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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

‘Are you strong enough to talk?’ du Maurier said. Bannerman glanced at him and nodded. The Inspector spoke briefly to the woman, whose face clouded. There was a terse exchange between them which du Maurier cut short with an authority Bannerman had not seen in him before. The woman stopped mid-sentence, colour rising on her cheeks, and left the room without another word. Silence fell in her wake.

This was not a big room. Bare floorboards covered by a small square of rug. Rough plaster walls painted white. The old brass bedstead in which Bannerman lay was pushed against the wall opposite the window. A big wardrobe dominated the room. A dresser and two chairs took up the remaining floor space. The light-bulb dangling from the ceiling was unshaded and threw its unrelenting light into every corner. Du Maurier took off his hat and leaned forward. Elbows on knees, he ran the rim of the hat round and round between his fingers.

‘So,’ he said, ‘I’ve driven all the way from Brussels and I’ve sat up most of the night.’

‘I didn’t know you cared.’

Du Maurier glared at him. ‘If I had not come you might have been in a great deal of trouble. I want to know what happened.’

‘And if I don’t tell you . . .?’

‘You could still be in a great deal of trouble.’

Bannerman considered this. His head hurt, his body ached. He didn’t have the strength to fight. So he told du Maurier exactly what had happened, or as much of it as he could remember. Leaving out only his discovery of the PO box in Brussels and Gryffe’s poste restante card. Somehow, in the telling, that seemed like such an obvious hole. But du Maurier appeared oblivious. He sat listening, his face blank.

‘I don’t know what happened to the shooter,’ Bannerman said. ‘There was an explosion. I have no idea why, but there was not much left of him.’

The Inspector nodded. ‘I’ve seen his remains for myself. You were very lucky, Monsieur. You were saved by a landmine. The woods are riddled with them, a legacy of the last war. There are warning signs every hundred metres or so. It is quite common in this part of Flanders.’ Bannerman shivered suddenly as though someone had walked over his grave. Du Maurier sat back now, his eyes fixed on Bannerman, fingers still turning the rim of his hat. ‘The red spot you saw was a laser beam. These things can pinpoint a target at over one thousand metres. A new American rifle, the B120. The high-powered laser sight enables the marksman to line it up on any target. Even I couldn’t miss.’

Bannerman frowned. ‘But he did.’