by Colin Forbes
'We'll send them to the experts.' Buchanan remarked, 'but I'm not hopeful we'll ever detect what was inside the safe.'
'Maybe I could help?' Tweed suggested. 'My people have been working on a very advanced technique for detecting what was written or typed on papers burnt to ashes. They've had a lot of success.'
'Really?' Buchanan thought about it as Sergeant Warden entered the tent. 'Then supposing I do give you a sample and you crack it? As a quid pro quo would you explain the technique to us?'
'Agreed.'
Buchanan carefully used a scoop to extract some of the ash, putting it into a samples bag Warden handed him and sealing it. Warden gave him a larger bag and Buchanan put the smaller one inside it, sealed the larger bag. He handed it to Tweed.
'That would be safer inside my shoulder bag.' Paula suggested.
'Here it is, then.'
Emerging from the tent Tweed and Paula, with Buchanan standing beside them, gazed at the wreckage. One chimney stack had survived and was surrounded with barbed wire. Buchanan pointed to it.
'Unstable. It will have to come down.'
'What a lot of history we're gazing it.' Paula said. 'Generations, some of whom probably feuded with each other. The end of an era.'
'It was very professional.' Buchanan informed Tweed. 'We know now that not only was petrol used but that it was backed up with thermite bombs. Ruthless.'
'I'll keep in touch.' said Tweed, 'whatever the outcome of our experiments. It may take a few days.'
'Is that all?' Buchanan sounded surprised. 'Maybe you are on to something…'
Tweed was driving off South Street, entering the Georgian square where the short lane led off it down to the Priory, when a parked car flashed its lights at him twice. He stopped. Paula produced her Browning automatic, touched Tweed's sleeve with her left hand.
'Be careful. There's no one else about. And this place is dark.'
Which was true. It was dimly illuminated with lanterns suspended from wall brackets.
A slim figure emerged from the car, which Tweed now saw was a Rover. He recognized Keith Kent, dressed in his suede jacket and well-creased grey slacks. He had his window lowered as Kent peered in, nodded to Paula.
'A word in your shell-like ear,' he said to Tweed.
'Shall I take the wheel and drive on to the Priory?' Paula suggested, relieved that it was Kent.
'Not necessary, my dear,' Kent assured her. He smiled. Because, unlike Franklin, he only smiled occasionally, when he did he gave the impression he genuinely liked someone. 'I'm sure you know at least as much as Tweed about what is going on.'
'We'll get out and wander round the square with you,' Tweed decided.
'Good idea. I prefer the three of us on our own. I phoned the Priory from a box in South Street. They told me you were still not back so I waited here. I've seen Bob Newman come back in that old Merc of his. A little while afterwards that chap Franklin returned with the girl, Eve Warner, and Philip Cardon in the back.'
It was eerily quiet as they walked over the cobbles round the deserted square. Tweed waited for Kent to speak.
'This investigation of Leopold Brazil you asked me to undertake. I could start in London – he has a place in the City. But my instincts tell me to fly over to either Paris or Geneva.'
'Geneva,' Tweed said.
'You'd like any other information I can pick up concerning Brazil? Apart from where he's been getting funds from, I mean?'
'Every crumb would be useful. You have carte blanche.'
Kent paused under a lantern, cocked his head on one side, a mannerism Paula had noticed when he was concentrating on every word.
'Carte blanche.' Kent repeated. 'That can be an extremely expensive item on the menu.'
'Spend what you have to.' Tweed said as they resumed walking. 'By the way, have you ever heard of a man called Marchat?'
'No, I haven't.' Kent said promptly.
A shade too promptly, Paula thought. And he was the first person who hadn't asked how it was spelt.
'Should I have heard of this character?' he enquired.
'I'd have been surprised if you had. I should tell you that Franklin runs a small chain of detective agencies, one in Geneva. The firm is called Illuminations. I'm telling you so you don't stumble over each other. He's also probably going to be checking out Brazil although I haven't asked him yet.'
'Will he know I'm investigating the same target?'
'No.' said Tweed. 'If he did it could become a muddle – and he'll be going about his enquiries in a different way from you. He hasn't your financial expertise.'
'So I know about him but he won't know about me?' Kent emphasized.
'You've got it.'
'Franklin struck me as a very able sort of bloke.' Kent remarked as they continued walking slowly round the square.
'He's ex-Military Intelligence.'
'A good background to run detective agencies. So if by chance I run into him, I'm there on private business?'
Which was typical of Kent, Paula was thinking. To dot every 'i' and cross every 't'. In the past he had proved to be enormously reliable.
'That's your best cover.' Tweed agreed.
'Did you find that odd little character Archie I mentioned to you at Bradfields?'
'Yes, we did. It was a short visit. I gathered Archie is on his way out of the country. Don't ask me where to -he's not very forthcoming.'
That's Archie. Never lets his left hand know what his right hand is doing. I rather like him. Gutsy.'
'You use him now and again for some purpose – or shouldn't I ask?' Tweed enquired.
'I wouldn't tell anyone else, but he makes a living, so he told me, by selling interesting news about important people to newspapers all over the world. Not sex scandals or any of that sort of dirt. Financial data -about some big company that's in deep water and no one else has caught on. He can spot the defect in a balance sheet as quickly as I can.'
'How did you get to know him?'
Kent paused, cocked his head on one side again, gazing first at Tweed, then at Paula.
'He got to know me. A friend in Paris couldn't give me what I was after but said Archie would contact me. For a price. I was shaving in my room in Paris at the Georges Cinq and he tapped on my door. He knew what I wanted to find out. And his fee was reasonable. Cash, of course. I don't think he believes in paying taxes.'
'You know how to contact him in Paris, then?'
'Heavens, no!' Kent chuckled. 'Not with Archie. When I go over there I'll be walking along the Rue St-Honore and suddenly he's strolling at my side. It's uncanny. I have wondered whether he has a pal at Charles de Gaulle Airport with access to the passenger manifests. That's a guess. I really like, admire him. Now, I've got the picture, so I'd better vanish. Do the Invisible Man trick – like Archie.'
'Keep in touch.'
'If you're away when I phone your office – which means probably Paula will be away, too – can I give a message to Monica?'
'Tell her anything. Keith, be careful. The Motorman is on the loose.'
'That's right, build up my confidence…'
Kent slipped behind the wheel of his Rover and was out of the square before Tweed and Paula entered the lane to the Priory.
'Could I have a word with you, sir? It's rather confidential, I gather.'
The proprietor leaned over the counter inside the hotel as though he'd been waiting for Tweed to appear. Paula, tactfully, nipped up the stairs to her room.
A moment later Eve appeared out of the lounge, holding a glass of vodka. She had changed into a green form-fitting dress, clasped at her waist with a gold belt and with a high collar.
'Come on, Tweed!' she called out. 'We're ail about to feed our faces down in the dungeon. Want me to get you a drink?'
'Not just at the moment, thank you. I'll join you soon.'
The proprietor waited until they were alone again, leaned closer to Tweed.
'The caller, a lady, emphasized I must not write down the message
, that I was to pass it to you verbally when you were on your own.'
'I think I am now.'
'The caller's name was Monica. She said the destination was Geneva. She repeated the name. Geneva.'
13
Tweed had mounted the stairs, thinking he was moving silently, when Paula's bedroom door opened. She was wearing a dressing gown and she beckoned him inside, then closed the door.
'It's all right. I'm decent. I'm just taking a quick shower and my new outfit is in the bathroom. Has there been a development?'
'Monica has reported that Brazil has flown to Geneva.'
'Geneva! You guessed right. How did you do it, when we know Brazil has HQs in Paris and Zurich, but no one has mentioned Geneva?'
'Partly for that reason. I'm beginning to get the measure of Mr Brazil. He's very secretive. So he's likely to conceal his real HQ. Plus the fact that Geneva is so international. And one other element you know about.'
That's right, tease me. What element?'
'The photograph of Marchat Buchanan told us about. It was wrapped in copies of the Journal de Geneve.'
'I should have remembered that. Incidentally, I'll wear my dove-grey suit."'
'You look good in that. Eve is dressed to kill. I saw her downstairs.'
'To kill Philip. What I was going to say was my dove-grey suit is warm. With a windcheater over that I'll be OK, however arctic it is outside, for our trip to see the barman, Ben, at Bowling Green after dinner.'
'I wasn't going to take you with us. It could be dangerous.'
'Which is why I insist on coming. I'll knock on your door when I'm ready. Five minutes?'
'Fine. I'm just going to have a quick wash. I have a lot to think about. Particularly a remark someone made to us today.'
'Which you won't tell me.'
'Not yet.'
'You are going to ask Franklin to check on Brazil – as well as Keith?'
'Yes, I decided when I got Monica's message.'
'You're throwing quite a net round Mr Leopold Brazil.'
'Big fish need a big net to catch them…'
At Cointrin Airport, Geneva, a white jet landed away from the main runways. A limousine with tinted glass drove up to the aircraft in the darkness. Brazil, accompanied by Carson Craig in an expensive business suit, descended the ladder and got into the back of the limo.
Bypassing Customs and Passport Control, the limo left the airport and drove out past the office blocks of famous international conglomerates. It cruised for a short distance, then speeded up as it drove onto the main road.
A plain-clothes detective at the airport phoned Arthur Beck, Chief of Federal Police, at his office on Kochergasse in Berne.
'Inspector Carnet here, sir. Talking from a phone booth at Cointrin. The subject has arrived, was met by a limousine as soon as the private jet landed.'
'And now you've lost him?' Beck suggested calmly.
'No, sir. Two unmarked cars and a motorcyclist are following the limo. It's headed east towards Ouchy and Montreux.'
'Keep me informed,' Beck instructed. 'But, as you have done, always call me on my private line…'
***
In the large stone-walled cellar at the Priory where dinner was served Eve, at the head of a long table, was holding forth. Tweed observed her bravura performance over Paula's shoulder as they descended the curving stone-flagged staircase.
'With that party,' Tweed told the head waiter.
'Welcome to the shindig.' Eve called out, waving a glass which, Tweed noted, had been refilled. In her other hand she held a cigarette. 'We've had a most super day.' she went on, flashing her smile at Tweed and ignoring Paula. 'Bill is a superb driver…' She paused and flashed the same smile at the man on her right. 'He's as good as Philip.'
Eve was flanked by Bill Franklin on one side, by Philip on the other. Tweed took hold of Paula's elbow to guide her.
'Paula can sit next to Bill.' Eve called out as though she would be obeyed as a matter of course. 'Tweed, your place is next to Philip
…'
'You're paying the bill?' Tweed enquired, still standing with Paula.
The question threw Eve. She was drinking more vodka when Tweed propelled Paula next to Philip and walked round the head of the table to sit next to Franklin. Newman occupied the chair at the other end of the table.
'You're in the wrong seats.' Eve said with vehemence.
'I'm sure we are.' Tweed smiled. 'But you see I am paying the bill. You really look rather relieved now.' he teased her.
'Oh, well. Sit where you like.' She looked sulky. 'I suppose you're not going to tell us what you've been up to with Paula.' she said suggestively.
'No.' Tweed responded amiably. 'As a matter of fact, I'm not even going to give you a clue.'
He saw Paula's expression tighten, about to say something. Under the table he touched her foot, signalling Let me handle this.
'Sounds as though you've really made the most of your time together.' Eve remarked, determined to pursue the subject.
'Can it.' said Philip.
Eve looked astounded. She turned to him. Her head was held high as she stared straight at him.
'What did you say to me?'
'I said can it.' Philip repeated. 'And go easy on the vodkas.'
Eve reacted by emptying her glass, calling for a refill, and lighting a fresh cigarette from the one she had just been smoking. Franklin, with a broad smile, intervened.
'We also had a busy afternoon. I took Eve for a tour of the Purbecks. We ended up in Worth Matravers, which, as I guess you know, is perched high up. We called in at a small pub which has a dramatic view of the sea. I was glad I wasn't sailing – the sea was a cauldron.'
'Funny little place, that inn.' Eve joined in. 'They didn't have vodka.'
'That didn't matter.' Franklin laughed good-humouredly. 'You made up for it drinking cognac. This lady.' he told everyone, 'has a head like a rock. I suspect she could drink me under the table…'
My God, Paula was thinking. Vodkas, then cognac, then more vodkas.
They had a leisurely dinner and Eve devoted most of her attention to Franklin. Philip seemed unaffected, turned instead to Paula and conversed with her and Tweed.
The atmosphere became jovial and jokey while Tweed was doing two things on the quiet. He checked his watch in his lap – they had to leave in good time to meet the barman, Ben, at Bowling Green. He was also observing Eve.
He decided she felt she always had to be the centre of attention. He suspected this was due to a well-hidden inferiority complex. And yet there were times when she was charming, turning to chat animatedly with Philip over coffee. Or was it that she didn't like him paying too much attention to Paula?
'I hope you won't mind.' he said as he signed the bill, 'but Philip and Paula are coming with me to a meeting with someone. I doubt if we'll be away more than an hour. Bill, could you once again entertain Eve?'
'It will be my pleasure,' Franklin assured him, and beamed.
'Can't I join you?' Eve pleaded. 'I've hardly been able to talk to Philip all evening.'
'Sorry. I really am,' Tweed told her. 'But it is about a confidential insurance problem which turns out to be urgent.'
That's all right, then.' Eve gave him a smile. 'I will wait up for Philip to get back.' She turned to Philip. 'Don't be too long, darling. Bill and I will be getting sozzled in the lounge.'
'I'm sozzled already,' Franklin said as they all stood up. 'But I'll keep up with Eve. My reputation is at stake…'
Tweed, after collecting his coat, followed Newman along the corridor on the ground floor of the Priory leading to the exit. Paula was behind him as Newman spoke to the proprietor, who had been studying sheets of figures behind his counter.
'We're going for a walk,' Newman explained to the proprietor. 'We need it after our excellent dinner. But we'll be walking along that towpath on the other side of the Frome…'
'It will be muddy, very slippery.' the proprietor warned, glancing at their shoes
.
'That's what I suspected.' Newman continued. 'Have you by any chance any spare gumboots?'
'Loads of them. Visitors leave them behind, forget them. I'll bring a selection.'
'Any for me?' Paula called out.
'I think we can oblige…'
They were all equipped with gumboots in minutes. Newman asked for a spare pair of gumboots, slightly smaller than his own.
'We're meeting a friend.' he said. 'And we'll leave our shoes in my car – that way we don't trample mud all over your carpets when we get back…'
Newman led the way to the Black Bear to collect Marler. The spare pair of gumboots fitted him well.
'Archie has gone to sleep and Butler is keeping an eye on his room.' Marler reported as Newman took them back the way they had come.
'As we're not going along the towpath why the gumboots?' Paula asked. 'And what's inside that canvas bag you're carrying?'
'You'll see when we climb East Walls.' Newman told her. 'And' – he opened the canvas bag – 'everyone should carry a powerful torch, so here you are. I always carry them in the back of the car.'
'And a very uncomfortable pillow that bag made.' Marler commented. 'I presume we're all armed. I've brought a Walther. Lord knows who we'll meet at this hour and at this time of night. Maybe The Motor-man.'
'Don't make jokes like that.' Paula protested. 'It's eerie enough here at night.'
Wareham was dead at that hour. There was not another soul in sight as Newman led them back into the square and by a complicated route past the spired church which loomed up close to the Priory. Tweed pointed to it as he walked with Paula.
'That's hundreds of years old. The hotel used to be a nunnery. Wareham is steeped in history.'
'What are these East Walls you mentioned?' Paula asked Newman.
'They're supposed to be the walls the Saxons built to keep out Danish invaders. They run along the eastern side of the town. Then there are North Walls and West Walls. They pretty much join up so you can walk round on the top of them and get a bird's-eye view of Wareham.'
'And South Walls, too?' Paula enquired.
'No. The River Frome provided a barrier to invaders so no walls were needed there.'
