BooksBarbecue
Back The Man With No Face
Chapters (45)
  1. The Man With No Face
  2. Also by
  3. Title
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. Contents
  8. INTRODUCTION
  9. CHAPTER ONE
  10. CHAPTER TWO
  11. CHAPTER THREE
  12. CHAPTER FOUR
  13. CHAPTER FIVE
  14. CHAPTER SIX
  15. CHAPTER SEVEN
  16. CHAPTER EIGHT
  17. CHAPTER NINE
  18. CHAPTER TEN
  19. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  20. CHAPTER TWELVE
  21. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  22. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  23. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  24. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  25. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  26. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  27. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  34. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  35. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  36. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  37. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  44. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  45. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

He stood up, laden with disappointment, and the glass from the broken pane crunched on the floor beneath his feet. He picked his way across the room and out into the darkness of a short hallway. He fumbled along the wall until he found a light switch. Nothing. The power must be off at the mains. He moved carefully across the hall and opened another door.

Tiny chinks of sunlight leaked around the edges of the windows where the shutters fitted badly. But they shed enough light to see that this was a big room, windows on two walls. There was a sofa, a working desk, several wall cabinets, bookcases, a coffee table. Two large armchairs and an old wooden rocker stood arranged around a huge open fireplace. The debris of the search was here too. Papers and books, whole drawers and their contents cast carelessly across the floor. Bannerman opened one of the front windows, unhooked the shutters and pushed them out.

Sunshine streamed in and a rush of fresh, cold air invaded the smell of dust and damp that pervaded the house. A few papers stirred in the breeze. Bannerman stared thoughtfully across the fields towards the road. What had they been after? Had they found it? Who were they? He turned and walked across the room to sit in the rocker. It creaked as he pushed it gently back and forth, and he let his head fall back on the wooden rest. This was a dead end. He could see no way past it. He would seek interviews with Jansen and Lapointe. But even if they would see him, what would they tell him? That they knew nothing, of course. He had given Tait the ammunition he needed to get rid of him, and without a story he had no bargaining power. The future lay ahead like a desert. The words of the drunken Palin came back to him like a bitter reproach. Someday even bastards like you get put out to grass.

Bannerman sighed and leaned forward on his elbows. The contents of a wicker wastebasket were strewn across the stone slabs of the hearth. Even it had been searched. Bannerman bent down to pick up a crumpled envelope, smoothing it out to look inside. Empty. The stamp was Swiss, the postmark December. He was about to throw it away when he noticed the address. P.O. BOX 139, BUREAU DE POSTE, PLACE DE LA MONNAIE, BRUXELLES. Bannerman frowned. It had almost slipped his notice and its significance did not immediately dawn on him.