nine

When business took him back to The Hague again, Willem Ketel made a point of calling on his close friend. Johannes Mytens shook him warmly by the hand then conducted him to the parlour. It was a large room with a polished oak floor and solid oak furniture. Paintings by Rembrandt, Vermeer and Hobbema adorned three walls. The fourth was covered by a magnificent tapestry depicting The Hague. They went through the social niceties before turning to the subject that exercised their minds most.

'What's the feeling in the States-General?' asked Ketel.

Mytens sounded weary. 'Most of us are as tired of this war as you are, Willem,' he said. 'We've spent far too long fighting the French with no prospect of ultimate victory. I freely admit that I was carried away by the rhetoric when the Grand Alliance was first formed. With England, Prussia, Austria and others to help us, I felt that we could defeat the French army at last. They've held sway over Europe for far too long.'

'It's easy to see why, Johannes. They've always had the finest soldiers and the most astute commanders.'

'I'd hoped that the Duke of Marlborough could match their commanders and, in all fairness, from time to time he did.'

'It was only because he was supported by able Dutch generals.'

'Marlborough says that our generals held him back.'

'They merely saved him from making rash decisions.'

'Our soldiers are brave,' said Mytens, 'but the fact remains that we fight best at sea. While our army is competent, our navy is our real strength. Unfortunately, there's little chance of using them in this war. We're restricted largely to land battles.'

'That's one of my complaints. The English steal all the glory at sea.'

'I don't see much glory,' said Ketel, removing his wig to scratch his head. 'I know that they captured Gibraltar and withstood a French siege but what else has the navy done? Those leaky, old, disease- ridden ships of theirs have spent most of their time carrying soldiers to Portugal and Spain.'

'I approved of the treaty with Portugal,' admitted Mytens, his jowls wobbling more than ever. 'I accepted Marlborough's argument that he needed naval bases there. He was eager for his men to cross the border into Spain supported by the Portuguese army.'

'Never trust the Portuguese, I say.'

'They've been dubious allies, I grant you.'

'It's a question of resources,' argued Ketel, replacing his wig. 'We need all the men we have to defend our boundaries and to advance into French territory. Yet Marlborough, our commander- in-chief, the self-proclaimed hero of Blenheim, the man who boasts that he has a grand strategy, has diverted almost as many soldiers to Spain.'

'His mistake was in thinking that he could control operations in the peninsula from here.'

'We're all paying a high price for that mistake.'

'I agree, Willem.'

'On a single voyage from Lisbon to Valencia, we lost over four thousand men who could have been put to better use in Flanders.'

Mytens smiled. 'You're remarkably well-informed.'

'I'm a merchant, Johannes. My success depends on knowing what happens where. When a ship of mine puts into port, I always go out of my way to talk to the captain to hear what news he has for me.' He sucked his teeth. 'And I have other sources of information as well.'

'It's no wonder that you've prospered.'

'There are ways of making money out of war and I've used every one of them. I don't deny it. That's what anyone in my position would do. But my prosperity — our prosperity as a nation — relies on a long period of peace that allows us to invest our money prudently instead of wasting it on a war we can never win.'

Mytens clasped his hands across his paunch and gave a nod. 'We've had this conversation before, Willem.'

'And are you still of the same mind?'

'I am. Marlborough must go.'

'But whatever means necessary?'

'By whatever means,' repeated Mytens, firmly.

'Where is he at the moment?'

'I thought you'd know that. You seem to know everything else.'

'Is he still in Flanders?'

'No, Willem, he's on his way to Dusseldorf to wheedle more troops out of the Elector Palatine. After that, he's visiting our other allies to get promises of men and money out of them. Give the man his due,' he continued, 'Marlborough is a sublime diplomat. That English charm of his works time and again.'

'And it sends men off to pointless deaths on the battlefield.'

'Why did you ask about his whereabouts?'

'I wanted to make sure that he'd be out of the way.'

'Marlborough won't be back here until December.'

'That will give us ample time,' said Ketel. 'I hope to be bringing a friend to meet you in due course, Johannes.'

'Is it someone from Amsterdam?'

'No — he comes from Paris.'

Mytens was guarded. 'Who is the fellow?'

'You don't need to know his name yet and you certainly don't need to feel perturbed. My friend wants exactly what we want and that's a promise of peace and a rest from this perpetual warfare.' He slipped a hand under his wig for another scratch. 'If we can reach agreement with France, we all stand to benefit.'

'Marlborough will oppose any peace manoeuvres.'

'He won't be here to do so, will he?' said Ketel with a smile before turning to look at the tapestry. 'I'd know the work of Emanuel Janssen anywhere. Whenever I'm in this room, I always admire it.'

'I'm not sure that I should keep it, Willem.'

'Nothing would make me part with such a masterpiece.'

'Emanuel Janssen is a traitor. He's working at Versailles.'

'King Louis always had exquisite taste.'

'That doesn't entitle him to lure away our best tapestry- maker. It's true,' said Mytens, studying the tapestry, 'that it's a masterpiece but should I have it hanging there when the man who created it is now in the pay of the enemy?'

'Leave it where it is, Johannes,' urged Ketel. 'It deserves a place in any house. Besides, Janssen may be in the pay of our enemy at the moment but that enemy could soon become our friend.'

Daniel rose early next morning and, after breakfast at the tavern, rode off to explore the city carefully and to find the best way out of it for them. Because it covered a relatively small area, it was densely populated. Straddling the river, it was bounded on the north by the boulevards from Porte Saint-Antoine to Porte Saint- Honore. Its southern border was the Boulevard Saint-Germain. Paris was divided into 20 quartiers and had something close to 500,000 inhabitants. Early in his reign — and he had been on the throne for over four decades now — Louis XIV had instructed Jean-Baptiste Colbert, his Superintendent of Finance, to create a capital city worthy of the name. The enterprising Colbert did so by embarking on an ambitious programme of building and he transformed Paris.

Working people, along with the poor and sickly, were forced out to the suburbs so that the centre of the city could be occupied by wide new thoroughfares, impressive monuments, grandiose palaces, vast mansions and splendid gardens. New bridges spanned the Seine and factories manufacturing glass and carpets were set up. It was a compact, bustling city where beauty and ugliness lived cheek by jowl and where fabulous riches contrasted with the most degrading poverty. Though Daniel was bound to marvel at the superb architecture of buildings like the Invalides hospital and the Hotel Colbert, he preferred Amsterdam in every way. The Dutch city, the greatest port in the world, was altogether cleaner, healthier, safer, more modest in its aspirations and, because of its plethora of lamps, the best lit city in Europe.

Daniel yearned to be there again, ideally in the company of Amalia Janssen. His orders had been to take her father to The Hague but the Janssen family would in time return to their home. He hoped that his friendship with Amalia would continue and blossom. When it was known that the tapestry-maker had not after all betrayed his country, he'd be acclaimed once more in Amsterdam. All that Daniel had to do was to convey him there. The task seemed more difficult every time he contemplated it but he responded to the challenge. Riding from gate to gate, he saw how well-guarded all the exits were and was sure that those on duty had descriptions of Amalia and her companions. It was Daniel who'd killed Jacques Serval but the others would be regarded as confederates and punished accordingly.

After his tour of the city's portals, he returned to the tavern well before noon and stabled his horse there. As midday was approaching, Daniel was lurking outside the Bastille. Among the many faces coming towards him, he recognised those of Philippe and Georges, the turnkeys with whom he'd been drinking the previous night. They greeted him with a wave then escorted him to the main gate. Daniel had put a stone in one shoe so that he was forced to limp as he walked. Having passed himself off as a wounded French soldier, he had to keep up the pretence. When the gate was opened, the gaolers went through it for another day's work. Before they were allowed to go to their posts, their names were checked off in turn. The man in charge of the list was tall, cadaverous and beady-eyed. He wore a dark uniform. Philippe spoke to him and indicated Daniel. After subjecting the newcomer to a long stare, the man flicked a hand to make him stand aside. Philippe and Georges bade him a cheery farewell before going off to one of the towers.

Daniel waited until the incoming turnkeys had all been accounted for and those they'd relieved had all departed. Only when his ledger had all the requisite ticks on it did the emaciated man look up. Daniel felt the intensity of his scrutiny. The man's eyes were so keen that they seemed to see right through the newcomer.

'What's your name?' he demanded.

'Marcel Daron, sir.'

'Do you have papers?'

'Yes, sir,' replied Daniel, taking them out and handing them over. He stood there for several minutes while his papers were inspected. They were eventually handed back to him. 'I was a soldier until I was wounded in battle,' he explained. 'They have no room in the army for invalids.'

'We have no call for them here either. Our turnkeys must be fit and strong enough to control unruly prisoners.'

'Apart from my foot, I'm in good health, sir. Being a soldier has kept me strong. Put me to the test, if you doubt it.'

The man did so at once, shooting out a hand to grasp him by the neck and pulling him close. Daniel's response was equally swift. He grabbed the man's wrist and squeezed it tighter and tighter until he saw the pain clouding his eyes. Strong though he was, the man was soon compelled to release his grip. Tucking the ledger under one arm, he massaged his wrist with the other hand.

'You're a powerful man, Marcel Daron.'

'You'll not find me wanting, sir.'

'Have you guarded prisoners before?'

'I did so many times in the army.'

'Why do you want to work here?'

'The work appeals to me, sir.'

'But why choose the Bastille?' asked the other. 'Why not go to the Chatelet or the Eveque? They are always looking for new men.'

'I heard that there might be a job for me here, sir.'

The man sniffed then walked around him, as if examining livestock at a fair. He opened his ledger and glanced down the list of names. The beady eyes shifted to Daniel once more.

'Are you afraid of the dark?' he asked.

'No, sir.'

'Are you frightened by rats and mice?'

'Nothing frightens me,' said Daniel, levelly.

'Very well,' decided the man after another prolonged survey of him. 'You can go on duty tonight. There'll be a uniform waiting for you when you arrive. If you're late, you'll be turned away.'

'Yes, sir.'

'My name is Bermutier — Sergeant Bermutier.'

'I'll be here on time, Sergeant,'

Bermutier gave him full details of how long he'd be expected to work, where he'd be assigned and what wage he could expect if he proved himself capable. Daniel thanked him before being let out through the door. As it closed behind him with a loud thud, he was profoundly grateful. Even during his brief visit to the place, he'd felt extremely oppressed by the high, thick walls of the Bastille. He could imagine how much worse it was to be imprisoned there.

Ronan Flynn was a genial host. Unfailingly pleasant to Amalia and Dopff, he was so impressed by the way that Beatrix had cleaned the house that he jokingly offered her a permanent job there. Amalia didn't even bother to translate the words into Dutch for her servant. She knew that Beatrix was as eager as she to leave Paris altogether and would hope never to set foot in France again. While they were there, however, it was important for the visitors to express their gratitude by giving the Flynn family ample time on their own. That was what prompted Amalia to take Beatrix for a walk that afternoon. Dopff, meanwhile, retreated to the attic.

Alone with his wife and child, Flynn sat in a chair and dandled Louise on his knee, chuckling as she gave him her toothless grin and happy burble. Charlotte watched them fondly. Her thoughts then turned to their guests.

'They're very good,' she conceded. 'They've been no trouble while you were at the bakery. Amalia looked after Louise for me.'

'They all adore her.'

'Yes, she's getting a lot of attention from them.'

'She deserves it,' he said, lifting the child high to shake her before bringing her down and planting a kiss on her forehead.'

'Where is your friend, Daniel?'

'He'll be back in a few days, my darling.'

'A few days", echoed Charlotte. "They've already been here two nights. I thought they'd have been on their way by now.'

'Dan has some business to see to first.'

'What kind of business?'

'He didn't say.'

'There are lots of things he hasn't told you, Ronan. He hasn't said why they're all here, for a start. And he hasn't explained why they're all so nervous.'

'They're nervous because they're in a strange house in a foreign country and unable to speak the language.'

'Then what are they doing here? Why come to Paris when they can't speak French and when they have nowhere to stay?'

'Who knows?' said Flynn, tolerantly. 'I don't want to poke my nose into their business. I told you how Dan Rawson came to my aid when I was captured by the enemy. He risked his life to do that, Charlotte, and it's not something you forget in a hurry, believe me. I owe him a great deal. These people are

Dan's friends and I was willing to help. I'd hoped that you'd be just as willing, my darling.'

'I am,' she said, 'in some ways.'

Seeing her concern, he put the baby gently into the crib then took his wife by the shoulders. He kissed her tenderly.

'Something is upsetting you, isn't it?'

She shook her head. 'It puzzles me, Ronan, that's all.'

'What does?'

'Why they seem so ill at ease and whisper in corners.'

'You can't accuse Kees of whispering anywhere,' he said with a laugh. 'The poor fellow can't utter a word.'

'He's the one who puzzles me most. I never know what he's thinking. Have you seen what he has up there in the attic?'

'A lot of dust and spiders' webs, I daresay.'

'I slipped up there when he was in the garden.'

'You shouldn't pry, Charlotte.'

'This is our house,' she said with spirit. 'I've the right to go anywhere I like in it. That's why I went up to the attic.'

'And what did you find there?' asked Flynn.

'I found a tapestry. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen and must be worth a small fortune. Do you understand why I'm so puzzled now?' she asked. 'Why does a man like that have such a valuable tapestry with him?'

'Follow me and do as I do,' ordered the Frenchman.

'I will,' said Daniel.

'And don't breathe in too deeply.'

'Why?'

'You'll soon find out.'

Daniel arrived for work late that evening to be met by another duty sergeant. He was issued with a nondescript uniform, the most significant feature of which was the thick leather belt to which a large metal ring of keys was attached. His partner for the night was Jules Rivot, a fat, slovenly man in his forties with a dark complexion. Rivot's manner was less than friendly and his face was a study in solemnity. Daniel could smell the beer on his breath. He trailed round obediently after the Frenchman. Rivot was slow and methodical. Patently hating the work, he unloaded as much of it as he could on Daniel.

'Give this one more water,' he said.

'Yes,' replied Daniel, filling a cup with a brackish liquid out of a wooden bucket before passing it through the bars to a prisoner. 'What about food?'

'He gets none till breakfast and only if I'm in a good mood.'

That seemed highly unlikely to Daniel but he said nothing. Rivot's warning had been timely. The reek was so powerful at first that it made him retch. He'd been assigned to the cachots, cold, dark, slimy, vermin-infested cells below ground where people were locked away and often forgotten. Some had clearly been there for a very long time because their clothes had worn away to shreds. One man, a human skeleton with hair down to his shoulders and a beard down to his chest, was almost naked. Rivot showed them no compassion. He simply held up his lantern so that he could see the occupants of each cell. The prisoners knew better than to try to talk to him but the sight of a new face roused a few of them. They came to the doors and gave Daniel ingratiating smiles.

'Ignore the bastards,' advised Rivot. 'They all want favours.'

'They don't seem to get any of those.'

'Not when I'm on duty.'

'Are all the prisoners kept in these foul conditions?'

'These are the ones nobody cares about,' said Rivot. 'We bury them underground like so many corpses. It's just as bad in the calottes, the cells under the roof. They're open to the weather up there. They get soaked by the rain and burnt by the sun. In winter, some of them freeze to death.'

'What crimes have they committed?' asked Daniel.

'It doesn't matter.'

'Are they thieves or kidnappers?'

'They upset important people.'

Daniel knew that the King had sent many of the inmates there by means of lettres de cachet, a pernicious document that had victims thrown into a rank cell without any judicial process. There was no appeal against such an indeterminate sentence. Louis XI V's favourites were also indulged. If one of them suffered a slight or was openly insulted, the offender could find himself deprived of his liberty on a royal whim. During their dismal tour of the cachots, Daniel checked every name and looked through every set of bars. Relieved that Emanuel Janssen was not among the miserable wretches kept there, he feared that the Dutchman might be housed instead under the roof and exposed to the elements. In some weathers, that amounted to continuous torture.

Some time during the night, they had a break from their duties and shared a tankard of beer and a piece of bread with the other turnkeys. Rivot preferred to eat in silence but one of the men was more talkative. He told Daniel that not everyone in the Bastille was treated like those in the cachots. Those imprisoned on the middle level of the towers had a more comfortable time. Being locked up was their only punishment. To relieve the boredom, they were allowed books, writing materials, visitors, pets and, if they could afford to pay for it, excellent food and wine.

'We had a Duke in there last year,' confided the man, 'and he lived in luxury. He was even allowed to have his mistress in the cell twice a week.' Nudging Daniel, he cackled. 'It must have been interesting to watch them in bed together. They say she was a beauty.'

'Who looks after prisoners like that?' asked Daniel.

'Not the likes of you and me. We only deal with the dross down here, my friend. Only the lucky ones get to work up there. They can earn a lot of money sometimes.'

'By taking bribes, you mean?'

'By doing a few favours,' said the man.

Daniel was heartened for the first time. It might be that Janssen had been given privileges as well. If he was imprisoned somewhere on the middle level of a tower, his health might not have deteriorated. His tapestries had earned him substantial rewards. Janssen would be rich enough to buy concessions from his gaolers. That vague hope helped to sustain Daniel through the long, malodorous, depressing hours below ground with inmates who might never see the light of day again. He put up with Rivot's bleak companionship and learnt not to be startled when a rat darted across his path. When his stint finally came to an end, he climbed back up into the courtyard and had to shield his eyes from the sun for several minutes.

He looked up at the imposing towers, wondering in which one of them Janssen was being kept. Daniel would never have the time or opportunity to search them all in rotation. He had to find another way to locate the tapestry-maker. He remembered the ledger that the duty sergeant used to check people in and out. That would surely contain the names and whereabouts of prisoners as well. Daniel had to gain access to it somehow. For the time being, however, he had to content himself with what he'd so far achieved. He was inside the Bastille and he'd acquired a convincing disguise. Further progress would have to wait. What he needed most now was fresh air, the chance to wash and a reviving sleep.

Major Simon Cracknell came into Tom Hillier's life when he least expected it. The drummer had been on the edge of the camp with Hugh Dobbs, throwing missiles playfully at him and trying to dodge the ones that were aimed at him. Twigs, clumps of grass and handfuls of earth flew through the air until Cracknell suddenly appeared. Both of the youths immediately dropped their next missile and stood self-consciously to attention.

'Is this how you spend your time?' said the major, looking at the dirty marks on their uniforms. 'You should be ashamed of yourselves.'

'We're sorry, Major,' said Dobbs.

'How long have you been in the army?'

'Four years, sir.'

'Then you should have grown out of these childish games.'

'We were doing no harm, sir.'

'Yes, you were,' said Cracknell. 'Apart from anything else, you were soiling your uniforms. This regiment prides itself on its appearance and your coats are covered in filth. What the devil did the pair of you think you were doing?'

'It won't happen again, Major,' said Dobbs. 'Tom and I didn't mean to get dirty. It was just horseplay.'

'Disappear and clean up that uniform. No, not you, Hillier,' said Cracknell as he tried to leave with Dobbs. 'I want to speak to you.'

'Yes, Major,' said Hillier, stopping in his tracks.

'What do you have to say for yourself?'

'I apologise, sir.'

'How often does this kind of thing happen?'

'It's the first time, sir.'

'Don't tell lies, boy!'

'Hugh Dobbs and I have never done this before.'

'Then what's this I hear about your getting into a fight?'

Hillier was startled. 'That was nothing, sir,' he said, guiltily.

'It's evidence of gross indiscipline and I deplore it.' He stood very close to the young drummer. 'Do you know who I am?'

'I think that you must be Major Cracknell, sir.'

'And how did you decide that, I wonder?' said the officer, leaning over to whisper in his ear. 'Could it be that your uncle told you about me, perhaps?'

'I have no uncle in this regiment, sir.'

'What else is Sergeant Welbeck?'

'The sergeant made it clear to me that family ties have no place in the army, sir. I've accepted that I'm no longer his nephew.'

'And yet he goes out of his way to warn you about me.'

'Sergeant Welbeck has no reason to speak to me, sir.'

'I don't believe that,' said Cracknell. 'The fact is that you know who I am so it's time you discovered what I am as well. I loathe horseplay of any kind, Hillier. I hate indiscipline. In my view — and it's been informed by years in this regiment — transgressors need to be taught a lesson they won't forget.'

'Yes, Major.'

'Do you like being a drummer?'

'I like it well enough, sir.'

'Do you enjoy marching with the others?'

'I do, sir.'

'Well, you're going to do some marching on your own now. Do you see that wagon?' asked Cracknell, pointing a finger.

'I want you to find your drum and meet me there as quickly as you can.'

'Yes, Major,' said Hillier before running off.

It was the best part of a hundred yards to the wagon indicated. By the time that Cracknell had reached it, Hillier came panting up with his drum. He awaited instructions.

'You won't need the drumsticks,' said Cracknell.

'Then how shall I play it, sir?'

'You're not going to play it. You're going to hold it high above your head with both hands then you march from here all the way to where we were standing a while ago. When you reach that point,' said Cracknell, 'you simply turn round and march straight back here.'

'Yes, Major.'

'You'll keep going to and fro until I stop you. Is that understood, Tom Hillier?'

'Yes, Major.'

'Then let me see that drum held at arm's length.'

Hillier obeyed. Tucking the drumsticks into his belt, he held the drum above his head and set off, certain that the punishment would continue for a long time. As he marched across the grass, he knew that Major Cracknell would be watching him with grim satisfaction.

Refreshed by a morning's sleep, Daniel changed into the attire he'd worn on his arrival in Paris and rode off to the Flynn household. They were all pleased to see him again. Amalia's face brightened instantly, Beatrix burst into tears and Dopff grinned from ear to ear. It was Ronan Flynn who led the questioning.

'The Prodigal Son has returned,' he said, jocularly. 'Kill the fatted calf, Charlotte. We must celebrate.' He embraced Daniel warmly. 'Where have you been, man?'

'I've been attending to business,' replied Daniel.

'Here in Paris?'

'Yes, Ronan.'

'Then why didn't you stay with us?'

'You already had plenty of guests.'

'Isn't our floor good enough for you to sleep on?' teased Flynn.

'It's a wonderful floor,' said Daniel, 'and I have fond memories of it. With me out of the way, however, there was more room for the rest of you. Is all well here?'

There was a long pause filled by an exchange of glances between the others. Something was evidently amiss. Flynn broke the tension by offering Daniel a drink and the atmosphere became more convivial. Beatrix and Dopff soon drifted out of the room but it was a long time before Daniel was able to talk to Amalia alone. Flynn and his wife took the baby upstairs for her afternoon sleep, leaving the couple to speak in private. Amalia was desperate for good news.

'What have you found out, Daniel?' she asked.

'The situation is not as hopeless as it seemed.'

'But you told me Father was imprisoned in the Bastille.'

'Yes,' said Daniel, 'he is. Don't ask me how — it would take too long to explain — but I'm trying to get in touch with him.'

'Has he been badly treated?'

'I won't know until I can reach him, Amalia, and that may take days. I don't think you can stay here for that long. I have the feeling that you're not as welcome here as you were.'

'They've been very kind to us and I can't thank them enough. It must have been a shock for them to have us arrive on their doorstep the way that we did. But,' Amalia went on, 'we've been here for three nights now and I can see that Charlotte feels that we're in the way. We're starting to become a real burden.'

'I'll find somewhere else for you all to stay.'

'We have plenty of money, Daniel. That's one thing we don't have to worry about. There must be a tavern where we could hire some rooms.'

'There are dozens of them,' he told her. 'On the night that we fled across the city, however, I wanted you to be somewhere I knew was completely safe. That's why I thought of Ronan Flynn.'

Amalia smiled softly. 'He told me what you did for him when he was in the army,' she said. 'You rescued him from the enemy.'

'It was a long time ago.'

'It's still fresh in his mind. Now you're doing the same for us. If we do ever manage to get back home, then I'll never forget it, Daniel. You've been our guardian angel.'

She reached out a hand and he squeezed it gently, resisting the desire to bring it to his lips so that he could kiss it. Instead, he held on to her hand and Amalia made no effort to withdraw it. Searching each other's eyes, they realised the depth of their mutual affection. It was not the time to put feelings into words. In any case, Flynn chose that moment to come downstairs. The Irishman saw the way that their hands suddenly parted.

'Forgive me,' he said, winking slyly at Daniel. 'I didn't mean to interrupt a te te-a — te te.'

'We were just talking about moving out, Ronan,' said Daniel. 'Amalia feels that she's imposed on you too long.'

'Imposed on us? What gave you that idea? Instead of three guests, we had a cook, a servant and someone to nurse the baby.

And we didn't even have to pay them for their services.'

'You and Charlotte have been wonderful.'

'Then why desert us?'

'We have to go,' said Amalia. "Thank you very, very much.'

She excused herself so that she could warn Beatrix and Dopff about their imminent departure. Flynn spread his arms.

'Have I frightened them away?'

'Yes,' said Daniel. 'They enjoyed your bread so much that they're afraid they'll double their weight if they stay here. Seriously,' he said over Flynn's chortle, 'the business that brought us here is nearing completion. We need to be in another part of Paris.'

'I can't deny that it will be a relief to Charlotte.'

'Have they been that much of a nuisance?'

'No, no, they've been very well-behaved.'

'Then what's upset your wife?'

'Charlotte is a very law-abiding woman,' said Flynn, 'so I haven't told her about some of the trouble I used to get into in the old days. What's worrying her now is that we've been harbouring stolen goods.'

Daniel blinked in amazement. 'Stolen goods?'

'Well, one item, anyway. Charlotte went up into the attic when Kees wasn't there and she saw that tapestry. She couldn't believe that a man like that could afford something so ruinously expensive. She thinks that he must have stolen it.'

'Would you steal a loaf of bread from your own bakery?'

'It would never even cross my mind.'

'Well, that's the position Kees is in,' said Daniel. 'He didn't rob anyone of that tapestry, Ronan, because he helped to make it. You can't steal what you already own.'

'It's magnificent, Dan. I sneaked up there to take a peep at it myself. Are you telling me that Kees helped to create it?'

'He was working to someone else's design.'

'I don't care. He's a fine artist. Wait until I tell Charlotte.'

'That's all you must tell her,' advised Daniel. 'Neither of you must know why the tapestry ended up here. I'd be grateful if you didn't talk about it to anyone else.'

'We can keep our mouths shut.' He looked his friend in the eye. 'There's danger ahead, isn't there?'

'There may be.'

'You're carrying all three of them on your shoulders, Dan. I can see that. All I asked of you was that you didn't do anything that would put my family in any kind of peril.'

'It's the main reason I'm taking them away.'

'Let me help,' offered Flynn. 'As long as it's well away from this house, I've always got time for an old friend. Kees might be a wizard at a loom but I reckon he's not the man you need in a crisis, and the two ladies would be even less useful. You know my mettle, Dan,' he added, tapping his own chest. 'If there's adventure at hand and you need someone you can rely on, Ronan Flynn is your man.'

'Thank you,' said Daniel, gratefully. 'I may well call on you, Ronan, though you might live to regret your offer.'

Flynn grinned. 'Ah, who's worried about regrets?' he said, airily. 'A man who has no regrets has led a pretty dull life in my opinion. Turn to me when you need me, Dan. I'll be there.'