by Colin Forbes
'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 suitRIGHT SQUARE BRACKET'
'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.'
'It's very dark and quiet,' she commented.
'It will get darker and quieter. Here we are . . .'
Newman had been striding it out, occasionally switching on his torch, which he did now. Across a street Paula saw a steep muddy path mounting a high grassy hump.
'I don't see any walls.' she said as they began a slippery ascent.
'They're supposed to be underneath us.' Tweed told her. 'Actually the so-called walls are more like a huge embankment circling three-quarters of the town.'
Below them on their left was a deserted road. To their right were some miserable allotments beyond a few houses. Paula pointed down to the road.
'Wouldn't it be easier walking along the road? It seems to run parallel to this slimy track.'
'More dangerous.' Marler called over his shoulder, walking just behind Newman. 'Easier for someone to lie in wait for us. Always take the high ground.'
She noticed Marler had slipped the Walther out of his holster and was holding it by his side. As she took out her Browning Tweed called out quietly.
'Our interview with Ben will probably be uneventful.'
'Famous last words . . .'
They continued along the narrow path, descending every now and again from one hump to a track or road, then climbing again up another treacherous path. By the light of the moon Paula saw that beyond the outskirts of Wareham the fields everywhere were inundated under water. They trudged along further under a star-studded sky and Paula clasped her windcheater round her neck. It was bitterly cold even without a wind. Suddenly Newman raised a hand for them to pause.
'We're there. The path swings to the left and has now become North Walls. There is Bowling Green.'
He flashed his torch down into a grass bowl to their left. It was deserted as Marler took the lead, turning a right angle. Newman swivelled his torch over the whole bowl.
'No sign of Ben and his dog. He's probably on the footpath further along.'
'Look at all that water,' Paula remarked. 'There's a river and it looks as though it's overflowed.'
'It has,' said Tweed. 'There are two rivers hemming in Wareham. The one we came over when we crossed the bridge entering Wareham is the Piddle or - if you wish to be politer - the Trent.'
'Stay exactly where you are!' ordered Marler. Paula's heart began to thud at his tone of voice.
Marler was perched on a section of the path above Bowling Green where it turned to the west. He was aiming the powerful beam of his torch down into a swamp beyond the path where the Trent had flooded a huge area.
'Oh, Lord,' said Philip, who had walked behind Paula and Tweed, guarding their rear. 'It's Ben. He must have slipped.'
'Slipped, my foot,' said Newman grimly, 'and that's not meant as a joke.'
'No one else around, is there?' asked Tweed quietly, recognizing the most important factor.
'Not at this hour.' said Newman.
He held his torch steady and in the beam Paula saw part of the figure of a man protruding above the watery ooze. He was submerged to his waist and one arm was held still and upright, as though calling for help. The head was bent back at a grotesque angle.
Using his own torch and Newman's beam to light his way, Marler slithered down a steep bank, reached the edge of the flooded area, carefully trod one leg into the mud, found it sank halfway up his gumboot and then settled on something firm below.
Paula sucked in her breath as Marler reached out with one hand after taking off his glove, gently pressed a finger against the carotid artery. Hauling out his leg on to dry land to join the other, he made his way back up the slope.
'Well?' said Tweed.
'It's Ben. His neck is broken.'
'What about the dog?' Paula asked.
'Oh, he'd throw it into the quagmire as soon as he'd killed Ben. He wouldn't want it running round drawing attention to this place too quickly. So, everyone, there we are.'
'Where are we?' Paula asked in a dazed tone.
'The Motorman. Again.' said Marler.
14
Everyone - except one man - had returned to London from the Priory Hotel early the next morning. Tweed had been electrified by the discovery of the corpse at Bowling Green.
'We're getting out of Dorset fast.' he had informed his team, at a brief conference held in his room.
'Why the haste?' Paula had asked.
'Because that's the fourth murder, and one way or another several of us have witnessed the killings. We can't risk staying here until Buchanan asks some very leading questions. Also, I'm going to speed up the tempo from Park Crescent
Only Pete Nield had been left behind, with orders to keep his eyes open and report any developments. By ten in the morning Tweed was in his office with Paula, Newman, and Marler. Newman was telling Tweed how he had handled Franklin and Eve.
'I saw them separately. I explained to Franklin you had received an urgent message recalling you to London and left it at that.'
'How did he react?'
'That it suited him to get back to London to check the progress of several investigations . . .'
'And Eve?'
'She also said she would be glad to leave. Apparently she had a nasty stomach upset soon after we left to meet Ben. She retired immediately to her suite, she thought it was something she ate which disagreed with her.'
'Too many vodkas and cognacs, more like,' Paula said caustically.
The phone rang. Monica answered it, then motioned to Tweed.
'Arthur Beck is on the line from Switzerland. Says he'd like to speak to you urgently . . .'
'Trouble, Arthur?' Tweed enquired.
'I tried to get you last night. About eleven, your time, Monica had just gone home someone told me. Brazil landed at Cointrin Airport, Geneva, last night. Had a limo waiting for him. One of my men watching the airport saw him leave with that aggressive bastard, Carson Craig. The car was followed by two unmarked cars and a motorcyclist. It headed east for Ouchy and MontreuxRIGHT SQUARE BRACKET'