The Cauldron

by Colin Forbes

  Shakily, Paula climbed to her feet with no trace of the faint, which she had faked. Marler appeared, holding his Armalite rifle. He had slipped out of Newman's car swiftly at a moment when Gene had looked back at Tweed. Positioning himself behind the wall of a house, he had focused his sniperscope on his target, firing once when the back of Gene's head was exposed.

  He walked towards Paula, who braced her legs, ran to him and hugged him.

  "Thank you. You saved my life.'

  'You saved your own life.' Marler drawled offhandedly. 'By pretending to faint you gave me the one chance I needed to fire a safe shot. Look, someone has stumbled out of the only house with lights on.'

  Paula swung round. Prendergast was standing in the road, a hand to his eyes as he peered along the road, trying to see what had happened. She ran to him, took him by the arm, guided him inside to minister to his eyes. She was glad of something practical to do to blot out the horror of her recent experience.

  Tweed was staring down at the bed of mud where Gene had disappeared. Newman and Marler joined him.

  'I think it will be a long time before that surfaces - if ever,' Tweed remarked.

  'And the tide is surging up the creek,' Newman observed. 'What happened? I was petrified - couldn't do a thing.'

  Tweed explained tersely the series of events.

  'And what are you both doing down here?' he asked. 'Arriving in the nick of time,' he commented, glancing at Marler.

  'We were talking outside behind my car in the courtyard.' Newman told him. 'We saw you leaving with Paula and decided to follow. I told you that you needed an armed escort.'

  'I should have listened to you. I'm very grateful to both of you. Bob, because you took the decision. Marler because of your superb shooting.'

  'Oh, I've had more difficult shots than that.' He looked along the road. 'And it appears that no one heard it.'

  'And the body in the mud is really disappearing without any trace.' Newman pointed out.

  Tweed looked down. The surge of the tide was slower as it reached the end of the creek but water now flowed over where Gene's body had fallen. He shrugged without a hint of regret.

  10

  Tweed was driving back to London by himself. The previous night he had instructed Newman while they still stood in the road by the creek at Forth Navas.

  Tm going back to London tomorrow.' He checked his watch. 'Or, rather, today. It's well after midnight. You stay here with Paula and Marler. First thing, Bob, is find out who is controlling the network of watchers VB has established down here. Special Branch can take whoever you unmask into custody.'

  'And the second thing?'

  'Enjoy yourself with your friend Vanity Richmond.'

  Marler smiled drily. Newman looked annoyed and made no reply, which intrigued Tweed.

  'Wait for me here,' Tweed then ordered. 'I'm going along to see how Paula is getting on with Prendergast.'

  He found Prendergast laid out on a couch with poultices over his eyes. Paula explained.

  'He won't go to a hospital so I've managed. I washed out his eyes thoroughly with water. The poultices I created out of two of his handkerchiefs, soaking them in cold water.'

  'I'm OK,' Prendergast broke in after removing one of the handkerchiefs. 1 can see you clearly - you've got a serious expression on your face.'

  Tweed then took Paula outside and repeated what he had told Newman and Marler. Returning to where they were waiting, he listened while Marler explained what he was going to do.

  "The thug came in his own car. I checked it after I'd shot him and he'd left the ignition key in the lock. So, wearing gloves, I'll drive it some distance from here and abandon it in an isolated field - after I've immobilized the engine. Newman picks me up in the Merc, afterwards.'

  'Good idea,' Tweed agreed. 'One thing more, Bob, I'm leaving Butler and Nield with you as back-up c'

  All this was going through Tweed's mind as he made swift progress along the A30. Again he was intrigued as he remembered the expression on Newman's face when he told him to enjoy himself with Vanity Richmond.

  'I think he's falling for her,' he said to himself. 'If so, what does it matter? Newman has his head screwed on and she'll never get anything secret out of him.'

  He also suspected that Paula liked the look of Maurice. I may have two romances on my hands, he ruminated. But both of them need some relaxation from the tension they have endured.

  Arriving at Park Crescent, the first person he met was Howard, who followed him into his office. As Howard sat down he again automatically shot his cuffs. Monica noticed he was still wearing the absurd cuff links, each shaped like a flower.

  'Well, how goes the battle?' Howard enquired genially.

  'Not so well at this stage.' Tweed replied from behind his desk, determined to get rid of him. 'Special Branch have got into the act. Don't ask for details.'

  'Special Branch!' Howard was outraged, his plump face even pinker. 'What the hell has it to do with them? We were asked to investigate VB. By the PM himself.'

  'I know. Somehow they've caught on to him all on their own.' He paused. 1 suppose you may have mentioned it casually at your club.'

  'You don't think I'm to be trusted?' Howard jumped up, looking more pink-faced than ever. 'I'll expect an apology for that suggestion. In your own time,' he snapped. On this note he stalked out of the room.

  'You really upset him,' Monica said with a smile.

  'I intended to. There's too much to get moving without him cluttering up my time. Have you anything to tell me?'

  'Yes. A report on Vanity Richmond. You're not going to like it... Not one little bit of it...'

  'I phoned Cord Dillon,' Monica began. 'At first he didn't want to say anything, but I told him she was here -therefore under British jurisdiction. That's when he got lurid about what he'd discovered about her.'

  'Lurid?'

  'I thought so. She's British, her father was, but her mother was French. Which might explain her career so far. If you can call it a career. Cord has nicknamed her The Butterfly.'

  'Why?'

  'Let me go on. She's attractive to men and she's lived off that. She's moved from one man to another in the States. All of them worth a packet of money ...'

  'Just a minute. Is she married - or has she been? Any children?'

  'No to both questions. She's very vain, which is why she's come to be called Vanity - instead of Vanessa, her real Christian name. Money seems to be her god. Her latest conquest is VB, who is susceptible to really attractive women. All this - except the VB bit - is rumour. But Cord said it was hard to pin her down. He can't explain how I couldn't trace her through that detective who used every known method of tracking someone down. No Social Security number, et cetera - in spite of the fact that she's spent a few years in the States.'

  'Sounds interesting.' Tweed commented.

  'Sounds like a manhunter.' Monica said indignantly.

  She watched Tweed, who was staring out of the window where the sun was blazing. The office was very warm despite the ceiling fans turned on. Tweed was thinking about Moloch.

  'Have you heard what I said?' demanded Monica acidly.

  'I heard every word,' he assured her, still gazing out of the window.

  'You don't seem very shocked.'

  'Different people live different lives,' he replied.

  'She sounds to me to be a predator.' Monica went on with feeling.

  'I told you - different people live different lives. I know you were brought up with a strict code of ethics -which is only one reason why you're here all the time. Another reason is your loyalty to me, your capacity for working incredibly long hours ...'

  'Flattery will get you nowhere.' she told him.

  'Mrs Benyon, VB's stepmother.' he said. 'And her son, Ethan. I need to know every tiny bit of information you can squeeze out about those two.'

  'I'm working on it.'

  'And VB's movements

  'Jim Corcoran told me he left Heathrow in the middle
of the night, bound for New York. Should be there by now. While the jet was being refuelled VB got out, walked about to stretch his legs. Corcoran had a camera, took several long-distance shots. I got a courier to send them fast. The Engine Room developed and printed them in record time. Here they are.'

  'He's quite a small man.' Tweed commented as he studied the pictures.

  'So was Napoleon.' she reminded him. 'Perhaps he has a bust of Napoleon at his Black Ridge headquarters.'

  'I doubt it.' Tweed was examining the photos with a magnifying glass. 'He doesn't look as though he has an inflated ego to me. What makes this man tick, is the question I keep asking myself. I'd like to meet him sometime.'

  'You probably will. I'm sure he knows about you.'

  'Can't waste any more time.' He handed back the photos to her. "Those are probably worth a fortune to a newspaper. He's rarely been photographed. That electronics factory that was blown to pieces in the Thames Valley - it was our most advanced plant, I gather?'

  'Yes, it was. No casualties because the bomb went off at night. All the staff had gone home. Even the guards were uninjured - they were patrolling a fence at a distance away.'

  'Significant. Now, we must build up a head of steam - I am launching a major offensive against Vincent Bernard Moloch...'

  Chief Inspector Roy Buchanan was startled to be summoned back to the Yard from Cornwall and told to visit Tweed on a matter of utmost urgency.

  'This is a new one for me.' he said to Sergeant Warden as he drove to Park Crescent. 'I usually have to force my way into the place.'

  'Perhaps you scared him down in Cornwall.' Warden suggested in his normal monotone.

  'Scared Tweed? Are you out of your mind? Here we are. I'm going to ask if he wants to see me alone. If so, you watch the car.'

  'See you alone?' Warden sounded resentful. 'You mean without me as a witness?'

  'I mean exactly that...'

  So it turned out. After a brief chat with Tweed on the phone in the entrance hall, Buchanan sent Warden back to the car, mounted the stairs. Monica was waiting for him with the door open. She stood aside to let him enter, then closed the door from the outside and went upstairs.

  'Just the two of us?' Buchanan asked. 'I've never known Monica not be here.'

  'Just the two of us,' Tweed agreed. 'Do sit down, and thank you for responding to my message so quickly.'

  'I was mystified,' Buchanan admitted.

  'I have information for you but it must remain confidential - one of the sources must remain anonymous.'

  'When I wanted to give you confidential information down at Nansidwell you refused to have your hands tied.'

  'That is quite correct.'

  'So why should I agree?'

  Buchanan, who normally sprawled in a chair, legs crossed at the ankles, during an interrogation, now sat upright in the carver chair placed for him. His manner was direct but far more friendly.

  'Because if you don't agree I can't give you data which might affect two murders.'

  'Then it's your duty...'

  'I said might,' Tweed repeated.

  'All right, I'll take a chance. Just between you and me.'

  'Someone I know who is now abroad,' Tweed said smoothly, 'rescued a woman swimming in from the Venetia. They pulled her out of the water but the poor woman died. From exhaustion. Possibly. They took three pictures of her, sent them to me. Her picture is the very image of another woman who Paula hauled ashore dead in California weeks ago. She did an Identikit of the Monterey woman. Look for yourself. The photos are the woman in Cornwall, the photocopy is Paula's Identikit picture.'

  He opened the envelope on his desk, spread everything out in front of Buchanan. The detective's face stiffened when he looked at the photos. He paused for several minutes before he spoke.

  'These photos are the pictures of a dead woman we found in a cove below Nansidwell. We had an anonymous call. Would that have come from this anonymous character who is now somewhere abroad?'

  'I was told a call had been made to a local police station.'

  'Truro.'

  'I see.' was Tweed's only reaction.

  'We kept this discovery quiet.' Buchanan pointed to the photos of the dead woman. "The pathologist who examined her said she had a heavy bruise on her back. We're treating it as a suspicious death.'

  'One more thing,' Tweed added, 'Moloch's floating cruise palace, the Venetia, was offshore when Paula hauled out the corpse from the Pacific near Monterey, six thousand miles or so from here. The Venetia was standing off Falmouth harbour when the body of the girl in the photos came ashore.'

  'Vincent Bernard Moloch.' Buchanan said, half to himself. 'I don't understand this. Both women look exactly alike. Your story doesn't hold water.'

  'It does if you assume they were twins. I worked that one out for myself. You're looking for twins, Roy. I'd like that photo splashed across every newspaper in the land. Do You Know This Woman?'

  'I could arrange that,' Buchanan agreed. 'Just the sort of headline the press loves these days. I'll have to consult certain people. May I mention your name?'

  'Certainly not. Under no circumstances.'

  'I thought you'd say that. You'll be kept out of it -purely because of your position.'

  'And,' Tweed said firmly, 'because I've helped you. Not that you've said anything yet.'

  'I do appreciate your cooperation. Really I do. Any chance of identifying who took the photos? Even just for my personal information, if necessary.'

  'No chance at all. Roy, you'd never identify one of your personal informants. Come off it.'

  'I take your point. May I take all the photos?'

  'Of course - they're copies.'

  Twins.' Buchanan stood up. 'It was clever of you to think of that. I may incorporate that in the carefully edited story we hand out to the newspapers. I think this justifies a press conference. I'd better get back now.'

  They shook hands before he left. As soon as he had gone Tweed rang for Monica on his intercom.

  Tweed brought Monica up to date on his conversation with the Scotland Yard man. She listened, memorizing every word.

  'Do you think he'll do it?' she asked eventually. 'I mean will he give the story to the press?'

  'I'm sure he will. He has no alternative. This means I've struck the first blow - only the first - in the offensive I'm launching against VB.'

  'I don't follow you.'

  "The tactic is to do everything possible to disturb VB. That picture of the dead woman who was dragged out of the sea in Cornwall is going to be splashed all over the newspapers. VB - and Joel Brand - will soon hear of it. That will alarm someone. And disturbed people make a fatal mistake - when they are unnerved.'

  'It might work.' Monica agreed.

  'It will work.' said Tweed with great force. 'I also want copies of those photos - and the Identikit Paula helped to create of the Pacific victim - sent post-haste to Cord Dillon.'

  'Why? If I may ask?'

  'You just did. I'm going to phone Cord later, tell him to do the same thing in California. To get those

  pictures into the papers over there - the San Francisco Chronicle, the Los Angeles Times and the local Monterey newspaper. Someone has to recognize those twins.'

  'You are getting the pot boiling. You sound strangely ferocious.'

  'I am ferocious. After the way that thug treated Paula. And what I've told you to do is only the tip of the iceberg. I'm going to attack VB from every possible angle. Get it moving, Monica ...'

  11

  In Cornwall Newman had spent time with Vanity Richmond. They had walked along a side road at the end of the hotel drive, had turned off it along a narrow rough lane, little more than a path, signposted Rosemullion. Vanity had suggested the walk.

  "The proprietor of Nansidwell told me about this track.' she explained. 'Apparently it leads to a wonderful view of the sea and hardly anyone ever finds it.'

  They were walking along a section where hedges lining high banks enclosed it. She lo
oked at him sideways, her eyes half-closed as she made the remark. Her expression almost hypnotized him. He smiled, thinking how attractive she was. Her greenish eyes and the

  enticing look she had given him made him want to grab hold of her in a passionate embrace. He resisted the

  temptation.

  'You strike me as a very lonely man.' she went on.

  'Not really.' he lied.

  It was quite a while since he'd had a girl friend. His time had been taken up with working for Tweed, an activity he enjoyed. Now he was beginning to wonder whether he was getting any fun out of life.

  'Have you got a girl friend?' she asked.

  'Not at the moment. I've been very busy.'

  'And yet you haven't written many articles the way you did at one time. You do seem very reserved.'

  "The morning isn't my best time. I'm rather an owl. I wake up, get going later in the day.'

  'Oh, come on, Bob. No need to look so serious. You need some relaxation. Cornwall is the place where people relax. What a lovely flower.'

  She reached up, picked a flower from the hedge, handed it to him with a ravishing smile.

  'Put it in my hair for me.' she requested, turning her back on him.

  He carefully inserted the flower, told Vanity it suited her. She swung round slowly. When picking the flower she had gone on tiptoe, revealing her shapely legs. While she was picking the flower, still reaching up to the hedge, she turned, gave him an up-from-under look. He had found it entrancing. Now she was close to him with no smile on her full lips. Her eyes stared into his, as though reading his mind.

  'Old slow-coach.' she said softly.

  He leaned forward to kiss her, touched her lips, and then she backed away from him and resumed her walk. His mind was racing, imagining what they could experience together. So why was the faint danger signal buzzing in his brain? Why did he suspect she had practised all these different expressions in front of a mirror - testing which would be the most desirable to a man? And why did he wonder if she was wearing contact lenses to give her eyes a greenish look?