Rhinoceros

'Didn't know who it was,' he explained. 'So I hid the book.'

'How is it going?' Tweed asked.

'I'm breaking it, but haven't got there yet. The blue book Mark provided is invaluable.'

It occurred to Paula that Kent didn't know Mark was dead. He was in his shirt sleeves and on another table was a tray of coffee, remnants of croissants. Tweed looked at it.

'When did you last eat a proper meal?'

'Can't remember. Been at it all night. It's absorbing.'

'Go down now and get a decent meal at the Condi,' Tweed told him.

'I can't leave these papers, even locked up…'

'Lisa could come and keep guard while you eat,' suggested Tweed.

'Lisa,' Paula said hastily, 'is fagged out. She told me,' she lied, 'she didn't get any sleep – probably after her long day yesterday.'

Tweed glanced at her, bewildered. There was nothing that he could say, that it would be wise to say. He looked back, saw Newman standing inside the closed door, turned to Keith.

'Any hint as to what you've found so far?'

'Oh, there's a ton of money missing. But whether it's still somewhere inside the bank or has been moved elsewhere I just can't fathom yet. Nor who is responsible for the movement. I'll crack it, but it may take a few more days.'

'Promise you'll phone room service, order a proper meal as soon as we've gone.'

'I'll do that. I've just realized I'm hungry..'.'

The cream stretch limo was waiting for them and Newman took the wheel. Paula sat beside him and Tweed rode in the back. Tweed had once visited Blankenese and navigated for them.

It didn't seem to take long for them to leave behind the massive, stately buildings which were Hamburg and then they were driving along a rustic road with trees in leaf. Paula gazed out and to each side they began to pass imposing mansions set back from the road with manicured lawns in front of them. The architecture varied enormously – there were mansions in the old style, square and solidly built, but others were more imaginative with long frontages, thatched roofs and strange turret-like towers. Each property, she guessed, would cost a fortune to buy.

'Marler and Nield are not far behind us in the Opel,' Newman remarked. 'Not a bad idea, maybe. It's rather lonely out here.'

'We're approaching the house,' Tweed warned from the back. 'I can see a sign ahead pointing to a side road. Taxusweg. Rondel scribbled that as a landmark when he gave me the address.'

Newman slowed, indicated right. A warning to Marler they were close. As he had anticipated, Marler turned down Taxusweg. To park discreetly, Newman guessed.

'This big house well back,' Tweed warned. 'Turn along the drive.'

Newman swung into the wide entrance, flanked by two pillars, each surmounted with an elegant lantern. The front garden was like a small park with lawns and beautiful specimen trees. But no electronically powered gates, Paula thought – and no sign of guards. You just drove in.

There were other lanterns perched on steel posts scattered amid the trees. This place must look even more glorious after dark with the lanterns lit, she mused. A large long mansion built of white stone came into view. Newman parked close to the main entrance, a pair of heavy oaken doors.

'Well,' said Tweed, before alighting. 'Let's hope here is where we find the key to what is really going on.'

Both doors were opened with a flourish by a tall uniformed chauffeur. A Daimler was parked near the corner of the mansion. Tweed studied the chauffeur intently. Not the usual chauffeur – even by the standards of those working for rich men. He had brown hair trimmed short, a strongly featured face, and was in his thirties, but it was the eyes that caught Tweed's attention. They were exceptionally intelligent, and the man moved athletically.

'Yes, I'm Tweed.'

'You are expected, sir,' the chauffeur replied in faultless English. 'If you would wait in the hall for just a few moments…"

Left to themselves in the spacious hall, Tweed noticed a Louis Vuitton case standing against a wall. He bent down. Someone had tucked in below the handle a Bordkane, or a boarding pass. Lufthansa. From BER to HAM. Dated the previous day. Someone had flown back from Berlin to Hamburg in the afternoon – on the day Kuhlmann had reported that Kurt Kruger, aide to the Deputy Chancellor, had been murdered.

Tweed was holding the pass in his hand when Rondel entered like a whirlwind, clad in riding gear.

'Welcome! Welcome! Welcome!'

He bowed, took Paula's right hand, kissed it, looked up at her with a broad smile. She found she rather liked a gesture she would not normally have found acceptable. Tweed held up the printed slip.

'I found this boarding pass from Berlin to Hamburg lying on the floor. It must have slipped out of the case.'

'That belongs to Danzer, the chauffeur who greeted you. He flew to Berlin and back again yesterday.' Rondel grinned. 'He has a new girlfriend. He collects and dismisses them as though they were playing cards… Please excuse my attire. I have an engagement to go riding

… Want to come?' he asked Paula.

'It's a long time since I sat on a horse. Thank you, but I think I need a quiet day. Yesterday was rather hectic. I did enjoy the dinner, though.'

'You couldn't have enjoyed it as much as I revelled in having a chat with you… I couldn't sleep last night. Your image kept coming into my mind…'

He was talking as he had at the restaurant. In rapid bursts that demonstrated the extraordinary quickness of his mind. He waved towards the interior of the house.

'My partner is waiting for you. Or rather, he would like to see Tweed alone, if that is not too impolite… Paula, you and Bob can come with me… we will enjoy a drink together. I am hoping Bob, the famous international foreign correspondent, can tell us what is wrong with the world. If both of you would like to make yourselves comfortable in this room…' He was leading them towards a closed door. '… I will be back in a tick.'

He turned to Tweed, who had slipped the boarding pass under the handle of the case.

'Please, Mr Tweed, let me escort you…'

Inside the room she had been shown into with Newman, Paula remained standing. It kept going through her head. Lisa concussed, after the blow Delgado had struck her back home at Reefers Wharf. The message she had desperately tried to get across, hardly able to speak.

Ham… Dan… Four S.

Ham had been Hamburg. Four S had been Four Seasons Hotel. Dan. Couldn't that have been Danzer, the chauffeur who had shown them in?

After opening another door at the rear of the hall, where gilt-framed portraits of men of earlier times were hung, Rondel accompanied Tweed down a long hall to a door at the far end. This opened on to a large conservatory full of different plants. His partner sat facing them in a wickerwork chair with a high straight back.

In front of the chair on a glass-topped table were the remains of a meal. His partner had been holding the silver box close to his mouth while he manipulated one of the ivory toothpicks. He closed the lid quickly, tucked it inside a pocket of his linen jacket.

'The gentleman you are so anxious to see,' Rondel said.

'Thank you. Do not let his two colleagues leave. I wish to pay my respects to them later,' the seated man ordered.

'Let us go into the garden, Mr Tweed,' the partner suggested, rising, holding out his hand. 'There we can talk without inhibition. May I offer you a drink?'

He was speaking slowly, each word enunciated with clarity. Not from age, Tweed guessed, but from temperament. A very careful man.

'Just water, please…'

His host opened a door, ushered Tweed, holding his glass of water, into what seemed more like a beautiful park with an abundance of flowers. Especially hydrangeas. Paved walkways wended their way in all directions, disappearing round curves. They strolled slowly and Tweed kept quiet, leaving his strange host to choose a subject.