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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

The moulded iron knocker on the great door was heavy and thundered against its metal block. He could hear the sound of it echoing away inside the big circular hall behind it. He hammered for a full minute before the door finally opened a crack. The butler who had let him in the previous night peered out.

‘The police will be here any moment,’ he said coldly. ‘I would advise you to leave now.’

Bannerman put his shoulder to the door, pushing the old man backwards into the hall. ‘Where is he?’ The butler’s face was drained of colour.

‘I told you. He is not here.’

Bannerman swept past him and up the marble staircase two at a time. He remembered the face on the second floor and went on up to the second landing. There were nearly a dozen doors leading off it. He opened one after another. A drawing room. A bedroom. A study. A library. Another bedroom. All empty. The sixth door opened into darkness. He was about to move on to the next when he sensed a presence in the room. Perhaps the slightest movement, or a warm scent. He stopped and peered into the gloom. All the blinds were drawn and only a little yellow light crept in around their edges.

Suddenly a light came on to his right. A small table lamp that lit up an old woman in a wheelchair. She stared at him out of a white, bony face with empty grey eyes. Her hair was the purest silver pulled back in a tight bun. She wore a black shawl around her shoulders and a rug draped itself over her knees. Twisted, arthritic hands lay in her lap, clutching a small glass of red wine. The remains of a log fire smouldered in the hearth. She spoke in a high, clear voice. ‘My son is not here.’

Bannerman hesitated for a moment as the door swung shut behind him. He had not expected this.

‘Where is he?’

The old woman sighed and her slight, fragile frame drooped a little. ‘You are Mr Bannerman, are you not? My son has told me about you. But you are quite wrong about him.’

Bannerman felt uncomfortable, caught in the gaze of those pale grey eyes.

‘Where is he?’

‘He left early this morning. For the Bahamas. We have an estate out there. I do not expect to see him for another six months.’ There was a smugness in her tone. The bells and the siren stopped and the awful silence that followed was broken only by the slow tick of an old clock on the mantelpiece. The door opened behind Bannerman and the old butler appeared.

‘The police are here.’

‘Send them away,’ said the old woman. ‘I don’t believe Mr Bannerman will cause any further trouble.’ The old man stood for a second and glared at Bannerman. Then he turned, shutting the door softly behind him. ‘Have a seat, Mr Bannerman.’