Here Be Monsters

His doubt increased. 'Brief him about what?'

About what? She needed something quite complicated and time-consuming, yet reasonable. *

'About what, Elizabeth?'

She found herself staring past the nearest bank of Xenophon jungle, towards the reception desk and at the beautiful receptionist he had bullied, who was watching them uneasily.

She was beautiful -

'I'd like to know a lot more about Thomas's wife, David. Sir Peter Barrie's ex- fiancee?' The idea expanded as the two sudden deaths telescoped over the many years which separated them. 'Particularly the circumstances of her death.'

He frowned. 'It was an accident, Elizabeth. We did look at it carefully, you know - ?' But he knew he couldn't really question the request. 'All right, if it will put your mind at rest, we'll see what Turnbull can turn up. But he'll be wasting his time.'

Time was what she needed. There was something going on which she didn't understand, but which relegated Cheltenham to the second division. And if anyone knew what it was, Paul would know enough to guess at it. And she could always handle Paul, at a pinch.

'I'll meet you back at the office after lunch, David,' she concluded.

6

It was all according to what you were used to, thought Elizabeth as she paid the taxi-driver.

They were all accustomed to meet in pubs up and down the river, as well as in more respectable places - to meet, and to meet people whom they did not wish to be seen meeting in those too well- frequented respectable places: that was apparently the way dummy2

David Audley had always operated, and Paul emulated him in this, as in other things. But, although she liked to regard herself as entirely liberated and equal to all occasions, there were still pubs and pubs. And the Marshal Ney was quite evidently one of those in the

'and pubs' category.

She could see that the taxi-driver agreed with her as she tipped him. He had been doubtful when she had named the place and specified its location; but now that they were here, surrounded by urban decay and the smell of the river (or of something worse), he was certain that it was not really the sort of destination for a well-dressed lady from Whitehall -

or, at least, a lady whose face precluded any romantic or illicit intention.

'Right, love?' He watched her study the pub sign above the door of the saloon bar. 'The Marshal Ney - right?'

There was no name on the sign, only a representation of what might be the bravest of Napoleon's marshals, although it looked more like a pirate brandishing a cutlass from astride a kangaroo.

Elizabeth's heart faltered. There wasn't a soul in sight, only a lean black cat which paused in its unhurried crossing of the road to eye her. Then she remembered something Paul had once said. 'Do they call it 'The Frenchman'?'

He nodded, and engaged the gears, and gave her up for lost. That's right, love - 'The Frenchman' it is.'

She watched the taxi move slowly away - slowly, because the cat itself was in no hurry to give it right of way on its own territory - and then pushed at the door. It yielded unwillingly, with an unoiled screech.

If anything, the smell inside was more insistent. But there, to her enormous relief, was Paul, elbow-on-bar, nursing his Guinness, with his ear inclined to a shrivelled little man on the other side.

'Elizabeth!' He straightened up - almost stood to attention. 'What a delightful surprise!'

Her relief, which had almost graduated to gratitude, instantly evaporated. But she could hardly say 'What a dreadful place! Why did you bring me here?' with the possible owner of the dreadful place staring open-mouthed at her.

'Meet my friend Tom.' Paul indicated the little man. 'Tom - Elizabeth.'

'Lizbuff.' The little man climbed on something behind his bar, raising himself to her level, dummy2

and offered her his monkey's paw, the fingers of which were stained bright nicotine-brown.

'Tom.' She shook the paw.

'You don't wanta believe 'im, though.' The little man half-glanced at Paul, screwing up his face, which he was able to do the more expressively because he seemed to have no teeth.

'In what way shouldn't I believe him?' Elizabeth questioned this sound advice innocently.

'I ain't's friend, for starters.' Tom emitted a curious sucking noise. 'An' 'e ain't surprised, neither. 'E was expectin' you.'

'Oh yes?' He had only confirmed her most recent conclusion, but it was still irritating to be computed so accurately. 'And what made you so sure, Paul?'

'I wasn't sure - not quite.' He was unabashed by Tom's betrayal. 'Tom - why don't you just push off to your other bar, like a good chap, eh?'

'Oh yus?' The little man didn't move. 'Lady's teetotal, is she? Ain'tcha got no manners, then?'

'Will you have a drink, Elizabeth?'

'It's a little early for me.' She smiled at Tom. 'If you don't mind.'

'Suit yourself, Miss.' Tom stepped down off his box and shuffled towards a faded curtain at the other end of the