by Colin Forbes
Tricky combination.' Newman intervened. 'Armaments - and chemicals. Sounds like advanced weapon systems. Don't like the sound of Mr Moloch.'
'Actually.' Tweed went on, 'Moloch's main interest at present is in electronics. He wants to dominate the world systems in communications.'
'He'll get stiff competition from Bill Gates of Microsoft in Seattle.' Newman observed.
'Maybe. Now, Paula, tell everyone about your experiences in California.'
They listened intently as she gave a precise report. She concluded with an encounter she'd had while staying at Spanish Bay.
'A very attractive English redhead called Vanessa Richmond kept trying to make friends with me. I was suspicious and evaded her. Another woman, an American, told me she was nicknamed by the locals "Vanity" Richmond. I think it was a jealous remark.' She turned to Tweed. Tell me,' she said insistently, 'isn't there something more menacing about this Moloch? What you have told us doesn't seem to me to justify the major effort we're making to track him.'
'You have enough information for the moment.' Tweed replied abruptly. He smiled to soften the impact. 'Now off you all go and enjoy yourself in Cornwall.' He stood up, his tone serious. 'But regard this as a dangerous mission...'
They travelled fast to Cornwall. Each had had a case packed for instant departure from Park Crescent. Newman left first in his beloved Mercedes 280E. He was passing Stonehenge when he saw Marler coming up behind him in his Saab. Later Paula appeared in her Ford Fiesta.
She was in an impish mood. When they reached a deserted dual carriageway she rammed her foot down, overtook Marler, then Newman. Grinning to himself, Newman slowed down and she disappeared from sight.
Still on the dual carriageway, Paula frowned as she spotted a blue Volvo roaring up behind her. The driver, alone at the wheel, was a brunette wearing large sunglasses. Paula felt sure she had seen her shortly after leaving Park Crescent. And a very similar-looking girl had been aboard her flight back from San Francisco.
'Interested in me, honey?' she said to herself, reverting to American phraseology.
She kept moving, maintaining her speed. Sunglasses dropped back but stayed within sight as Paula by-passed Exeter, crossed Bodmin Moor. By the time she had reached Nansidwell Country Hotel Sunglasses had disappeared.
The proprietor himself greeted her warmly but respectfully. She was shown to her room on the first floor which overlooked the parklike gardens, descending in lawn plateaux, the grass perfectly mown, and with a semi-distant view of the sea looking like an azure lake under brilliant sunshine. A tanker and a large freighter were waiting for permission to berth outside Falmouth harbour.
After a long soaking bath she dressed for dinner, went down the impressively wide staircase, saw Bob Newman was standing near the entrance inside one of two comfortable lounges. He smiled as though greeting an attractive stranger.
'Good evening. This is a lovely hotel. Have you been here long? Oh, I'm Bob Newman.'
'Paula Grey. No, I just arrived today. I gather dinner is 7.30 p.m. onwards.'
'It's only 6.30. I was just going for a look round outside. If you'd care to join me in my first exploration? Or maybe you'd sooner be on your own?'
'No, let's explore together. You're a birdwatcher? Those binoculars looped round your neck.'
"They're only for viewing distant points.'
Their conversation had been for the benefit of a couple sitting on a couch with drinks who were obviously taking in every word. As they wandered out of the main entrance, heading for the terrace at the rear of the hotel, Marler's Saab appeared at the end of the rhododendron-lined drive, swung at speed in a sharp circle to occupy a vacant space close to Paula's car. He never gave as much as a glance in their direction.
Paula froze. Parked next to Newman's Mercedes was a blue Volvo. During the journey she had never been able to see the registration number of the car driven by Sunglasses. "There are a lot of Volvos in the world. Stop getting so jittery.' she told herself. She and Newman wandered on round a corner onto a pebble path in front of the topmost grassy terrace. Here they had the same sweeping panoramic view Paula had from her bedroom window.
'What do you do for a living - if it isn't too personal a question?' she asked.
'Oh, I'm a foreign correspondent.'
They were now talking for the benefit for another couple with drinks before dinner who sat perched on a banquette seat by an open window.
'Really?' Paula continued. 'I vaguely seem to have heard the name,' she teased him.
I'm surprised. I've written the odd piece for one or two newspapers.'
She glanced out to sea and froze again, this time with a real sense of shock. The tanker had vanished. In its place was anchored a very large luxury yacht, a complex of radar above the main control bridge - and a Comsat dish. She had now seen a similar vessel starboard-on -once off Octopus Cove and again leaving the harbour at Monterey.
She walked further along the path, then across the grass, and stood by a small wall decorated with various plants. Newman strolled after her.
'Bob,' she whispered, 'that looks exactly like the yacht I saw standing offshore when that woman's body floated in to Octopus Cove.'
"That seems pretty unlikely.' Newman raised his binoculars, focused them on the vessel. 'It would be an extraordinary coincidence if you were right. Don't believe in them - coincidences.'
'So it's a different ship.'
'There are a few people in the world who could afford a toy like that. Must be almost three hundred feet long. Mind you, Tweed has many ways of finding out things. And you could have been right when you suggested he was holding back information.'
'So what is the name of the damned thing?'
'Tweed did know what he was doing. The name of that floating gold vault is Venetia V.'
As ordered, they occupied separate tables in the spacious and comfortable dining room which overlooked the gardens. Marler, typically, had manoeuvred it so he sat by himself at a corner table at the rear of the room with his back to the wall.
The meal was excellent, served by three girls who, Paula gathered by talking to them, were all local. As she ate, never glancing at Newman, conscious of Marler's presence a couple of tables behind her, she thought about what a beautiful building Nansidwell was.
Built of grey stone, covered here and there with creeper, it had deep windows with mullioned panes. A house with great presence. The proprietor had told her it had once been a private residence. Paula looked out of the window as dusk fell, making the rolling hills sloping down towards it from the south look like velvet. Gazing out to sea, she saw the brilliant glow of lights aboard the Venetia V and felt a chill despite its appearance of a luxury cruise liner.
She was eating her dessert when she had another shock. The door to the dining room opened and a woman walked in and sat at a table by herself close to Newman. A brunette, she wore tinted glasses, a blue designer dress, low-cut below the neck, which hugged her very good figure. Seen in profile she seemed very familiar to Paula and her mind flashed back to the woman at Spanish Bay who had attempted to get to know her.
God! Paula thought, I'm sure that's Vanity Richmond. But she was a glamorous redhead in California.
Leaving the dining room, Newman signalled to Marler, who - characteristically - was engaged in deep conversation in one of the lounges with an attractive woman. Marler had a gift for amusing conversation and his companion was almost choking with laughter.
Waiting outside in the dark, Newman suddenly found Paula alongside him.
'What's going on?' she asked. 'I saw you signal Marler.'
'I'm taking him with me down a secret path to a cove by the sea the proprietor told me about. I want a closer look at that ship.'
'I'll come with you.'
'No, you won't. The three of us together would give the game away if we were seen.'
'It isn't that. You think it might be dangerous.'
'All right. Tweed put me in command of this team. So I am
ordering you to stay in your bedroom.'
'Bossy so-and-so!'
She was going back inside when she returned quickly after checking no one had seen her.
'I'm sorry, Bob. I shouldn't have said that. I know you're in charge. I'll stay in my bedroom. Be careful.'
'Aren't I always?'
'No, you're not.'
She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze and went inside. A few minutes later Marler strolled out, smoking a king-size.
'Get rid of that.' Newman told him.
Marler bent down to stub out the cigarette while Newman told him about his plan. Taking out an empty packet, Marler slid the dead cigarette inside to leave no traces. Newman went on talking in a low voice.
'I'm carrying a .38 Smith & Wesson in my hip holster. What about you?'
'My faithful Walther automatic is hugging me. Look, there's a back way out just past my ground-floor room. I'll meet you at the other end of the house. That way no one sees us together if you stroll along the terrace c'
The narrow pathway down to the sea, sunk below high hedges on either side, descended steeply. With their eyes tuned to the darkness Newman and Marler avoided tripping over a spider-like pattern of tree roots. The trees enclosed them on both sides and created an a'I'mosphere of imminent danger.
The path twisted and turned, always shielded by hedges growing on banks high up. It was silent as they walked rapidly down and down until they reached the small cove. No one was about. The only sound was the swish of the incoming tide, then a foghorn began to boom eerily as a mist rolled in.
'Just what we needed.' Newman commented.
'Someone is swimming in towards us.' said Marler. 'I think it's a woman. Quite a way out and I think they're tiring. I'd better strip off and go out.'
'Wait a minute.'
Newman was focusing his binoculars. He gazed through them for several minutes, then lowered them from his eyes.
'She's got her second wind, is swimming strongly. And she is heading for this cove. What was that?'
'That.' said Marler, 'was undoubtedly the crack of a rifle shot. But she's still coming. Even a top rifleman won't hit her from that distance. They must be firing from that Venetia V ship you told me about on the way down the path.'
The swimmer came on with powerful strokes. No more shots. The mist had blotted out the ship. Newman and Marler were waiting for her when she reached the end of a concrete ramp. As she tried to crawl ashore they lifted her gently and carried her, choking, to the path, where they laid her down.
The woman, hair flat against her well-shaped head, was clad in a swimming costume. She reached up with one hand to pull Newman closer to her, her grip on his arm surprisingly strong. He bent close to listen to what she was trying to say.
'Quack... Quack ... Prof. Benyon ... Quack...'
Then her head slumped back and she was still. They tried every known means to bring her back to life. Eventually, exhausted, Newman stood up, shook his head.
'No good, Marler. She's dead. No pulse. Nothing. She took in too much water during the swim, would be my guess.'
'We'd better report it...'
'And have the police on our backs for God knows how long? Tweed wouldn't like that. This is going to seem obscene but it has to be done.'
He took out the camera he always carried, stood close to the poor woman and took three flash pictures. With a sigh he left the cove, led the way back up the path towards the hotel.
'I'm going to make an anonymous phone call to the police in Truro when we get back,' he told Marler. 'Driving through that nice village of Mawnan Smith I noticed a public phone box.'
'Why Truro? Falmouth is closer.'
'Because then the police won't associate the call as coming from anywhere near here. At the same time I'll call Tweed, get him to send a courier straight down to pick up the film in my camera. The boffins in the Engine Room basement at Park Crescent can develop and print the pics I took. At the same time I'll ask Monica to report it to Truro.'
'Sounds sensible. We don't want anyone else seeing what you photographed. We tell Paula?'
'Not yet.'
When he eventually returned to Nansidwell after making his phone call Newman had a word with the proprietor.
'I've got a courier coming down from London with some urgent documents. He could arrive early in the morning. Mind if I sleep in my clothes on a couch near the front door?'
'You'll end up with a crick in your neck,' the proprietor joked. 'Of course I don't mind. I'll show you how the special lock on the front door works.'
The sturdy, tough Harry Butler arrived at 3 a.m. He had approached discreetly, cutting out the engine of his motorcycle when he saw the entrance to Nansidwell. He freewheeled down the drive and Newman, who was restless, had the door open when Butler arrived.
Stepping outside, Newman saw the precautions Butler had taken: he wore a dispatch rider's outfit and the invented name of a courier service was -attached to his machine. He took the camera Newman handed him, holding his helmet in the other hand. He kept his voice down.
Tweed is sending me back with prints as soon as the Engine Room lads have done their stuff. I should be here again while you're eating breakfast.'
"Three hundred miles there, another three back - that's a tough ride, Harry.'
'I've done more. The photographic team has been alerted to wait for me. We're speed merchants, Bob. I'd better get cracking...'
Newman crept back to his room after locking up. He had a leisurely bath, and slipping his revolver under his pillow, fell fast asleep. He woke at 7 a.m. - Newman could get by on four hours' sleep. He stayed in his room to avoid any risk of being conspicuous and entered the dining room at 9 a.m. Paula was at her own table, finishing off a full English breakfast. He marvelled at how slim she remained - she always ate large meals when she could. He thought how attractive she looked, wearing a pale blue T-shirt, white linen trousers and white pumps.
As he sat down the brunette was about to leave her table, still wearing tinted glasses. He estimated her height at five foot six against his own five feet nine and again she wore an outfit which showed off her figure to full advantage. She sat down again when she saw him, poured herself more coffee. He was careful not to catch her eye.
Newman had just ordered his own full English breakfast when one of the serving girls came over and bent down to whisper.
"There's a courier outside who has asked for you. He insisted he must see you personally. Don't worry about your breakfast. I'll wait until you get back...'
Butler, still in courier kit, was waiting for him in the large courtyard a distance from the hotel. This time he kept his helmet on. Smart, Newman thought as he went over to him - Butler had realized at this hour guests would be about. Handing him a large cardboard-backed envelope with nothing on the outside to indicate its source, Butler raised his helmet, began talking in a low voice.
'Tweed's instructions are for you to stay down here. All of you. I have to back you up. I've left my case at the Meudon Hotel just down the road. Tweed may arrive here himself - on the pretext of keeping Paula company. He said it's important we check Mullion Towers, Moloch's place out in the wilds.'
Newman said nothing as, with his back to the hotel, he carefully unsealed the envelope and withdrew three large glossy prints. The face of the dead swimmer had come out even better than he had hoped for. He slid them back as Butler went on talking.
'You'll see I've removed the courier sticker from the machine. If you need me, call the Meudon. I'm registered as Butler. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.'
"That gives me unlimited scope for any risky enterprise.' Newman joshed him. 'And thank you, Harry. You look amazingly fresh after your long trips.'
'Who needs sleep?'
Butler pulled down his helmet, turned to his machine, and when Newman swung round the attractive brunette was coming out. He acknowledged her briefly, went back inside.
Paula was sitting by herself, legs neatly crossed as she appeared to b
e absorbed in a magazine. Newman paused by her side, pointed to something in the magazine.
'We need to meet. All three of us. But not obviously. Inside this place.'
'My room.' she said promptly. 'It's large. I'll leave the door unlocked ...'
Marler stood in the other lounge, staring out of the window at Venetia V, still floating outside the entrance to Falmouth harbour. His acute hearing had caught the lowered voices. He swung round and there was no one else in the lounge as Newman approached him, the envelope tucked under his arm.
'Meeting in Paula's room. The door will be unlocked. You slip in after a few minutes.'
'Understood. Paula has just left the other lounge...'
Ten minutes later Newman and Marler had joined Paula in her spacious room on the first floor. She had already prepared for their conversation - the small radio she always took with her on hips was playing classical music and she had turned on both bathtaps and left the bathroom door open. More than enough to scramble what they said if someone was trying to eavesdrop.
'Harry Butler is staying at Meudon Hotel just down the road.' Newman began. 'Under his own name. Tweed himself may come here suddenly. If he does, he'll know you, Paula, but none of the rest of us.'
'What's happening?' Paula interjected. 'Tweed sounds to be assembling a powerful force in this area.'
'Do let me finish.' Newman requested. "The main target for us is Moloch's mansion, Mullion Towers. I've checked it on the map. It's right in the wilderness so far as I can tell.'
'So he's very concerned about Moloch.' Paula mused.
'If you'll just let me proceed.' Newman told her with mock severity.
'I'm a mute,' Paula replied and put her hand across her mouth. 'Do go on - and on and on.'
Newman then told her of his experience with Marler the previous night, when they had brought the woman swimmer out of the water. Paula was startled, appalled.
"This is a repeat performance of what I experienced back at Octopus Cove. It's amazing.'
'It's significant.' Newman agreed. 'Considering Venetia V was present on both occasions. I'm convinced now the reason Tweed sent us down here was he knew that ship was heading for Falmouth, was due to reach here very soon.'
