His tone of voice had changed. There was an abrasive note. Tweed sensed a dynamic energy in the man he still hadn't seen clearly. Newman responded immediately, removing the cigarette from his mouth.
`Then I would advise you to have a word with your butler. The gun he is carrying in a shoulder holster bulges out for all the world to see.'
`Thank you, Mr Newman. Most kind of you.' An edge of sarcasm now. 'I will most certainly have a word with Jules about his armament. But we live in violent times.'
`Talking about armaments, you are quite right,' Tweed shot back quickly. 'Sir Gerald Andover was murdered outside the estate of Gaston Delvaux in Liege last night. You've heard of Andover, of course – on your underground grapevine.'
Newman smiled to himself. The pace was hotting up. Tweed was seizing on every opening. He had the impression Dr Wand was furious he had opened a chink in his armour.
`Yes,' Wand said reflectively, 'somewhere I have indeed heard of Andover. I believe he is – was – a crackpot who propounded bizarre theories.'
`Or a genius who saw what was coming next to menace the Western world,' Tweed snapped with a bite.
`And what is coming next, if I may be so bold as to enquire?'
`The refugee problem, for one thing, is a horrendous menace. Thousands – maybe millions – on the move from the East. Europe would be swamped if they were allowed through. And yet, apparently, your organization is dedicated to infiltrating these people into our midst.'
`Infiltrating!' Wand sounded horrified. He shifted in his chair and his head appeared briefly in the light. Cruel eyes regarded Tweed from behind the flashing of the pince-nez. 'Would you kindly be more explicit? What precisely are you suggesting about my organization, when its only purpose is to help poor and helpless people?'
`It was a figure of speech,' Tweed said smoothly. 'Why is the subject of refugees such a sensitive point?'
`We have to be so selective – distinguishing between political and economic refugees. Surely you have heard the topic argued about?'
`Is there any connection between your trading company operating out of Hong Kong and your refugee organization?'
`None whatsoever.' Wand's tone was very abrasive. `My understanding is your own company is concerned with the negotiation of wealthy men who have been kidnapped. You are supposed to be an expert negotiator in such cases – so how does that link up with what you have been talking about?'
`Because a prominent man has been kidnapped. And I am negotiating his release,' Tweed lied.
There was a long silence. Dr Wand shifted restlessly in his chair. He adjusted his pince-nez. Suddenly his manner changed, became amiable.
`And you are near success in your difficult undertaking, I trust?'
`Oh yes. Vital information has come to light. At the moment you might say we are closing in on our target. There are certain people in Brussels and I wonder why they are here. I think I may have found out why.'
Another pause. Newman, the unlit cigarette still clamped between his lips, was fiddling with his throwaway lighter under cover of the desk. He was using his tough thumb-nail to revolve the wheel controlling the power of the gas, converting it into a miniature flame-thrower.
`Then may I wish you good health, Mr Tweed. And also success in your – I am sure – most difficult task. One wrong move and, I suppose, the whole thing could blow up in your face.' The voice became so soft Tweed only just caught the words. 'That would be a tragedy for you – and for all those involved.'
Newman chose that moment to lean forward, to flick the wheel of his lighter. A large flame speared up, he held it steady while he touched the tip of his cigarette, then he released the wheel and the scorching flame died. In those few seconds both men had a photo-flash image of Dr Wand. He threw up a hand to shield his face, but not before they had seen him.
Tweed caught an expression of satanic fury. The eyes glared savagely. Wand had prominent cheekbones, a nose like the prow of a ship, and swiftly he smiled, which was not a pleasant sight, his thin lips twisted in a smile like Siberia. He rose behind his desk, now back in the shadows.
`Mr Tweed, I wish to express to you my deep gratitude for spending a little of your undoubtedly precious time in travelling all the way from Brussels to see me. As I expected, I have found our conversation stimulating and illuminating. You appear to be engaged in a most dangerous occupation. Let us hope you survive for many more years.'
`I expect to do just that,' Tweed replied tersely.
Dr Wand must have pressed a button. The door opened and the butler appeared, holding the handle and standing erect as he gazed straight ahead. Wand ignored Newman, made no further reference to him, and again he made no attempt to shake hands in the Belgian fashion.
Escorting them across the hall, the butler opened a small metal casing attached to the wall. He frowned.
`The gates do not appear to have closed properly.' `Well, just make sure you open them properly,' Newman suggested jovially.
When they drove away down the drive the gates were wide open. Newman stopped in the road, ran back, replaced the stone by the garden border, returned to the car, and headed back for Brussels.
Inside his study Dr Wand sat in the gloom, his hands clasped in his lap. He sat quite motionless, thinking at top speed. When the phone rang he reached for the receiver automatically, half his mind thousands of miles away.
`Yes?'
`This is Anne-Marie,' a woman's voice said, as always using her code-name. 'I am speaking from a call box.'
`A most wise precaution, I am sure. You have some news for me?'
`Yes. From a fairly brief observation of Miss Grey and her employer I would say they are very close to each other.'
`You believe that she is his mistress?'
`No. I don't think it's that kind of a relationship. I do think he is very fond of her, that he regards her as invaluable as well as a friend.'
`I find that interesting, most interesting indeed. A man may discard a mistress without a qualm, but pure friendship goes deeper. Continue, if you would be so kind, to communicate with me regularly. Goodbye…'
The phone call decided Wand to take certain action he had only been contemplating. Earlier Dr Hyde had called him from Liege, giving him the name of his hotel, its phone number and his room number. Wand dialled the number of the Liege hotel, asked to be put through to Dr Hyde.
`Who is this calling?' the soothing voice of Dr Hyde enquired cautiously.
`Your patron is calling you…' The use of this word amused Wand: Dr Hyde was a loyal servant only because he was paid so well. 'You recognize my voice?'
`Indeed I do. How may I be of service?'
`There may well be another patient requiring treatment at your hands. A woman. There may be a delay. It is a question of securing her availability. I will call you when the time is right. In the mean time I suggest you remain where you are. You can always sample the delights of Liege…'
`Dr Wand is an even more evil character than he appears in the photos Marler took of him,' Newman remarked as he parked in front of the Hilton.
`That trick of yours with the lighter was clever,' Tweed replied. 'And I agree with you. Some villains are difficult to detect – they have the charm of the devil. But in that brief moment when your lighter flared I had the impression we were in the presence of the Devil himself. A man capable of ordering the bizarre and horrific treatment of Irene Andover. To say nothing of arranging for the Liege assassin to drive down poor Andover.'
`Whom he referred to as a crackpot,' Newman recalled.
`And that was a tactical error. An unusual mistake for Dr Wand to make, I'd guess. His object was to discredit Andover's global theories. Why? Because they are true, I suspect,' he remarked as they stepped into the elevator.