`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.