He made a show of consulting his paper again. 'You're gonna think I'm a really dumb country boy,' he grinned. 'It's called Truscot's, not Trueman's. I'd better go and phone the agency and tell them they've given me the wrong address.'

'You can use this phone,' she said, indicating the one on her desk.

'I can't take advantage of a lady's phone,' he said. 'But do you get out for lunch? I'd like to buy you one for being so kind.'

He could see the delight in her eyes, and guessed she didn't often get chatted up.

'That would be lovely,' she said, blushing as red as her blouse. 'I can go when Mr Trueman gets here. I usually have to take letters to the post and go to the bank for him.'

'What does he do when you aren't here?' Dan asked.

She giggled girlishly. 'Swears at people down the phone mostly I suspect. Messes up the pile of letters I've left for him to sign, and fills the place with cigar smoke.'

'Doesn't sound as if you like him much,' Dan said.

She sighed. 'He's not an easy man to like. But he pays well and I run the place on my own most of the time. When I get back from lunch he usually goes out again, it's rare that we're both in here together for more than a couple of hours.'

Dan felt a surge of delight that he'd come to the one place where the man was vulnerable. He had expected that his office would be impregnable and full of people.

'Shall I meet you in Joe Lyons in Leicester Square? I know where that is,' Dan suggested.

'Okay,' she said with a shy smile. 'I'll have to go to the bank first so I won't be there till about twenty past I expect.'

'I'll wait however long it takes,' he said, looking right into her eyes.

'What about the other job? And you haven't told me your name.' She giggled.

'I'll suggest I start tomorrow, or at least well after two,' he said as he picked up his raincoat. 'And I'm Ted Baxter. But I'd better go now, I'm holding up your work.'

Dan went straight to an ironmonger's close by in Berwick Street and bought a length of washing line. In a secluded doorway he fastened it round his waist under his jacket. Then he went straight back into the coffee bar opposite Trueman's office again, and got a seat by the window so he could watch who came in and went out.

By eleven-thirty Dan had drunk three cups of coffee, eaten a bacon sandwich and pretended to read an entire newspaper. He'd seen a bra.s.sy-looking woman of about forty-five in a very tight skirt and high heels go up the stairs, and then come back down only minutes later. He thought she might be a manageress of one of Trueman's clubs. A bit later a teenage boy with a scar down his cheek went in and he wasn't long either. Then about twelve o'clock two men slightly older than Dan arrived. One had crinkly red hair, the other light brown, and both had the look of professional hard men with their expensive suits and broad shoulders. The red-haired one clearly fancied himself; Dan had noticed him admiring his reflection in the shop window, and he had an exaggerated swagger.

Dan was holding his breath now, willing the two men to come out because if Trueman arrived and they were still in there, he'd have to back off. Even with a gun he couldn't take on three of them alone.

At quarter to one the two men came down again. They stood outside the door for a little while and seemed to be arguing about something. It was ten to one when they eventually moved away.

Trueman sauntered down the Court at five past. Dan knew it was him even before he turned into the office doorway just by the way he walked. It was an arrogant, head-held-high, get-out-of-my-way walk, and he stood out in the midst of office workers because of his height and size and his immaculate cream trench coat. As Johnny had said, he did look fit, and despite the greying hair seemed less than sixty. The gold watch glinting on his wrist had probably cost more than a house.

The coffee bar was filling up now with people on their lunch-hours, giggling office girls, businessmen and quite a few rough-looking types that Dan would put down as the dirty mac brigade fortifying themselves before going to one of the afternoon stripclubs.

Dan picked up a newspaper someone had left behind and hid behind it, in case Janice glanced in as she left the office. She came hurrying out at quarter past one, her handbag bulging with mail to be posted. He noted she'd put on some makeup and backcombed her hair.

It was time. His heart was thumping and he felt a bit queasy for he knew once he was in the office there was no turning back. He didn't know for certain that he'd got the right man, and Trueman could be armed too he wouldn't have got the reputation of being tough for nothing. But the week of anxiety about Fifi had built up so much rage inside him that he wasn't going to think about what-ifs. He was going to get Fifi back come what may.

He closed the street door quietly as he went in, putting the lock on, and left his raincoat down there. Creeping up the stairs, he listened. The man was on the phone barking orders about a delivery of drinks. Dan could smell cigar smoke.

At the top of the stairs he paused, checked the rope was concealed under his jacket, patted the pocket where his gun was, took a deep breath and marched in. Trueman was in the inner office, tilted back in the big chair, his feet on the desk, and he'd taken off his suit jacket.

'I f.u.c.king well told you to deliver this a week ago,' he shouted down the phone, only glancing round at Dan briefly and indicating that he wouldn't be long. 'This will be the last order you ever get if you don't get it round there right now. You got that?'

He slammed down the phone and looked up at Dan. 'b.l.o.o.d.y w.a.n.kers,' he said. 'Couldn't run a p.i.s.s-up in a brewery. What can I do for you, son?'

Dan walked towards the older man and stopped in the doorway of his office. 'I want my wife back,' he said in a measured tone, pulling out the gun. 'And if you give me the runaround I'm going to kill you.'

The shock on the man's face was almost laughable. His eyebrows shot up and he stared at the gun as if he thought he was seeing things. 'Your wife?' he repeated. 'I haven't got your b.l.o.o.d.y wife.'

For just a second Dan thought he might be wrong, but it was too late to consider that now. 'Fifi Reynolds,' he said. 'And you've got Yvette Dupre. Don't f.u.c.kin' p.i.s.s around or I'll just shoot your leg for starters.' He took another couple of steps into the office and pointed the gun at the man's leg, still on the desk, wondering if he should shoot him anyway to speed things up.

'Get out of here,' the man roared, getting to his feet. 'You think you can come on to my turf and threaten me? I've eaten boys like you for breakfast.'

The fact that Trueman didn't persist in denying he had the women, or ask any questions, was enough proof for Dan that he had got the right man. He could see what Trueman was, a bully through and through. He'd grown so used to frightening people with his hired thugs that he'd forgotten that alone he was just another middle-aged man, and a cornered one at that.

'This gun is loaded, the door downstairs is locked, and your secretary won't be back for an hour at least,' Dan growled at him. 'I really want to hurt you, I'm dying to beat the s.h.i.t out of you for taking my wife, so if you've got any sense you'll tell me where she is now.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' Trueman said, but he looked scared now, taking a step back behind his desk.

'Sit down, you piece of s.h.i.t,' Dan bellowed at him, taking a step closer.

Trueman's eyes were swivelling around the office as if looking for a weapon, but he did what Dan had ordered and spread his big hands out on the desk. 'You've got the wrong man, son,' he said. 'I run clubs, I'm a businessman.'

'Yeah, what business did you have in the Muckles' filthy den then?' Dan asked. 'You got your men to take my wife because you guessed she'd seen you going in there. A little girl was raped and killed there, what kind of business is that? Well, I got here before the police because I want my revenge. So tell me where she is, or as G.o.d is my judge I'll start shooting, first your hands, then your legs, and it will be some time before I finish you off altogether.'

Out of the corner of his eye Dan saw a thick walking stick propped up at the front of the desk and he guessed that was what Trueman was looking for. It was a flashy job, all varnished k.n.o.bbly bits with silver on the handle. He leaped forward, grabbed it with his left hand and whackedit down with force on Trueman's hands.

The man yelped involuntarily.

'Tell me,' Dan insisted, lifting the stick again.

'You've got it all wrong,' Trueman said, but the power had gone out of his voice. 'I haven't taken her.'

Dan was past caring what he had to do to get it out of the man, so he hit him again, this time hard on the head.

Even if his left arm wasn't as strong as his right, by rights the blow should have smashed Trueman's skull. He reeled back in his chair, clutching at his head now, but although blood was seeping through his fingers, he wasn't knocked out.

Guns weren't Dan's thing. He wanted to feel the man's flesh beneath his fists. He put the safety catch on and slipped the gun back into his pocket, then leaped on Trueman, pulling him up by the shoulders and hammering his fist into his face. His nose almost exploded, and before he recovered from that one, Dan punched him in the mouth. He picked him up again, twirled him round and threw him over the desk, knocking off the lamp, papers and a box of cigars.

Dan had been a fierce brawler in his teens, he'd boxed too, and the years of bricklaying had given him iron muscles and stamina. Trueman was some four or even five stone heavier than himself, and although the room was too cramped for fighting, in his anger he tossed the older man around the office like a rag doll.

Trueman's false teeth shot out on to the floor and his whole face was a b.l.o.o.d.y pulp. He tried desperately to reach the door, but with one more power-packed punch Dan knocked him down again to the floor. He landed on his side.

Dan was on to him instantly, rolling him over on to his face and sitting astride him. He pulled the rope from around his waist, and twisting Trueman's arms up behind his back, he secured his wrists while the man was still reeling from the last blow.

He hit him several more times before he managed to get the man's knees bent back so he could secure his ankles along with his wrists. The finished effect was like a trussed chicken; the more he tried to move, the more it would hurt.

Trueman cried out with the pain, but Dan lit a cigarette and knelt on the floor beside him, looking right into his eyes.

'Tell me where she is,' he said, and held the cigarette to the man's temple. When he didn't reply Dan burned him and Trueman yelled out again. 'I'm not f.u.c.king about,' Dan warned him. 'You give me the address and I'll phone my mate to go and get her. Once I know she and the other woman are safe I'll let you go. Or at least let the Plod have you. But meanwhile I can just sit here and burn and burn you until your whole body's covered in them. And I'll enjoy it.'

As he put the cigarette close to the man's face a second time, Trueman yelled out, 'Don't do that, I'll tell you.'

Dan waited.

'I'll do a deal with you,' Trueman rasped out. 'I give you the address, you let me go. If you turn me over to the police my boys will get you and crucify you.'

Dan laughed then, relief that he really had got the right man flooding through him. 'You ain't got no power now, sunshine! You're just a nasty old fart with a lot to answer for. When word gets around I just breezed in here and did this, you'll look a right prat. You might be able to hire a hot-shot defence, but your so-called boys will desert you the moment you're nicked. So just give us the address and I'll stop making you squeal.'

There was some hesitation, but Dan only had to put the cigarette close to Trueman's face again and he began gabbling about a barn at Bexley. He even told Dan that the keys for the padlock on the barn door were in his desk drawer.

'Who's there with her?'

'No one, just her and the Frenchwoman.'

Dan opened the desk drawer. There were several bunches of Yale keys, but two smaller keys on a piece of cord looked as though they opened a padlock. He took all the keys anyway, just in case. There was also a car key with a Jaguar logo. He smiled to himself. 'Where's your car parked?' he asked.

'In Soho Square,' Trueman gasped out.

Dan got the registration number out of him, then stood looking down at the man. All he wanted to do was flee and get Fifi, but Trueman might be banking on that, and he was crafty enough to have given him the wrong address, especially if he knew some of his men were coming by later. Then there was Janice, he didn't like the thought of her coming back to this little lot. The whole office was upturned and Trueman's face was like something on a butcher's block.

He aimed one almighty kick at the man's ribs. 'Right now, tell me the truth about where she is. No more f.u.c.king about,' he yelled at him.

'It is the truth,' Trueman blubbered. 'The barn is up a track off Hurst Road, Bexley.'

'If she's dead when I get there I swear I'll make it my life's work to torture you,' Dan said, kicking him one more time for good measure. But he could wait no longer. He went into the tiny cloakroom, washed the blood off his face and hands, and then phoned Kennington police station. Roper wasn't there, but he spoke to Sergeant Wallis whom he'd met when he'd gone down to the station with Harry and Clara.

'I've got the man with the red Jag,' he barked out. 'His name is Jack Trueman and you'd better come and arrest him because he's just admitted he's got my wife. He'll need an ambulance too.'

Wallis tried to question him but Dan refused to be drawn. 'You just hold the b.a.s.t.a.r.d until I've got my wife,' he said, snapping out the office address. 'I'm on my way to get Fifi now.'

Hastily he wrote a note for Janice, to stick on the downstairs front door, telling her not to open the street door but to wait outside until the police arrived.

'The police will be here soon,' Dan said sweetly, grinning down at the pulp that had once been Trueman's face. 'If you haven't told me the truth about where my Fifi is, I'll make sure they don't get a doctor to look at you until you have.'

It was half past two as Dan slid into the driving seat of the red Jaguar. He had blood all over his suit, his knuckles were raw and bleeding and he was shaky. He didn't even know where Bexley was apart from it being south of the river, but he saw there was a map in the glove compartment, and he'd check it out when he got as far as the Old Kent Road. It felt as if it ought to be eight or nine at night, definitely the longest day he'd ever known. But with luck he'd be with Fifi in an hour.

Dan swore aloud when yet another turning off Hurst Road only took him into a row of houses with no drivable access to the fields behind them. The rain was making visibility poor, and he thought now he should have waited for the police instead of coming alone.

There were very few people around, and those he'd stopped and asked if they knew of a lane with a barn had just looked puzzled.

Hurst Road was far longer than he had expected, and he'd now been up and down it so many times he half expected a police car to turn up suddenly because someone had reported him behaving suspiciously. While that might appear to be the best thing, he knew what police were like they'd probably ignore what he said, see the blood on him and haul him in for questioning.

Seeing a boy of about fourteen walking along Hurst Road with a greyhound on a lead, he stopped the car and got out.

'Do you know a lane anywhere off here that leads up to a barn?'

The boy was lanky and spotty, wearing an oilskin coat that was several sizes too big. He looked gormless.

'Yeah,' he said. 'Well, it ain't a lane so much, just a track.

I go up it with the dog sometimes.'

'Would you take me there?' Dan asked, and reached in his pocket and pulled out a ten-shilling note.

'I got to get home,' the boy said, but he was looking at the note as if he wanted it.

'I'll take you back there afterwards,' Dan pleaded. 'Look, son, it's really important. I think someone's locked my wife up in this barn. I've been trying for ages to find it, and I'm getting a bit desperate now.'

The boy's face became more animated. 'Cor!' he said. 'You mean like they kidnapped her?'

Dan nodded.

'So will they have guns up there?' the boy asked. He didn't look frightened at the prospect, only excited.

But the mention of guns reminded Dan of the one in his pocket and that Trueman could have been lying when he said the women were there alone.

'I don't think so,' Dan said. 'But I'll just have to take a look first and see how the land lies. You can hide up with your dog, and if anything happens to me, you scarper and call the police.'

'Okay,' the boy said eagerly, clearly not bright enough to exercise any caution. 'I like your car, are you a gangster too?'

Dan had to smile; the Jaguar did look like a gangster's car. A bricklayer certainly couldn't afford one. 'No, we're the good guys. I'm Dan Reynolds, what's your name?'

'Clive,' the boy said. 'And my dog is called Lightning. 'Cept he isn't like lightning, he's really slow, that why my uncle let me have him.'

'Come on then.' Dan opened the car door. 'In you get, Lightning can sit in the back.'

Dan would probably have never found the lane without help; as Clive said, it was just a track, and as the start of it was beside an old house it just looked like access to the back of it. It was very muddy too, and all Dan could hope for was that he wouldn't get stuck.

Fortunately as they drove up it there were enough stones and weeds for the tyres to grip. It was very winding and overhung with trees. Clive remarked that hardly anyone ever came up this way because the farmer who owned it didn't like people on his land.

'But he died last year,' he said. 'They say they're going to build houses on it soon.'

'You'll come to it in a minute,' he added as they approached the top of the hill. 'The lane goes on down to the farmhouse behind the wood. But no one lives there now.'

'We'd better drive on past the barn first,' Dan said. 'Just to check if there's anyone around. If anyone stops us we'll make out we're looking for our other dog that's gone missing. Okay?'

All at once Dan saw the barn up ahead. In the grey light it looked menacing, but at least it stood in open ground, and he couldn't see any vehicles other than a rusty old tractor. Dan slowed right down, looking about. It didn't look as if anyone had been here for some time as there were thick weeds growing in cracks on the concrete in front of the barn and they weren't flattened.

'No one's here,' Clive said, sounding disappointed.

Dan had slowed down to a crawl. 'There could be men inside the barn,' he said, suddenly scared, realizing perhaps too late that he shouldn't have asked the boy to come with him. 'Can you run fast?'

'I won the five hundred yards at sports day,' Clive said proudly.

'Is there any way back to the road other than the lane we came up?'

'There's a path down there.' Clive pointed towards some bushes. 'That's the way I usually come up.'Course you can't drive on it, it's only a footpath. And there's another lane out past the farmhouse, but that goes on to another road. That's like the proper way to the farm.'

'Right.' Dan nodded. 'We'll get out now, and you are going to go over by that path and call for the dog we've lost. I'm going over by the barn to do the same. Now, if anyone comes out and grabs me, I want you to leg it off down that path with Lightning and go and call the police. You tell them you met a man called Dan Reynolds who was looking for his wife Fifi. Tell them to come quickly. You got that?'