The Janus Man

Fifty-Three

'The cargo is well on its way. I've just received a radio signal confirming all is well,' Lysenko reported from his apartment in Leipzig.

'A signal from where?' asked Gorbachev in Moscow.

'From the shipper of the cargo to Rostock. It should reach its destination within the next seventy-two hours.'

'Any hitches.?'

Lysenko hesitated briefly. 'None. Everything according to schedule.'

'You paused before you said that.'

Damn him, Lysenko thought. He doesn't miss a thing. He manufactured a sneeze. 'Sorry, I think I have a cold starting.'

'Keep me informed. It's not over until it has arrived…'

Connection broken. He never sleeps, Lysenko thought. He has the stamina of an ox. He hurried down to the darkened street where his car was waiting. Arriving at Markus Wolf's building, he took the elevator to the office after showing the guard on the entrance door his identity. Opening the door, he found another man who seemed to need no sleep. Behind his desk, Wolf looked up, stared at him through those square- shaped glasses which gave him a stern look.

'A problem, Lysenko. All communications with West Germany have been interrupted. When I told you earlier I thought it was a technical fault.'

'It might still be that. The West isn't as efficient as it likes to boast it is.'

'No. Something is wrong. The interruption has gone on too long. I'm worried. I sense trouble.'

'Why?'

'No word from Munzel. And what has happened to Tweed? I'm unhappy when I don't know where he is, what he's doing.' 'He can't do a thing.'

'I may remind you of that statement in the not too distant future,' Wolf rapped back.

It was broad daylight. The Sudwind was proceeding at full power into Copenhagen harbour. Hours earlier Casey had reported that the Nordsee had moved on a course due north – into the Oresund, heading for the Kattegat between Denmark and Sweden.

Tweed had taken over the wheel from Newman during the night – to give himself something purposeful to do, to give Newman a chance to get some sleep. As he replaced Newman he had asked him about the forced drawers in the cabin.

'I did that while you were phoning Monica from the police station. Found a box of tools, selected two drawers at random, and levered off the locks with the steel chisel. Found nothing.'

`You expected – hoped to find?'

`The drug consignment. Seemed logical. That cruiser I watched being loaded from the Wroclaw could have been the Sudwind. Why do you think Berlin had new locks attached?'

`Bluff. He's a clever swine. He hoped we'd think what you thought. Maybe wait and waste time watching for him to come back. What puzzles me is that was the moment Diana started to panic – when she saw those new locks.'

`Ask her – if you ever see her again.' He caught the expression on Tweed's face. 'Sorry, I didn't phrase that too tactfully.'

Newman reappeared as they approached Copenhagen, took over the wheel from Tweed. From the sea Copenhagen was a city which had changed very little with the passage of time – except for two high-rise buildings poking their ugly multi-storey edifices above the surrounding buildings. Tweed stayed on the bridge, guiding Newman since he knew the harbour well.

During the night they had encountered very little traffic in the Baltic. Now, under an overcast sky, the sea was alive with pleasure craft – yachts pirouetting in the slight breeze, small cruisers put-putting over the choppy waves. Newman skilfully threaded his way between them.

Nield sat by the transceiver, wearing his headset, taking down a message. He signed off, swivelled round in his chair and gave the gist of the signal to Tweed.

`A long one. Casey landed at Kastrup to refuel, took off again. He's having trouble tracking the Nordsee – too much other traffic afloat in this part of the world…'

He hasn't lost it?' There was alarm in Tweed's voice.

`No. God knows where he's going. He keeps heading north. It's beginning to look like Oslo. He's proceeding up the west coast of Sweden, keeping close in among the regular traffic. He's off Gothenburg now..

`Call back Casey,' Tweed said. 'Warn him to keep closest possible observation.' He was studying the chart. 'He's just reached the point where he could veer due west across the Skagerrak and into the North Sea. Ask for a further report within fifteen minutes.'

Newman had reduced speed considerably. They saw the hydrofoil which made regular crossings – taking no more than half an hour – to Malmo in Sweden. Elevated on its great skis, bow out of the water, it plunged over the sea as though gliding. Tweed continued to guide Newman who had reduced speed to little more than walking pace.

`What's the next move now?' Newman asked.

`I have to check two things in Copenhagen. Take a cab to the Royal to see if Butler left any message when he got off the night express with Diana. Then we go on to Lindemann's HQ near the Radhuspladsen, find out where he is. And I can call Monica from there.'

`And after that?'

`I've really no idea.'

Nield received a fresh signal from Sea King when Newman was easing the Sudwind along a wide channel past some grey-camouflaged warships. They were now deep inside Copenhagen and ahead the channel ended in a cul-de-sac.

`We berth on the starboard side,' Tweed instructed. 'This is where the Oslo boats sail from.'

Newman swung the wheel, crossed the channel, headed for the waterfront where ancient warehouses loomed behind a wide promenade. A huge fountain sprayed like an opening flower. Men and women strolled under the grey sky wearing raincoats. Behind the fountain loomed a magnificent palace. Tweed pointed to it.

`Amalienborg Palace. A beautiful place…'

Nield removed his headset. He handed Tweed the message and stood up, stretching his arms and legs.

`Casey reports Nordsee well north of Gothenburg. Moving like the clappers, maintaining a northern course, hugging the Swedish coastline.'

`Then it looks like Oslo,' said Tweed.

Tweed asked the cab driver to wait outside the Royal Hotel, walked inside with Newman, leaving Nield behind in the cab. The layout had been changed since his previous visit. The reception area in the vast hall comprised a number of round tables supported by a central column. Perched on each table was a console with a girl in attendance. He picked a brunette, said he was expecting a message to be waiting, gave his name and waited while the girl walked behind the glass wall of a rear area.

`American reception technique,' he commented to Newman, waving a hand at the tables. 'The girl taps out your name for your reservation and it all comes up on the screen. The modern age.'

`And you prefer the old system? One long reception counter as they had at the Four Seasons.'

`It's more human. We'll all end up as machines…'

He stopped as the girl came back holding an envelope. She asked for identification and he produced his passport. When he had the envelope they walked over to a seat and sat down while he tore it open, took out a folded sheet, studied the hastily scribbled message and handed it to Newman.

`Good job we brought our cases with us.'

Diana took cab from rail station for Kastrup Airport. Booked one-way ticket to Oslo. Staying at Grand Hotel. Am following. 0730 hours. Harry.

`Why is it a good job?' asked Newman after absorbing the message.

`Because we have to move fast. It's Oslo again…'

`Almost looks as though Diana is joining Dr Berlin there.'

`And I was wrong about her. We'll fly to Oslo. Lindemann calls it the shuttle. Only a fifty-minute flight – planes leave here for Oslo all day long. Amazing service – and the flight is non-stop.'

`What about the Sudwind? And Casey somewhere up there in the wild blue yonder?'

'We ditch the Sudwind. Nield can take the cab back to the boat, contact Casey, tell him what we're doing, instruct him to land at Fornebu – that's Oslo Airport – and wait for us.'

`I've never been to Oslo.'

`You have a treat in store. Now for Erich Lindemann. We can take a separate cab. Speed is essential now.'

`Someone,' said Newman inside the cab on their way to the Radhuspladsen, 'is going to pinch the Sudwind.' He sounded envious. 'Superb boat. Equipped with everything. That transceiver, the most powerful Verey pistol – and did you see the fuel drums roped down at the stern?'

`I did.'

`That means the Nordsee probably has the same. They are twin vessels. Which means Dr Berlin could be heading for almost anywhere in Western Europe.'

`That had occurred to me.'

Tweed said no more until the cab dropped them at the entrance to Lindemann's HQ. It had been a short ride. He gave the driver a generous tip, glanced at the plate on the wall. Export-Import Services North. He ran up the shabby stairs, knocked on the door.

It was opened by a tall, severe-looking woman, thin, erect, in her late fifties. She didn't seem pleased to see him.

`Mr Tweed. I wasn't expecting you.'

'So I'm a pleasant surprise. This is Bob Newman. Miss Browne.'

`With an "e",' she informed Newman, looking even less pleased. 'I suppose you'd better come in.'

`Some place we can talk privately,' Tweed said. 'And where is Lindemann?'

`I really haven't the slightest idea. The inner sanctum, I suggest…'

Inner sanctum. Tweed groaned inwardly. She really was the embodiment of an ex-senior Civil Servant. She showed him into an austere and excessively tidy room. The only objects on Lindemann's desk were two telephones. Tweed walked round the desk, sat in Lindemann's chair. He could see that didn't please her. Short of time, he decided there was only one approach.

`How long has he been away? I'm in a hurry. I need direct answers. Please. And do sit down.'

`I usually require written authority before I report on Mr Lindemann's movements..'

`I'll ask just once more, Miss Browne, then you're on the first plane back to London. How long has he been away?'

`About three to four weeks. He left almost as soon as he returned from his week's leave.'

`Left for where?'

`He didn't say. He leaves me in sole charge.'

`So you must have some way of contacting him?' Tweed was convinced she was hiding something. He had a stroke of inspiration. 'Or has he contacted you? I must know.'

`Well, yes. He called me only yesterday. To ask if there had been any developments. I said no – it seems to be quiet at the moment.'

`Where did he phone from? Don't say you don't know. You have been here a long time. You know Scandinavia well. I think you must – do – know where he called from.'

Miss Browne fiddled with her long bony fingers, clasping them in her lap. She was making up her mind. Tweed stared at her in silence, began slowly drumming his fingers on the desk.

`He didn't say where he was, but I could hear voices in the background. I know the languages now. They sounded Norwegian. When he's in Oslo he stays at the Grand Hotel. May I ask – is my position at risk?'

`Not now it isn't. And I wish to make a phone call. Could I use this phone?'

`I'll give you a line.'

Alone behind the desk, he dialled Monica's number. She, at least, sounded pleased to be talking to him. 'You must be psychic,' she said. 'Not five minutes ago Kuhlmann phoned. He wants you to call him back at this number. Still Action This Day?'

`Yesterday. I must go now. Be in touch.'

He dialled the number he had memorized, which was Lubeck-Sud. Kuhlmann came straight on the line. He sounded grim and weary. Lack of sleep.

`Tweed, the pathologist has examined what's left of Sue Templeton, that American girl. He found a lot of skin under the fingernails of her right hand. The poor girl put up a fight. Main thing is, the killer must have one hell of a scratch on his person – probably on his face. Thought you should know. Getting anywhere?'

`Thanks. And yes. Because of that, I'm in a rush.'

'OK.' Kuhlmann paused. 'Put a bullet through the bastard for me.'

`You are about to look down on the Ninth Wonder of the World,' Tweed said to Newman. 'The approach to Oslo Fjord. It's quite magnificent.'

They were flying at thirty thousand feet aboard the DC-9, Orvar Viking. At Kastrup Airport they had grabbed a late breakfast and then caught the flight by minutes. The cloud bank over Copenhagen had dissipated soon after takeoff. They flew up the west coast of Sweden.

Tweed had pointed out to Newman – and Nield who sat behind them – the Skaw, the northernmost tip of Denmark, stretching out into the Skagerrak. A flat, claw-like peninsula, it had a barren deserted look from that height. Newman peered out of the window as the machine began its long descent.

The pilot had made an announcement that the air was exceptionally clear, the view coming up rarely seen. Below on the azure blue sea Newman could make out tiny specks of white – the wakes of invisible vessels heading north. Was one of them the Nordsee, he wondered. Then he leaned closer to the window.

It was his first sighting of Norway. The most southerly of the islands guarding the entrance to the huge fjord came into view. Newman stared down, fascinated. They were like ragged-edged pieces of a jigsaw thrown down at random on to a gigantic table of blue ice.

The descent continued. The islands became larger, some covered with dense fir forest. Between them vessels plied their way northward, heading for distant Oslo. Houses began to appear on a few islands. Newman had never seen so many islands clustered together, drawn back from the main channel wending its way towards the Norwegian capital.

The aircraft flew on, dropping all the time, following the course of the fjord. Suddenly they were lost inside a cloud like fog. They were flying very low now. Newman went on staring out of the window. He stiffened as they flew out of the fog. Just below rose a whole series of hump-backed hills, range upon range. It was quite different from what he had expected.

The plane swung in a vast arc, diving inside the fog and emerging without warning. The hills, covered with dense forest, looked to be too close. The plane climbed abruptly. Then the machine descended, flew across a stretch of water. 'We're going to end up in the drink,' Newman was thinking. The wheels touched down. The airport was located at the very edge of the fjord. Newman let out a sigh of relief.

'Marvellous,' crowed Tweed.

'Bloody marvellous,' Newman agreed.

Tweed wasted no time once they reached the exit hall. He asked for chief of security, was ushered with Newman into a small square office lined with green filing cabinets and occupied by a short well-built Norwegian in a pale blue shirt and navy blue trousers who rose from behind his desk.

'I'm Iversen, chief of security. Who are you?'

'Tweed. Special Branch. From London.' He slapped down a folder on Iversen's desk. 'I need to speak urgently to Captain Georg Palmer of Norwegian Intelligence. He's out at Huseby Gardekasernen – near Roa.'

Tweed took out his notebook while Iversen checked the folder and handed it back. 'Here's the phone number,' Tweed said. 'May I?' He took a pad on the desk and wrote down the number.

'I'll talk to him first,' Iversen said, picked up the phone, dialled the number and spoke in Norwegian, then switched to English. 'Yes, sir, your description fits him perfectly. I'll put him on the line.' He held out the phone. 'I can leave you alone..

'Not necessary, thank you.' Tweed spoke into the phone. 'I am at Fornebu, as you'll now know. Just arrived. Need to talk to you, Georg. No, don't come to Fornebu. Can we meet at the Grand Hotel? In about a couple of hours from now? I have to check certain things first. Yes, I'm glad to be back. Look forward to seeing you again. 'Bye.'

He thanked Iversen and outside in the entrance hall they found Nield waiting. He gestured towards the western side of the airfield.

`I found Casey. He's where the police choppers take off from. In the private section.' He fingered his small black moustache. `I think you ought to talk with him. We can walk. The exercise will do you good.'

Tweed blinked as they emerged into brilliant sunshine. Newman took a deep breath. The air was crisp, invigorating. As they walked he looked towards the hills rising up behind Oslo. The air had a sharp, crystalline clarity, bringing the hills covered with forest closer than they were.

`I like this place,' he said.

`The pace is slower here,' Tweed said as he trotted briskly towards the Sea King he could now see. 'There's no place in Europe like it. In some ways, you feel you're living in the nineteen-thirties. In the nicest possible way. Well, Casey, what's the position?'

`The Nordsee is approaching the entrance to Oslo Fjord. About eighty nautical miles south of the first island.'

`How long ago was that?'

`One hour. We landed here, refuelled – so we're ready for a long flight if necessary…'

`Which it might well be,' Tweed agreed.

`Then we took off again, flew back down the fjord and over the Skagerrak. Just to make sure he hadn't changed course.'

`Which he could still do,' interjected his co-pilot, Wilson. `South-west would take him out into the North Sea. And he had reduced speed a lot. For the first time since we tracked him from Lubeck.'

That was quite a speech for Wilson. And a shrewd point he'd made, Tweed was thinking.

`Has he spotted you, would you say?' he asked Casey.

`Bound to have done so by now. Not during the night – but there's so much traffic off Sweden we had to move in closer. Other choppers were around, but only one Sea King. Us.'

`Can you wait here while we drive into Oslo? Have you had a meal?'

`Easily,' Casey replied. He looked up at the sky. 'Night will be coming within a few hours. Maybe that's what he's waiting for. And we had an excellent meal at the restaurant. Go about your business, Tweed. We can wait. You can always call the airport – they know where we are.'

'I am in a rush…'

They took a cab into Oslo and Newman stared out of the window, taking in the new experience. The highway followed the upper reaches of the fjord, giving views of marinas crammed with sailing craft and the intensely blue water beyond. Arriving at the Grand Hotel on the main street, Karl Johans Gate, Tweed bustled inside, carrying his case.

Newman paid off the cab and lingered for a moment with Nield, taking in the atmosphere. Tweed had been right. The pace was slower. None of the 'must get there yesterday' frenzy of London or New York.

Karl Johans Gate stretched due west. In the distance an elegant ochre and pale grey building stood on a small hill. The Royal Palace, Newman guessed. Across a park on another street an old cream and grey tram trundled through the city. The Norwegians strolled, made way for other people. Yes, I like this place Newman thought.

Inside Tweed was questioning the chief receptionist.

`We need three rooms with baths. You can manage that? Good. I'd also like the room number of my friend, Erich Lindemann.'

`Mr Lindemann isn't staying with us. He always does when he is in Oslo…'

`You mean he checked out today?'

`No, sir. Mr Lindemann hasn't stayed with us for the past two months.'

So much for Miss Browne and her knowledge of Scandinavian languages, Tweed thought. I'll bet she can't speak a word of one of them. But, of course – Lindemann is the linguist. He wouldn't want an assistant who could understand what he was saying on the phone.

`I have another friend who is staying here. Miss Diana Chadwick.'

`Now she is with us.' The receptionist glanced over his shoulder. 'Room 736. But she's out. Her key is on the rack.'

`Don't mention I enquired when she comes back. I want to surprise her.'

Newman and Nield came inside at that moment and registered. On their way up in the elevator Tweed warned them not to unpack, to be ready for departure at a moment's notice. He had just dumped his bag in his own room when the phone rang. A Captain Palmer was waiting to see him.

`Send him up, please. And ask room service to send up two pots of coffee.'

Palmer was a tall, thin, wiry-looking Norwegian in his early thirties. Dressed in a plain grey business suit, he shook Tweed's hand warmly, sat down and crossed his legs. He had thick sandy hair, a long nose and dark observant eyes with a hint of humour in them.

`Too long since we met, Tweed. I gather this is an emergency, so let us dispense with the greetings. What can I do to help?'

`A large power cruiser is approaching the entrance to the fjord. White colour with brass trimmings. Called Nordsee. I've had it shadowed by a Sea King, now waiting at Fornebu. If I send out my chopper again it might frighten off the man aboard from heading for his ultimate destination…'

`Which is?'

`I've no idea yet. I wonder whether you could arrange for at least one police launch from Sandvika to keep an eye on the Nordsee's movements. It appears to be heading for Oslo, but I need to know any alteration in course. And discretion is the order of the day.'

Palmer shook his head. 'Not a police launch. They only patrol the fjord near Oslo. What we need is the Coastguard. They operate in the outer reaches of the fjord. I can make the call now from here. We should have one vessel watching your prey within thirty minutes. A more precise description of the Nordsee would help.'

`I'm not good on boats…'

Tweed called Newman in his room, asked him to come, and when he arrived explained what was needed. While the two men talked he phoned down to ask if Diana had arrived back. She hadn't. Palmer then took over the phone, dialled and spoke rapidly in Norwegian. He put down the receiver.

`A Coastguard vessel will be on station shortly. The commander will report to me personally by radio direct to my HQ. I will then call you if there are developments.'

`I believe you're supposed to make a report of all incidents?' Tweed remarked.

`That is so.' Palmer shook hands again and went to the door. He turned before he left. 'But then again, I often have the most extraordinary lapses of memory.'

The next few hours – while Tweed waited for Diana to come back to the hotel – were tense. Night fell and Tweed arranged a roster for dinner. While he ate with Newman and Butler Nield stayed in the reception hall, seated in a chair. The instructions Tweed gave were precise and surprised the others.

`She may already have her bag packed and try to leave when she knows I'm here. If necessary, you are to forcibly restrain her in her room. Then call me via reception.'

They ate in the Grand Cafe, attached to the hotel, a large and rather old-fashioned place which overlooked the main street. Newman looked round, fascinated by the other diners. He'd noticed some of them at their tables an hour earlier. He remarked on the fact to Tweed, who sat gently drumming his fingers.

`Yes,' Tweed agreed, 'it's like pre-war customs in England I've read about. Gone forever. People – the locals – come and sit here for ages talking. It's part of their way of life.'

`And you're bothered about something? Diana?'

`Diana, yes. It's getting so late. But also, no report from Palmer. Something has gone wrong. I sense it.'

'This has happened before at this stage of the game… `True. This particular game though is the most dangerous I've ever played in the whole of my career so far.'

They were about to leave the Grand Cafe when Nield appeared at the door and beckoned to Butler, who jumped up and walked over to him. They conversed briefly; Nield vanished in the direction of the entrance hall and Butler returned to their table.

`She's just collected her key and gone up in the elevator.'

`Then I'd better get up and see her.' Tweed's tone was so grim, there was a ruthless expression on his face Butler had rarely seen. Tweed stared at him. 'I'm going to grill the hell out of her. You and Pete had better come with me. Stay outside her door – in case she tries to make a run for it. If she does, stop her.'

He walked straight out of the restaurant to the elevator bank, pressed the button, waited, stepped inside the elevator without a word. As it ascended Butler and Nield exchanged glances behind his back.

Tweed walked out into the corridor, checked the room number indicator, strode off to the left, turned left again and then right. He rapped on the door of 736. Diana, clad in a white sweater and a cherry-coloured skirt opened it.

`Tweed! How on earth did you…'

`We have to talk.' He pushed past her into the bedroom, closing the door. 'You have to talk – tell the truth. For the first time. Sit down.'

`When I'm asked nicely…'

`Sit down! Question number one. How long have you known Dr Berlin?'

She sat down on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs as she studied him from under her eyelashes. Tweed remained standing, hands clasped behind his back.

`Over twenty years. You know that…'

`The real Dr Berlin I mean. Hurry up. I'm short of time.' `I don't know what you mean.'

`Why were you so scared out of your wits when you found the locks had been changed on the Sudwind?'

`I knew it was a warning.' Her voice had changed. She had a lace-edged handkerchief she began picking at. 'I thought at first I wouldn't be able to get at any of my own things – until I saw my drawers had been left alone.'

`Who were you scared of?'

`Whoever had changed the locks…'

`How have you managed for money all these years since you left Kenya?'

`You think I've slept with men, don't you, Tweed?' `No. So who gave you money to live on?'

`He did. He made me a regular allowance.' A vehement note came into her voice. 'I never slept with him. Not once.'

`I can believe that. So what made you worth the allowance?' `I'm frightened. Horribly frightened.'

`Why?' demanded Tweed in the same brusque tone, 'did you run out on me? Take the night express to Copenhagen, then fly up here?'

`Because I was horribly afraid – after I heard that American girl had been killed on the beach. I knew it must be him. I thought I'd be next. I'm a blonde. I have a girl friend who works in Oslo. I've had dinner with her. And Oslo seemed far enough away from Lubeck. I panicked. I want to start a new life. I'm sick of being a kept woman – even though I never performed the services a kept woman normally renders.'

`So, why did Dr Berlin keep you? As a witness? As one person who gave him credibility? One person who would say he was the same man as the Dr Berlin in Kenya? Do I have to drag it out of you, for God's sake?'

No, not any more. You're right. I was his witness. When we first sailed from the Med to Lubeck years ago he saw me. How he knew who I was I don't know. Maybe from a photograph. Perhaps someone told him I'd known Berlin well in Kenya. I was on my beam ends for lack of money…'

It came pouring out now Tweed had broken through the dam. He still remained standing, showing no sympathy, not daring to risk stopping her flow of words.

`He invited me to his house on Priwall Island. I went quite happily – until I saw him in his study. I knew at once that he wasn't the man I'd known in Kenya. He admitted he wasn't. Then he put me a proposition.'

`Go on! Don't stop now.'

`You're being beastly to me. All right.' She- sat stiffly as she continued. 'I had very little money – Ken, my husband, left nothing when he was killed hunting in the bush. It wasn't a secret – that I'd no money. He offered me a generous monthly allowance if I'd tell people he was the Dr Berlin I'd known in the old days. As you said, he needed a witness. I accepted.'

`What did you think this impostor was up to?'

`Oh, he told me some story – that he was the original Berlin's half-brother, that he wanted to carry on his charitable work, that he could do that best if he had his brother's reputation. For raising funds for refugees, things like that.'

`You believed him?'

`Not for a moment.' She was shredding the lace handkerchief. `And he knew it, but he didn't care. He let drop a remark which suggested he was engaged in some kind of smuggling. I thought, what's the harm? I needed the money.'

`Wait a minute.' Tweed produced a document from his breast pocket. 'Read that. It's the Official Secrets Act.'

'Why?'

`Just read it.' Tweed went to the door, asked Butler and Nield to come in for a moment. He explained they were witnessing the signing of the Official Secrets Act by Miss Diana Chadwick. When she had signed the document the two men left the room.

`Now,' said Tweed, 'you must know that Dr Berlin is not only an impostor, he isn't even German. He's English.'

`Yes.'

`Tell me anything you can about his real appearance – without that beard he grows every time he returns to Lubeck when he pretends to be meditating or some other rot. His habits.'

`He collects fine wines…'

`What?' Tweed let out the exclamation involuntarily.

`I said he collects fine wines. He even has a dozen bottles of Chateau d'Yquem in his-cellar at his mansion. He says it's a good investment. And once I caught a brief glimpse of him without his beard just after he'd arrived. He had a loop of hair drooped over his forehead. Rather like Hitler.'

`A catlick?'

`That's right.'

`Now.' Tweed stared hard at her. 'While we were in England I took you round with me to visit four men in their homes. I watched carefully your reaction when you met them – and their reactions. I couldn't spot a reaction which gave any of them away. One of them is Dr Berlin…'

`Really?'

`Yes, really.' Tweed's tone was sarcastic. 'That was why I took you with me. And don't deny it. I checked how much money you had in your handbag before we visited my first suspect. Two hundred and fifty pounds…'

`How very gallant of you.'

Tweed took two steps forward, stood over her. 'You little fool. We are dealing with a mass murderer. And you are the only witness who can point the finger at him. How much do you think your life is worth? After we'd visited all four men you had another four hundred pounds in that handbag. All of them had an opportunity to pass that money to you out of my sight'

`What does my signing that document mean?' she asked quietly.

`That none of our conversation in this room can ever be passed on to another person. If it is, you can be prosecuted and sent to prison.'

`Charming. And to think I was once very fond of you.'

`You want to go to London, don't you? Start a new life, ea. rn your own living? You can do that – once this horrible business is cleared up. You know who Dr Berlin really is, don't you?'

`Yes.'

`Who is he then?'

In a very soft voice, not looking at Tweed, she told him.