‘My Frans Hals,’ said Miles.

‘You’ll only be without it for a few weeks. Which is a small sacrifice to make when you weigh it up against the possible consequences.’

‘Make sure you get the painting back the day after the exhibition closes. Anything else?’

‘Yes,’ said Booth Watson. ‘The purchase of the Caravaggio has almost wiped out your assets in London.’

‘They’ll be replenished once the takeover of Marcel and Neffe goes through. And don’t forget the cash I still have in Rashidi’s safety deposit boxes.’

Booth Watson was loath to tell his client that particular source of funds was also running low, but for a different reason.

Faulkner checked his watch. ‘If my private jet has landed on time, the painting should be with us in about an hour, so why don’t we go and have some lunch?’

• • •

Lieutenant Sanchez switched on the engine, eased the van into first gear, and carried out Mr Benmore’s repeated instructions to remain in the inside lane at all times and not exceed thirty kilometres an hour, even on the motorway.

Ross sat silently by his side, alert to everything around him, as he tried to anticipate the unexpected. He’d already spotted the four unmarked police motorbikes on the motorway. Two in front and two behind, who were trying to look as if they were on traffic duty. Once they’d turned off the motorway onto a country road, he switched on a video camera so he could record every step of their progress.

The lieutenant looked on enviously. ‘Scotland Yard’s standard issue?’ he asked.

‘Hardly. It was a gift from my wife.’

‘The only gift my wife ever gives me is another daughter,’ said Sanchez.

‘How many so far?’

‘Three. But I haven’t given up,’ he said as they reached the edge of the forest and had no choice but to come to a halt.

Ross switched off the video and slipped it into the glove compartment, while Sanchez banged firmly on the divide to let his colleagues in the back know they had arrived.

William glanced across at Mr Benmore, who looked anxious and was perspiring heavily.

Lieutenant Sanchez touched the van’s horn and a few birds scattered from the tops of the tall pine trees. He was about to give a second blast when a golf buggy appeared out of the forest and came to a halt in front of the van.

Two muscle-bound men climbed out of the buggy and circled the van slowly. One of them opened the driver’s door and exchanged a few words with Sanchez, who had a well-prepared script for every one of his questions. The guard gave him a mock salute, before joining his colleague at the back of the van. They examined the large wooden crate, counted the passengers, checked the clipboard and then slammed the door shut, before walking back to the buggy. One of them waved an arm to indicate that Sanchez should follow them.

Ross retrieved his video camera from the glove compartment, pressed a button on the side and began to record their slow, meandering route along an unmarked path until they reached a wooden bridge. He continued filming as they crossed a fast-flowing river before finally emerging into the open to see a palatial mansion dominating the landscape.