Vorpal Blade

by Colin Forbes

  'I haven't chased your friends away, I hope.'

  'They had to rush to another appointment. They give you their warm regards. Where shall we go?'

  'That was tactful of them.' She smiled. 'I doubt if they did have another appointment. There's a coffee shop just down the street . . .'

  It was a smart place with black marble tables, comfortable leather chairs, an arched ceiling decorated with vivid paintings of a forest. The decoration took Tweed back to the atmosphere near Pinedale. Marienetta was unusually quiet until the coffee had been served. Paula realized Marienetta was keeping quiet until the waitress vanished. The only other customer was a well-dressed old lady sitting at a table a good way off in the back.

  'Coffee's not bad,' said Tweed.

  'I want to thank you for answering my distress call so quickly,' Marienetta began. 'You, Mr Tweed, were the only person I could think of who would quieten her. And you did, most ably. She was working herself up into a major fit. The doctor prescribed Valium but of course she forgets to take it.'

  'How long has she suffered from these outbursts?' asked Tweed.

  'Ever since early childhood. I can usually soothe her down but, as you saw, there are times when she goes volcanic. And I'm worried about this crazy idea of hers to marry Jack. My uncle is livid, but as she's thirty, five years younger than me, he can't stop her.'

  'Has she always been jealous of you?' Tweed wondered. 'It's usually the youngest who gets all the attention.'

  'I know.' She paused, drank coffee. 'It's embarrassing to explain. But Uncle - Roman - soon decided my intellect was more powerful than hers. I'm quoting him, so don't think I'm egotistical. As to Black Jack, she's quite capable of throwing him over suddenly. She's done that with two other men she proposed marrying. When they didn't agree with her over something, she kicked them out.'

  'Didn't you say she was in charge of armaments at ACTIL?' he recalled. 'Explosives. Is that a good idea?'

  'I was just going to tell you the other side of Sophie. At science she's brilliant. Broden has a watching brief over that department, so she's not on her own.'

  'Can't imagine she likes Broden. A rough type.'

  'Oddly enough they get on well together. I did think of calling Broden when the crisis built up but his solution could have been to slam a fist into Black Jack.'

  'Diamond can look after himself.'

  'I thought of that. I decided you were by far the one man who could handle it quietly but decisively.' She smiled. 'And I was right.' It was a ravishing smile without a hint of flirtation. 'Maybe the two of us could have dinner somewhere nice one evening. I prefer more mature men - anyone younger is so macho these days. Have only one thought in mind where a woman is concerned.'

  'The way of the world ever since the Stone Age, I suppose. Yes, it would be interesting to have dinner together - when I get clear of a pile of work.'

  'Forget the pile,' she coaxed. 'I get the impression you work like a Trojan. It would do you good to have a relaxing evening. To the devil with Park Crescent.'

  'Don't say a word,' Tweed warned.

  A familiar figure had appeared, stalking through the entrance with a self-satisfied look on his hawklike features. He was heading for their table.

  Sam Snyder.

  Snyder looked even more bony-faced, his prominent nose even larger than Tweed remembered from their encounter in Park Crescent, his manner more aggressive, his dark eyes even more penetrating. Without being invited he sat on an empty chair at their table. The waitress appeared.

  'I'll have what they're having,' he said brusquely.

  'Which hole did you crawl out of?' snapped Tweed.

  'You haven't introduced me to your lovebird,' he said to Tweed, grinning unpleasantly.

  'We have met before,' said Marienetta, her voice cold as she used a silk handkerchief to remove an imaginary spot from her dress without a glance in his direction.

  'You want to watch your language - and your manners,' Tweed responded, his expression grim.

  'The hole I crawled out of was Charlie's Physical, the gym across the street. Don't think you saw me. I was sitting up in the gallery.'

  'Hunched well down out of sight,' Tweed said contemptuously.

  'Quite a show I witnessed. Darling Sophie attacked Marienetta.' He took out a notebook. '"I'll kill her" were the exact words she used, I believe. I do a gossip column as well as major news stories,' he went on, putting away the notebook. 'Make a great item for the column, don't you think?'

  Out of the corner of his eye Tweed saw Marienetta tense. He knew she wanted to administer one of her powerful slaps to Snyder's grinning face. Instead she kept her control, gazed up at the ceiling. Tweed leaned forward until he was inches from the predatory nose. His voice was quiet, a clear whisper.

  'I'm going to make you a promise, Sam. You know Bob Newman has reluctantly helped you in the past when a "D" notice was clamped on a topic by the government. He has shown you how to write the article and evade the notice. You print anything in that gossip column and he becomes your enemy - a deadly enemy. On top of that you're making yourself a name in New York, up to a point. Newman will write a satirical piece about you for the New York Times. You'll be the joke of the city, a joke passed round all the parties there. It will finish you in the States.'

  Different expressions crossed the hawk-like face, none of them confident. Snyder started to lift his coffee cup and it trembled so much he had to put it down without drinking.

  'I guess you thought I meant it,' he said eventually. 'I guess you took it seriously. I didn't. Sorry about the lovebirds remark. It was tasteless. Unfounded. Guess I'd better push off after I've paid for my coffee.'

  'I will pay for the coffee.'

  Tweed's tone was as grim as his expression. Snyder stood up, was uncertain how to leave. He decided it was best not to say anything more. He was careful not to look at Marienetta as he left, went out into the street.

  'I didn't know you could be so tough,' Marienetta commented when they were on their own. 'Your voice sounded like the crack of doom. Even though so quiet. You really do protect a woman, I'm so grateful.'

  'Don't be:'

  He had just uttered the words when Marienetta's mobile rang. She spoke very quietly, listened, spoke again, put it away.

  'That was Roman. He would like to see you in his office as soon as you can manage it.'

  'Did he say why?'

  'Yes, I was coming to that. He says there's a crisis.'

  'I'm becoming an expert on them. Now would be as good a time as any to go and see him, if you think that would suit him.'

  'I'm sure it would. He sounded grim - but not as grim as you can be. He also said if you could bring Paula it might be a good idea.'

  'Really? Do me a favour - I don't use mobiles -phone Paula at Park Crescent, explain the position to her, please . . .'

  While Marienetta was on the phone Tweed paid the bill, then gazed into space. His brain was moving at high power. Black Jack Diamond, Sophie and Snyder. It all fitted into a pattern he couldn't get hold of. And who had Snyder followed to take him to the gym where the real 'lovebirds' were exercising? Behind these domestic developments loomed the brutal murders of Hank Foley and Adam Holgate.

  'Paula said she was coming to ACTIL like a rocket. Bob Newman has insisted on escorting her, but said he'd wait in the lobby. Ready to move? You look miles away.'

  'I was just wondering where Russell Straub is, what he's up to. You're right. We'd better start out.'

  They had to waste time searching for an empty taxi. Then the journey to the City was a traffic-jammed crawl.

  Tweed had closed the windows to keep out petrol fumes. There was a faint purple haze above them, the accumulation of the fumes.

  They reached the ACTIL building eventually, to find Paula waiting on the entrance steps. She gave them a mocking wave.

  'What kept you?'

  'Where's Newman?' Tweed wanted to know.

  'He got the doorman to park his car. He's sitti
ng behind the net curtains of that cafe over there. Hadn't we better get a move on?'

  'Paula,' Marienetta mocked her back, 'one of these days I'm going to take you on a two-hour taxi ride through central London. Then you'll know what we've just experienced.'

  'Yes, Marienetta,' snarled Roman Arbogast as she followed Paula and Tweed into his office, 'you might as well sit in on this.'

  'If you don't want me here all you have to do is say so.'

  Marienetta had spoken amiably. She stood erect with her hands on her hips. Roman glared, waved his hand for her to sit down as though resigning himself to the inevitable.

  Not in a good mood, Paula thought as, with Tweed, she sat in one of the armchairs placed before his desk. Roman, lighted cigar in one hand, stood, padding back and forth which reminded Paula of Tweed, although his step was firmer.

  'Has Marienetta told you,' Roman began fiercely, 'that my stupid daughter, Sophie, has lost her head . . .'

  'Not like Adam Holgate, I hope,' Marienetta said. 'Oh, I am sorry, that really was in the worst of taste. I do apologize.'

  'Maybe,' Roman told her, in deceptively soft tones, 'you could make an effort and keep your trap shut.' He turned to Tweed and Paula. 'Sophie is determined to marry that ruffian Black Jack Diamond. I know what he wants, a portion of the ACTIL shares held in a private company. I'll outmanoeuvre that clever dick.'

  'Can you tell us how you'll manage that?' Tweed wondered aloud. 'Sophie is very headstrong.'

  'She's also greedy for lots of money, like all my relatives. There's a very good-looking American in London. George Barrymore. A multimillionaire. He rather fancies Sophie. I'm going to manipulate matters so they meet at a party, after someone has told Sophie how very rich he is. She'll salivate at the prospect of capturing him. Then she'll drop Black Jack like a hot brick.'

  'I suppose,' Tweed suggested carefully, 'it's not possible that Black Jack's game is to hope you will buy him off? A spot of blackmail?'

  'Of course it is!' Roman thundered. His face twisted into a savage grimace. Paula was taken aback. He reminded her of the horrific portrait Marienetta had painted. 'But he doesn't know me,' he roared on. 'I would resort to any method to stop him succeeding. Any method available on the face of the earth!'

  'Now calm down, Uncle,' Marienetta said quietly. 'Your strength has always been to stay cool.'

  Her words, spoken as she stared straight at him, had an astonishing effect. His face seemed to dissolve, to resume a quiet expression. Normal and abnormal. Shaken, Paula recalled the words Dr Scale had used.

  Roman sagged his large body slowly into the chair behind his desk. His right eye was twitching as he stared at Tweed. He raised a fat hand. He spoke softly.

  'The real reason I asked you here was to enquire whether you are still investigating the murders.'

  'Murders?' Tweed enquired.

  'I should have said murder - the murder of Adam Holgate.'

  'May I ask the reason for that question?'

  'You may. Early this morning, soon after I had arrived, Nathan Morgan of Special Branch tried to storm his way in to see me. He had to be physically restrained by the forceful Broden. He was almost thrown out of the building.'

  'I see.' Tweed paused. 'Among other problems concerning me I still retain an interest in that case.'

  'You have a suspect?'

  Hands clasped tightly on his desk, Roman's strange head was twisted to the right, watching Tweed.

  'No, I have not. It is far too early to get the hang of all the people involved.'

  'You will let me know if you focus on one individual?'

  'I will do all I can.' Tweed stood up. 'Now you are a busy man and we've taken up a lot of your time. Let us keep in touch . . .'

  Marienetta accompanied them through the first office into the hall. She pressed the button of the special lift after inserting her computer card, then turned to Tweed.

  'If you don't mind, I will leave you here. I want to go back and make sure he really has quietened down. It's Sophie who is worrying him. And thank you so much for all your help with this and that . . .'

  When they reached the ground floor after the bomb-like drop, Broden was waiting to escort them to the door. He had fixed it so it revolved continuously. Newman emerged from the cafe and stood on their side of the pavement waiting for his car.

  A strange figure was seated halfway down the steps, crouching over a board supporting a sheet of cartridge paper partly covered with a complex diagram. Dr Abraham Scale looked up. He was still dressed in his Dickensian attire.

  'Good morning, Mr Tweed. I was originally going inside to ask Mr Arbogast something. Then I decided it would be unwise. I am preparing a family tree of the Arbogasts. I study genealogy in my spare time. The Arbogasts originally were the Arbogastinis. Most intriguing.'

  'From Italy?'

  'Exactly.' He rolled up the chart, tucked it with the supporting board under his arm. 'Perhaps a dangerous place to indulge in such activity. I will leave. Goodbye, Paula

  'The Arbogasts are a strange family,' Paula commented.

  'I wonder why he thought it dangerous to be here,' Tweed mused.

  13

  'I'm feeling jittery,' Paula said. 'That's not like me.'

  They had arrived back in Tweed's office at Park Crescent after a quick lunch. With Monica at her word processor, Paula and Tweed were the only ones in the room. Newman had gone off with Marler 'to frighten some informants', as Marler had put it, hoping to pick up information about Holgate's murder.

  'Jittery?' Tweed repeated. 'I'm not surprised. You always have been hypersensitive where people are concerned. And we've just witnessed one tense drama in that gym, another when Roman Arbogast detonated.'

  'I don't think it's either of those things. Doesn't matter.' She waved a dismissive hand, wishing she'd kept quiet.

  Like Paula, Tweed's desk was littered with piles of files, many from Howard and which needed decisions taken. Between them, they had enough paperwork to last them two days. Tweed sighed, got down to the work. He found he was absorbed by returning to his old role as detective.

  'Half these agents abroad are sending in data to justify their existence,' he grumbled. 'Which is why Howard has dumped this lot on us. He prefers chatting with Whitehall mandarins over drinks at his club.'

  'If we had to go away suddenly,' Paula reminded him, 'then Howard would take over and really apply himself. You do know that.'

  'Stop nagging...'

  Tweed paused in mid-sentence as Monica answered the phone. He waved a warning finger at her.

  'I'm out. Don't care if it's the Palace.'

  'Are you sure?' Monica pressed him. 'It's Mrs Elena Brucan downstairs. She is apparently worried.'

  'You must see her,' Paula prodded. 'She's such a pleasant lady.'

  Tweed, who was a speed-reader, shifted six files he had dealt with, initialled, into a tidy pile. He glared at Paula without any anger.

  'Sometimes I wonder who is running this unit. All right, I'll see her. But no one else afterwards . . .'

  Paula opened the door for their visitor. Elena Brucan was again wearing the pale green overcoat, the green fur hat. She took Paula's hand, squeezed it warmly, entered as Tweed stood up, smiled, ushered her towards an armchair. The Romanian lady looked back at Paula.

  'It's really you I've come about.'

  Monica rushed out to make her coffee. And that, grumbled Tweed to himself, will prolong the interview. He sat down and again smiled at his guest.

  'Now what can we do for you?'

  'I was outside the ACTIL building again when you left late this morning. I caught a cab to follow you but you stopped to have lunch, so I waited, then caught another cab. I do hope you don't mind my behaving like this.'

  'Of course not. I'm sure you have your reasons. The ACTIL building seems to fascinate you.'

  'They're all in there - whoever is connected with Holgate's murder - and probably that other man who was murdered in Maine. Which is why you flew there, I ex
pect.'

  Tweed was taken aback, completely baffled. He glanced over at Paula, now seated at her desk. She was grinning. He could have waved his fist at her. He switched his gaze to Elena's glowing eyes. Again he found them hypnotic.

  He waited while Monica served coffee, decided he needed some himself.

  'The remarkable thing, Mrs Brucan,' he began, 'is none of us, including myself, saw you either this morning outside ACTIL or earlier at Heathrow. Yet you have a distinctive, distinguished appearance.'

  'Thank you for the compliment.' Paula felt sure she had blushed. She drank more coffee. 'I told you a bit of my earlier adventures. How the Romanian dictator, Ceau§escu disliked me, so he sent the secret police -brutal people - to arrest me. That experience made me skilled at remaining invisible. It does when it is a matter of life of death. At Heathrow I was in a crowd when I heard you asking the check-in lady about the flight to Boston. Then I'm an avid reader of the newspapers, including the American ones. They reported the murder in Maine in detail. So similar to the murder of poor Adam Holgate. It was very simple, really.'

  Simple? Tweed thought. If I'd met this woman years ago when I was at the Yard I'd have hired her. She's uncanny. Paula was studying a file, still smiling to herself.

  'When you came in you said something about Paula,' Tweed reminded his guest.

  'Miss Grey, I sense, is in danger. Great danger. I would suggest she is guarded everywhere she goes.'