There was another long wait before the voice returned. Then, ‘Herr Jansen will speak to you at his home this evening. If you will be here for eight-thirty.’

Bannerman hung up and wondered fleetingly if the toxic information now in his possession made him the next target. He shrugged the thought aside and turned his mind elsewhere before reaching for the telephone directory. He found the number of the Hotel Regent in the Avenue Louise in a matter of seconds.

Schumacher picked up the call, then handed over to his wife when Bannerman told him why he was calling. She seemed surprised, but pleased. He said unnecessarily, ‘I thought that since you were flying to Edinburgh on Sunday anyway you wouldn’t mind. It’s just that she can’t travel alone.’

‘Mr Bannerman, there’s no need to apologize. Of course we’ll take her. That poor, poor child.’

He spent an uncomfortable few minutes on the phone with Laura-Lee sorting out the details and wondering if he was right to entrust the child to these eccentric Americans. Was Mrs Schumacher’s concern for Tania genuine, or was it just one more story of European adventure with which she could regale her social circle back home?

When, eventually, he got her off the line he called the airline and booked a seat for Tania on the Schumachers’ flight.

Now it only remained for him to inform the clinic here in Brussels. The news would have to be broken to Tania herself. For a long time he sat looking at the phone. It would be too easy simply to phone Dr Mascoulin and ask him to tell the child. He knew he owed it to her to tell her himself, but didn’t know that he could face the consequences. He sighed deeply, closing his eyes, and sat back to wait for Platt.

*

It was almost half an hour before he heard footsteps on the stairs. He eased himself out of the settee and went through to the hall. Platt stood flushed and breathless on the landing.

‘I got a taxi straight over,’ he said, and followed Bannerman through to the living room. ‘What’s happened? I thought after yesterday . . .’

‘You’re back in business, Platt,’ Bannerman interrupted and sank back into the settee.

Platt stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that the stuff you dug out on Lapointe’s Corniche company has turned up trumps – in the light of further evidence. And I’m prepared to do a swap. Documentary evidence. Your information for mine. A simple exchange, and then we’ve both got a story.’

‘But . . . but what have you got?’ Platt was suspicious. Why the sudden change of heart?

Bannerman sighed. He knew that he would have to tell Platt everything; his conversations with Lewis, the information unearthed in Switzerland, the deal he had been forced to make.