The Cauldron

by Colin Forbes

  'No.' Linda was emphatic. 'Both were very tight-lipped when I brought up that subject. I think that was part of their contract - that they revealed nothing of what they heard or saw at Black Ridge. And he paid them very well. I don't know how much, but they started appearing in more expensive clothes.'

  'Surely they must have said something. After all, you were their sister.'

  'Not a thing.'

  'And did you get any impression of the relationship between VB and Joel Brand from them? I mean who wielded the power?'

  'Brand was in charge of most operations, I gathered. But it was VB who took all the decisions. Brand carried them out. To that extent I suppose, he had power.'

  'Was there any member of VB's staff either Cheryl or Julie disliked?' Tweed enquired.

  'Yes. They both detested his accountant, Byron Landis.'

  'May I ask why they detested this man?'

  'Of course you may. He treated them as intruders. VB would send one of them to fetch certain documents from Landis. He always insisted on taking the documents to VB himself as though they were spies.'

  'Curious.' Tweed drank more coffee, sat back in the chair in his most relaxed manner. 'I appreciate your answering my questions so frankly. Oh, surely VB hired a private investigator to try and trace your sisters?'

  Linda Standish had responded to all his previous questions immediately but now she paused. What had been a gentle interrogation stalled. She lifted a hand, smoothed down her straight brown hair.

  'Why would he do that?' she eventually asked.

  Wrong reply. She should have said she certainly hoped he had - or something like that.

  'An obvious move, I'd have thought,' Tweed remarked.

  'Well, if he did ...' Linda had recovered her poise, 'I certainly never heard about it.'

  Tweed ended the interview, making a sympathetic remark. He offered to get her a taxi but she said she preferred a walk in the glorious weather.

  In his taxi on the way back to Park Crescent Tweed felt he had accomplished something. Standish had lied. Why? Had VB hired her? And if she would lie about that had she lied to him about something else?

  15

  Returning to Park Crescent, the front door was opened by George, the security guard and one-time police sergeant employed by Tweed for years. A short, nimble man with a strong jaw, he put a finger to his lips, whispered.

  'You have a visitor in the waiting room. Chief Inspector Buchanan. Monica said to warn you, Mr Tweed.'

  "Thank you, George

  Tweed opened the door, peered inside where Buchanan was glancing at the latest newspapers. Tweed greeted him, invited him upstairs.

  'I know now what it's like,' Buchanan joked as he entered Tweed's office, 'to be held in a prison cell. The door to that room is self-locking.'

  'We have to take precautions. Something to drink, Roy? Tea? Coffee?'

  'Not this time.' He looked across at Monica as he sat down. 'Although I know Monica makes excellent coffee. Where have you been, Tweed?'

  'Out to have my hair cut, if you must know.'

  "They did a good job. Makes you look younger.'

  "Thank Heaven for small mercies. What brings you here, Roy?'

  'Colorado Junction, that American electronics plant in the Thames Valley which was destroyed by a bomb. No casualties. A businessman who lives opposite it has been away for a few days. He called me, said someone was watching the plant twenty-four hours a day before the bomb went off. He thinks the watcher was checking the routine of everyone who worked there.'

  'So?'

  'No casualties,' Buchanan repeated. "The workforce was mostly British. Our technical people with the Bomb Squad report it was detonated by radio from a distance.'

  'So?' Tweed said again.

  'It looks as though whoever blew it up was anxious there should be no casualties. Not often that a bomber takes all that trouble.'

  'Or the man who ordered the plant's destruction, you're thinking?'

  'Now you're ahead of me. Have you any idea who is responsible?' Buchanan asked.

  'Could be anyone.'

  'Could it be Vincent Bernard Moloch?' Buchanan suggested.

  'Your guess is as good as mine.'

  'When you get that poker-faced look I know you're concealing something.'

  "That comes from staring at myself in the hairdresser's mirror. I dislike getting a haircut. It's a bore.'

  'A clever reply.' Buchanan responded. 'And I suppose you personally never knew of Adrian Penkastle? A drunk stabbed to death in Cornwall. Place called Forth Navas.'

  'Yes, I know about that.' Tweed said promptly, to Buchanan's surprise.

  'He's admitted he knows something.' Buchanan said with mock severity, glancing at Monica.

  'If he knows he'll tell you.' Monica said pertly.

  'If it suits him. Mind telling me, Tweed, how do you know about him? There's been nothing in the papers. We've kept it quiet.'

  'Newman told me. He was down in that area. All the locals were chattering about it in the pubs. It isn't all that often they have a murder to gossip about, I imagine.'

  'An interesting fact has emerged.'

  Buchanan had produced a map, spread it out over Tweed's empty desk. As he did so Paula walked in with a suitcase. She smiled at Buchanan.

  'You were there.' Buchanan accused her. 'So was Tweed.'

  'Find Tweed, you sometimes find me there too.' Dumping her suitcase in a cupboard, she ran her fingers through her dark hair. 'Where is there?' she asked.

  'Here.' Buchanan pointed to the map and Paula came over to look. 'At Forth Navas. You know the place, Miss Grey?'

  'Yes.' She smiled inwardly at Buchanan's frowning reaction to her instant cooperation. 'I went to a dance with Bob Newman. Organized by the local squire, Colonel Grenville.'

  'I see.' Buchanan sighed. 'We're talking about Adrian Penkastle.'

  "The man who was murdered. So was everyone at the dance. Talking about Penkastle.'

  'Well.' Buchanan turned to Tweed while Paula studied the map, 'we find out Penkastle often took a walk along this road by the side of the creek'. Then he vanished. My bet is he was visiting someone. The question is who?'

  'Got an answer?' Paula asked him cheerily.

  1 hoped either you or Tweed might know the answer.'

  "There are a number of houses along that road.' Paula told him. 'Why not send someone down to check each one.'

  'I have done just that,' Buchanan said grimly. "Thought I might get a short cut by coming to see you.'

  'Don't look at me,' replied Paula.

  'And don't look at me,' Tweed added.

  'Now you've gone dumb on me.'

  'No, we haven't,' Paula told him. 'We've been chattering away to you. Don't frown so often - gives you wrinkles in your forehead.'

  'You have no information to give me at all, then?'

  'Yes, I have. I've just returned from a holiday in Cornwall. The weather was wonderful. But you know that, Chief Inspector. You were down there yourself.'

  'I've never heard of anyone here taking a holiday.' Buchanan grumbled as he folded up the map.

  'Oh, I have a good boss,' Paula informed him merrily. 'He thinks we all need a refresher now and again.'

  'Which is why the lot of you trooped off down there.' He stood up. 'Pull the other leg, it's got bells on.'

  'Don't see any bells,' Paula replied.

  'And Tweed hasn't said a word.'

  Buchanan prepared to leave. He stared round the office with a dissatisfied expression. "This place is like a bank vault.'

  'Have to keep the money somewhere.'

  Tweed still hasn't said a word.'

  'Don't know how I'd have got in a word edgeways with all of you chirping away like magpies. I'll see you down, Roy,' Tweed offered.

  'Don't bother. I should know the way by now.' His tone became ironic. 'Thank you all for your cooperation.'

  * * * *

  "That was pretty amusing,' Paula said after Buchanan had gone. 'H
e expected us to deny we knew Forth Navas - or to refuse to answer.'

  'You're right.' Tweed agreed. 'That was bright of you to mention the dance.'

  "The trouble is it raises a more serious question. Who was Adrian Penkastle going to see? From Buchanan's description of the dead man's movements he could easily have been visiting Maurice Prendergast at The Ark frequently. Why?'

  'That's a wild assumption.' Tweed objected.

  'I noticed that when we were there Maurice, after watching us approach, left the net curtain over the right-hand window half open. Could have been a signal to Penkastle not to call - that he had other visitors.'

  'Another wild assumption.'

  'May I ask.' intervened Monica, sensing a row brewing up, 'why Paula has returned so suddenly? I didn't know anything about it.'

  'You were out of the room when I called her at Nansidwell.' Tweed explained. 'I'm going to withdraw the whole team - one by one - so there won't be any sign they're together. We don't know who is watching that hotel. I'm getting to know how VB operates. Wherever he is he has unlikely people employed as spies, to see what's going on. Probably has another network in the Carmel area. Either of you make any sense of this?'

  He produced a map of California he had brought back with him from Professor Weatherby. It had more squiggly lines on it curving up from southern California to the north. At the bottom was a signature in tiny script. Ethan Benyon.

  Paula and Monica stood on either side of him as he spread it out on his desk.

  'This map.' he informed them, 'was extracted from an old file by Weatherby, who was having a clear-out.

  Unknown to him, Ethan was working on a highly original project. I won't give you details - except that Weatherby is now alarmed. There were other papers in the rile but he let me bring this map away.'

  'Doesn't mean a thing to me.' Monica commented after examining the map.

  'Me neither.' Paula said.

  'I draw your attention to the line marked "San Moreno fault". Ignore the notorious San Andreas fault which wrecked San Francisco in 1906.'

  'I've never heard of it.' Paula admitted.

  'Few people have. I suspect Ethan discovered it. Also notice that large red line in the ocean near Big Sur.'

  'What is it?' Paula asked.

  'I have a vague idea, but too vague at the moment to go into. I need to know if some kind of vessel is operating off Big Sur. I've got it. Standish could tell me ...'

  He explained to Paula who Linda Standish was, gave her a brief update on his conversations with the American private investigator.

  'Well, now we know who they were - and that they were twins.' Paula remarked. 'No wonder they looked so alike. I'd begun to think I was losing my grip. And Standish has linked her sisters with Moloch.'

  'Which might not be the end of the story.' Tweed said.

  'What does that mean?'

  "That I'm keeping all my options open.'

  'Now he's going cryptic on us.' Monica grumbled and returned to her desk.

  Tweed refolded the map, locked it away in a drawer. He looked at Paula.

  'What does AMBECO stand for?'

  'A for Armaments, M for Machine tools, B for Banking, E for ElectronicsRIGHT SQUARE BRACKET'

  'Stop there.' Tweed interjected. 'Think again about the map I showed you, and about the report on Moloch compiled by Monica, especially what happened to him when he first arrived in America.'

  'Sorry, I'm all at sea.'

  'Monica ...' Tweed switched his attention to her. 'Newman and Marler must come back to London, so get hold of one of them. Tell them an emergency is imminent, that they're to return instanter.'

  Newman was lying in long grass by the side of the road close to The Grange, gazing through field glasses. He reported what he saw to Marler, at his side, who had the monocular he favoured, to check he wasn't missing anything.'

  'We've struck oil. Colonel Grenville is carrying suitcases out to where his car is parked. He's on the verge of leaving.'

  'By air,' Marler informed him. 'His luggage is festooned with British Airways labels. Can't read the destination.'

  'And he's in a hurry. That chap's fit. He's hurtling in and out of the hall like a rocket. Golf bag too. He's off somewhere abroad where there are golf courses.'

  'Could be anywhere ...' Marler paused. 'Don't move - to our right there's another watcher. Up a tree with binoculars. Move your head very slowly.'

  Newman did what Marler had suggested. He stared. Up the stunted oak, not high enough to see them hidden in the grass, was Maurice Prendergast.

  He also was gazing at The Grange, watching Grenville's hurried arrangements for departure. His car, turned to move off in the opposite direction, at the foot of a steep hill, had to have arrived a while after Newman and Marler had commenced their vigil. Why hadn't they heard him coming? Then Newman got it - crafty Maurice

  must have freewheeled down the hill with his engine turned off.

  As he watched he saw Maurice suddenly shin down, run to his car, dive inside, start up the engine and drive off and out of sight. Marler nudged him.

  Time to go. Grenville is locking his front door...'

  They both ran down the high-hedged side road. Newman blessed his foresight in parking the Merc, in a field out of sight. He jumped in behind the wheel and Marler joined him in the front passenger seat, then picked shreds of grass off his immaculate linen suit. Even in an emergency he was always careful about his appearance.

  They were driving off towards Constantine before Grenville had started down towards his exit, using his monitor to open the electronically controlled gates. Newman pondered the situation as the Merc, vanished over the crest of the hill.

  'I'd like to have followed Grenville, find out where he's off to.'

  'We can't.' Marler lit a king-size. 'We haven't paid our bill or picked up our cases from Nansidwell.'

  'I'll call Tweed from that phone box in Mawnan Smith. Weird that Prendergast was watching him too...'

  Newman was leaving his room after checking his watch. He had arranged for Marler to leave fifteen minutes after him. During his call to Park Crescent he had been given Tweed's latest instructions by Monica before he spoke to Tweed, reporting the latest developments.

  He was paying his bill in one of the lounges, accepted the receipt, was on his own for a moment, when Vanity touched his arm.

  'Running out on me, Bob?'

  'Just had a tip about a big story about to break in London,' he replied quickly.

  'But you've stopped writing.' she said shrewdly.

  'I'm bored. I feel like going back to work for a while. It's been great knowing you.'

  'I'm leaving too. Couldn't we drive back together? It only takes me ten minutes to pack.'

  'I've heard that one before.'

  Time me...'

  'I'm sorry, but I have to leave now.'

  'Bob.' she touched his arm again, 'take me out for a drink at the Lanesborough this evening.'

  He looked at her and she was giving him her most appealing smile, the high colour in her cheeks glowing, as were her eyes. He felt a sense of passion for her.

  'Eight o'clock at the Lanesborough suit you?'

  'I'll be there. Drive carefully.'

  She kissed him lightly on the mouth and was gone. He cursed himself as he hurried to his car. But he was also aware he felt excited at the prospect of not losing touch with her.

  He was well on his way along the A30 when, in his rear-view mirror, he saw Vanity's car coming along the dual carriageway like a thunderbolt. She swept past him, exceeding the speed limit, waved a hand and streaked into the distance.

  Behind him now, a few hundred yards away, was Marler in his Saab. Newman waited until he reached a parking area, signalled, drove in and stopped. Marler pulled in behind him, jumped out and leaned in his window.

  'Vanity left shortly after you did. She's an expert tracker behind the wheel of a car. She kept just out of sight of you when she caught you up for quite a while.'<
br />
  'So she can pack in ten minutes.' Newman commented. 'I've an idea she'll be waiting for me further along, waiting to follow me to see where I go. If necessary I'll give her the slip in London. Let's get back on the road. I think Tweed is almost ready to go somewhere ...'

  He proved to be right. Passing another lay-by later he saw her parked inside it. She had the engine running and moved out after him as soon as he had passed. Newman was annoyed - he omitted to wave to her. In the distance behind her Marler followed in his Saab.

  Reaching London, which he knew like the back of his hand, Newman chose a roundabout route to reach Park Crescent. Seeing a one-way street where traffic could only come in the opposite direction, he took a chance. Turning into it he saw in his mirror Vanity following at a distance of about twenty yards. As he reached the end to emerge into a street of two-way traffic he saw a van approaching him.

  The driver honked his horn. Newman took no notice. As he drove on he saw the van enter the street, blocking Vanity's further progress. She was nowhere in sight when he arrived at Park Crescent.

  'Very strange.' Tweed remarked as Newman, his case by his side, sat in the armchair and told him of the incident. 'Maybe she was worried you wouldn't turn up at the Lanesborough.'

  'I doubt that.'

  'Did you get her address? Where she's staying?'

  'No. I didn't really think to ask for it - and she never brought up the subject...'

  Marler, carrying his own suitcase, walked in. He gave a little salute to Monica, who liked him. Then he grinned at Newman.

  'You gave her the slip cleverly. She had to back all the way down that one-way street. I tried to follow her but a traffic jam got in the way.'

  Tm going back to my flat.' Newman stood up. 'For a bath and a change of clothes. Where do you think Grenville is off to?'

  'We'll find out. You've had a long drive. Go home -both of you.' ordered Tweed.

  He waited until the two men had left before looking across at Paula.

  'Can't understand why Bob didn't try to get her address. Most men would have done.'

  'It's clearer than your glasses, which need cleaning. The dust in this heatwave gets everywhere. Bob is in a whirl about the glamorous Vanity - but he doesn't completely trust her, I'm sure. So, he's waiting to see what happens at the Lanesborough.'