Vorpal Blade

by Colin Forbes

  'Which you won't reveal to us yet,' Paula complained. She stood up, peered out of the window through the thick net curtains. 'A car followed us from the ACTIL building, a brown Volvo with one man behind the wheel. It's still out there.'

  'Probably Special Branch,' Newman remarked. 'Is Harry Butler on the premises?'

  'Yes, he is,' Monica replied.

  'Could you call him? Ask him to go out and persuade that driver it's time he moved on.'

  'Knowing Harry, I wouldn't like to be that driver,' Paula commented.

  Harry Butler was only five feet five tall but his body was burly, his shoulders wide. His face rarely revealed any expression, but no mugger ever approached him. Wearing a heavy windcheater, the material worn and shabby, his powerful legs were covered in equally shabby jeans and his feet were encased in heavy boots.

  He left the building by a back entrance, coming up on the parked Volvo very silently. He could see the squat driver through the rear window, holding a pair of field glasses aimed at Tweed's windows.

  'Right, matey,' he said to himself. Walking round to the driver's side as it began to get dark he tapped on the window. The squat man lowered his glasses, glared with piggy eyes at Butler, who continued tapping. The driver lowered the window. Butler immediately leaned both brawny arms on the window so it couldn't be closed again. His large right hand was closed in a fist.

  'What the friggin' 'ell do you want?' the driver snarled.

  'This is a nice area,' Harry said cordially. 'Not one for voyeurs. Expect you've been salivatin' while you spy on some poor girl takin' a shower. Go back to the East End to the hole you crawled out of. Shove off.'

  The driver reached down to his side, pressed the button to shut the window. The pressure of Harry's strong arms held it open. The driver gave up, glared at Harry.

  'Get your flamin' arms off my window.'

  'I'm not a patient man.' Butler opened his fist, revealed he was holding a small canister, the nozzle aimed at the driver's face, his thumb close to the release button. 'See this? It's Mace. I press the button and you get an eyeful, two eyefuls. Last guy I used it on couldn't see for over a week. Very painful.'

  'That's illegal.'

  The driver's voice was less aggressive as he stared at the small canister. Butler smiled pleasantly.

  'It would be your word against mine. You'd be screamin' in agony. So be sensible. Key's in the ignition. All you have to do is turn it, shove off.'

  'I'll remember your face,' snapped the driver.

  'Do that. Just hope you don't meet me in a dark alley. Now, on your way, sonny . . .'

  The driver suddenly grabbed the ignition key, turned it quickly, released the brake, rammed his foot down on the accelerator, aiming to hit Butler with the side of his car as he shot forward. Which is what Butler had expected so he had already nipped round the rear of the Volvo, standing on the pavement.

  The car rocketed to the other end of the Crescent, scraped the side of a Mercedes, both cars stopped. Butler could see them shaking their fists as he returned to the building.

  'Terrible drivers on the roads these days,' he said to himself.

  'That brown Volvo has gone, collided with another car,' Paula reported, sitting down at her desk.

  'Of course it has,' Newman replied. 'Harry Butler has his little ways. Incidentally, I was aware it was following us from ACTIL. Saw it in my rear-view mirror. Didn't think it was worth mentioning.'

  'Bob,' Tweed addressed Newman, 'Roman Arbogast mentioned as we were leaving that one of the guests tonight is a Black Jack Diamond, a friend of Sophie's. I've heard the name but know little about him.'

  'There's a story. Can't say I admire Sophie's taste in men friends. He's good-looking, a professional womanizer, and he used to be a big-time gambler at blackjack. Hence his nickname. Used to play at Templeton's, the swish club in Mayfair. Skilled. Won huge sums. One night the club had to send out to their bank for more money - he'd cleaned them out. Came in an armoured car. He cleaned up that lot. Became so rich he bid for Templeton's, bought the place. Stopped gambling immediately. Now he runs the club. Athletic type. Diamond is his Christian name. Hence Black Jack Diamond.'

  'I shouldn't have thought Roman Arbogast approves,' Paula remarked. 'What's his surname?'

  'Arbogast. He's a cousin. As for Roman's approval, I doubt he has much choice. Sophie struck me as strong-willed, does what she likes . . .'

  'I've never met this Black Jack Diamond,' Paula said with a thoughtful look.

  'And you don't want to,' Newman warned. 'He's dangerous. A typical rich man's son, thinks the world's his oyster. His uncle, Alfred, Roman's father, went into the munitions business. Roman bought him out when he wanted a life of leisure. Hence the A for armaments in ACTIL. The plant is in America.'

  'Whereabouts in the States?' asked Tweed.

  'Boston.'

  4

  'Ladies and gentlemen, the Vice-President of the United States, the Honourable Russell Straub.'

  All eyes at the array of round tables in the Tree Creeper's spacious first-floor room turned to gaze at the door. His bodyguards, two tough-looking men in grey suits, stood aside at the doorway, and Russell Straub, clad in a dinner jacket, walked swiftly into view, both arms raised as thunderous clapping broke out. He stood there, keeping his arms raised as applause continued.

  'Milking the audience for every second he can,' whispered Newman, seated next to Paula.

  'Shsh!' she admonished him. 'And that's not the way to clap.'

  Newman had both hands lifted and was patting his fingers together with a bored look. Straub still stood at the top of the steps leading down to the tables, a broad grin on his thin face. More applause.

  'He paints that grin on his face so it will last,' Newman whispered again.

  'You're impossible,' Paula responded, smiling.

  Straub was a tall lean figure with dark hair brushed well back over his head, thin dark eyebrows, glowing eyes, a long sharp nose, a mean mouth and a stubborn chin. As he descended the steps he spread his arms wide as though to enclose the crowded room in a warm embrace.

  'He's going to kiss us all next,' Newman commented.

  'Keep your voice down and shut up.' Paula snapped.

  'Difficult to do both at the same time.'

  As he was escorted to his table at the head of the room Straub first toured it, shaking the hand of each guest as nearly everyone stood up. The sole exception was Roman Arbogast, who simply twisted round in his chair to accept the hand clasp. Straub bent down, said something to him, Arbogast merely nodded. Then at long last he sat down, with Sophie on his right. He handed her a parcel he took from a bodyguard, a present wrapped in the Stars and Stripes.

  'Very subtle,' Newman said.

  'I couldn't agree more,' added Paula's companion on her left. She had been taken aback when she first saw the name card in front of the tall handsome man next to her. Black Jack Diamond. 'Should have been the Union Jack,' he continued, 'but what can you expect from an ignorant politician.'

  'Hear, hear,' called out Marienetta seated opposite, chuckling. 'I see Chicken Maryland is on the menu. Let's hope it's fresh, coming all that way.' She chuckled again, joined by Newman and Black Jack.

  'Won't have been in the fridge more than six months,' Black Jack responded. 'The Americans are very proud of their giant fridges. That's where they store politicians who have got beyond it - their version of Madame Tussaud's.'

  Newman was drinking wine and nearly choked when he heard Black Jack's comment. Paula was feeling embarrassed, penned between two such rednecks - as she described them to herself. Marienetta had sensed her reaction and when the man on her right apologized for slipping away, saying he felt unwell, she beckoned to Paula, tapping the empty chair beside her.

  They had finished two courses and in long intervals guests walked through between folded back doors into another room where there was dancing. The band was playing a quick foxtrot. Paula stood up to join Marienetta, and Black Jack stood up at the s
ame moment, clasping her by the arm.

  'Please do me the honour,' he suggested. 'It would give me great pleasure to dance with such an attractive and clever woman.'

  Paula hesitated for a second. She was wearing a black knee-length dress and her shoulders were bare. Unfortunately Marienetta was clad in a jet-black dress with full sleeves and a high collar. She decided she couldn't refuse but she had noticed Black Jack had consumed a great quantity of wine. As they stepped onto the dance floor he took hold of her, one hand on her bare shoulder, the other wrapped round her waist. He pulled her close to his body.

  As they moved round the dance floor she studied him. He had the figure of a male model, but his craggy face did not fit in with that impression. He had thick fair hair, long at the back, a well-shaped forehead, a prominent nose below oddly large eyes which seemed depthless. His lips were thick and she thought they could be cruel. His hand caressed her bare shoulder with growing enthusiasm. She smiled.

  'I hope you don't mind but I have sensitive skin and your hand is gripping it tightly.'

  He relaxed the hand immediately, moved his face close to hers. 'Later on I'll remember that, be gentle as a lamb.'

  'Later on?'

  'Thish place ish becoming a bore,' he replied, slurring his words slightly. 'There's a rear exit over there. Come and have a memorable evening with me at my little flat in Eaton Square.'

  'I don't think so. I like it here.'

  'Tell you a shecret. I've been offered ten thousand poundsh to knock out a man called Tweed. He'sh your boss. Right? You're some kind of a secretary to him.'

  'You could say that. What's this joke about knocking out Tweed?'

  'He'sh getting in the way of some important people. He won't be able to walk for three months when I've had a few wordsh with him. Be a pal, point him out to me when we go back into the beanfeasht.'

  Paula had drunk only one glass of wine and she was shaking inside. Her alert brain spun round. How to handle this crazy situation? Did he mean it? She saw the odd eyes gazing into hers, assessing her reaction.

  'I'll do what I can,' she said.

  Shortly afterwards they returned to the restaurant. She glanced back and saw a young blonde, clad more as though she was going to bed than attending a dinner, had trapped Black Jack in a conversation. Paula hurried back to her table. No one except Newman saw her skilfully scoop up his name card, concealing it in her hand. He leaned towards her.

  'Something up?' he asked quietly.

  Amid the clinking of glasses and the loud babble of voices as inhibitions melted no one could hear them. She bent close to his ear.

  'Black Jack told me he'd been paid ten thousand to rough Tweed up savagely. I don't think he recognizes Tweed. I'm going to point you out.'

  'Do that. I'll handle the situation.'

  Tweed, she had seen earlier, was seated at the top table next to Arbogast. He was drinking coffee when she stooped close to him, whispering.

  'When you leave here it's vital you have Newman by your side. A matter of safety.'

  Arbogast, who had been talking to a beautiful woman on his left, turned in his seat. He reached across Tweed, holding out his paw to Paula, who took it. He squeezed her warmly, smiling as he spoke to her. 'If you ever get tired of spending time with this modern Einstein, give me a call, then come over so we can chat. I meet so few attractive ladies who have a powerful intellect.'

  'I might take you up on that.' She smiled again and left, then slipped back.

  The Vice-President had leaned over the table. His cold eyes were fixed on Tweed as he spoke. Everyone else listened to what the great man was going to say.

  'You are Tweed, I understand,' Straub rumbled. 'So what is your role in life?'

  'If you know my name . . .' Tweed paused, leaning forward. His voice was harsh. '. . . then obviously you know my role in life. So what is the point in asking the question?'

  His voice was loud, almost ferocious. Paula was startled - she had rarely heard him speak in this aggressive manner. For a fleeting second she saw a vicious expression flash across the Vice-President's face, then the politician took over.

  'Ladies and gentlemen, we have a lion present, one with teeth. Well, I've met such people all my life and I've yet to encounter one who disturbs me.' He raised his glass. 'I wish to propose another toast to the beautiful Sophie on her thirtieth birthday. Bless you, my dear . . .'

  Paula returned to her table, this time occupying the empty seat Marienetta had earlier offered her. Roman's niece had a soft voice so she could chat to Paula without anyone hearing what she was saying.

  'Your boss scored a bull's-eye there. I've seen Straub a lot on television and normally nothing throws him.'

  'He asked for it.'

  'He certainly did. Oh my, Sophie is going to get up and make a speech. And she's been drinking heavily. Keep your fingers crossed. She came back from the States a few days ago and I think she's still jet-lagged - on top of the drink.'

  'Do you also visit America?'

  'Only now and again. Sophie flies over far more. We've got a company over there. Here we go . . .'

  Sophie was standing up close to a large tree creeper planted in a huge green tub. She waved her half-full glass back and forth, as though anointing her audience. A hush fell on the room. Sophie began speaking.

  'I want to thank you all ... I want to thank you. I want to thank you . . .'

  'Needle's got stuck,' Marienetta whispered.

  'To thank you for the most wonderful birthday party I'm ever going to ecksp . . . ecks . . .'

  'Experience,' whispered Tweed, leaning across the table.

  '. . . ever going to experience.' She raised her glass. 'Three cheers for Tweed. And above all I'm so honoured to have the Vice-President, the next President of the United States of America, as the most honoured guest I could hope for. I'll be opening my presents later but thank you all for being so generous. Bless you all.'

  As she sagged back in her chair thunderous applause broke out, continued for two minutes. Marienetta leaned close to Paula, so close she could just smell very expensive perfume.

  'Tweed saved her, got her going again. It should have been Straub who came to her aid. He's smirking now, the bastard.'

  'Like me,' Paula commented, 'you have very acute hearing. I just caught what Tweed said to her.'

  'An ear specialist once told me I would hear a ping-pong ball dropped into the sea. It's a family trait. Mind if I smoke? Would you like one?'

  'Yes, please. One of my rare pleasures.' When Marienetta had lit her cigarette with a jewelled lighter Paula asked her question. 'I hope you don't mind my mentioning it tonight, but have you any idea what Holgate could have been doing out at a remote spot like Bray after dark?'

  'No. Uncle has pondered that and not come up with even a theory. Adam wasn't popular with the staff but I found him charming.'

  'Someone told me you have a large old house near the river where it happened.'

  'Abbey Grange. Roman hardly ever uses it. He bought it for private conferences, then decided he didn't like the place. I've only been there once and I didn't like it either.'

  'You have someone to look after it?'

  'Not now.' Marienetta shook her head. 'We've had a series of housekeepers and one by one they've left. At the moment there isn't one. The house is empty.'

  Then who was in that room with the light on at the side of the house, Paula asked herself, on the night of the murder?

  Straub, accompanied by his bodyguards, had left and the party was breaking up. Earlier, Paula had loitered near the doorway leading to the dance floor. When Black Jack appeared she began walking, pointing to Newman's back.

  Tweed, who had been talking to Arbogast, was among the last to leave. Newman walked by his side and Paula watched as Black Jack put on his coat and followed them. Outside the night was chilly, inclined to sprinkle with rain. Newman stood by himself, but still not far from where Tweed waited for a taxi to appear.

  Paula stood outside
the entrance as Black Jack lit a cigarette. It was the ideal moment for the ex-gambler to launch his attack. To her surprise he waited until she walked out and approached her.

  'Come and have a drink with me. We could go to Marino's off Piccadilly.'

  'Thank you, but I'm too tired to go anywhere except home.'

  'Another evening? Tomorrow? Day after? Come on.' He took hold of her arm.

  'Don't think the lady's interested,' Newman said, walking close to them.

  'Ah, the celebrated foreign correspondent,' he sneered. 'I really am pleased to meet you.'

  Tweed moved close. 'She really has had a day of it. So why not go home by yourself?'

  'I thought Paula might like to hear something I happen to know about Adam Holgate. Something no one else knows. It hasn't appeared in this long article by Sam Snyder in the Daily Nation.' He pulled a folded copy out of his trench-coat pocket, opened it up, showed the front page to Tweed. The headline blazed in huge letters.

  SECOND HEADLESS BODY FOUND AT BRAY

  US Vice-President Visits London

  Black Jack's manner was cordial and he'd shown no sign of attacking anyone. Tweed took the paper handed to him, quickly read some of the long article below. He looked at Black Jack.

  'How did you get hold of this copy?'