“And where’s your loyalty?” she retorted. “He was your brother!”

“I didn’t want to believe it.”

“Then did you confirm that evidence? Did you discuss it with French Intelligence?”

“Yes, and I trusted Daumier’s report. He’s a thorough man.”

“Daumier?” queried Jordan. “Claude Daumier? Isn’t he chief of their Paris operations?”

“At the time, he was their liaison to MI6. I asked him to review the findings. He came to the same conclusions.”

“Then this Daumier fellow is an idiot,” said Beryl. She turned to the door. “And I’m going to tell him so myself.”

“Where are you going?” asked Jordan.

“To pack my things,” she said. “Are you coming, Jordan?”

“Pack?” said Hugh. “Where in blazes are you headed?”

Beryl threw a glance over her shoulder. “Where else,” she answered, “but Paris?”

Richard Wolf got the call at six that morning. “They are booked on a noon flight to Paris,” said Claude Daumier. “It seems, my friend, that someone has pried open a rather nasty can of worms.”

Still groggy with sleep, Richard sat up in bed and gave his head a shake. “What are you talking about, Claude? Who’s flying to Paris?”

“Beryl and Jordan Tavistock. Hugh has just called me. I think this is not a good development.”

Richard collapsed back on his pillow. “They’re adults, Claude,” he said, yawning. “If they want to jet off to Paris -”

“They are coming to find out about Bernard and Madeline.”

Richard closed his eyes and groaned. “Oh, wonderful, just what we need.”

“My sentiments precisely.”

“Can’t Hugh talk them out of it?”

“He tried. But this niece of his…” Daumier sighed. “You have met her. So you would understand.”

Yes, Richard knew exactly how stubborn Miss Beryl Tavistock could be. Like mother, like daughter. He remembered that Madeline had been just as unswerving, just as unstoppable.