that,' Paula said.
`Which,' Tweed began, looking wrily at Newman, `means Paula didn't take to either of them.'
`There was something odd in the relationship of both the women living with those men,' Paula persisted. 'Only another woman would notice. A lack of true affection.'
`You've left out one suspect,' Tweed went on. `Andover himself. He urged us to visit his neighbours, which would keep us in the area long enough to set something murderous up.'
`You can't possibly suspect him,' she protested again.
`I keep an open mind at the moment. Andover was appalled when he knew we'd been inside his house. He really went berserk. Especially when I suggested calling in the police. It's just possible he felt we had to be stopped at all costs.'
`If you say so. Have you looked at Andover's file?'
`I read through it quickly in bed last night.' Tweed paused. 'I don't know whether it tells me much. It's quite thin. A curious document. I think I'm too short of data to appreciate its significance, if any.'
`I was thinking about Brigadier Burgoyne and Willie Fanshawe,' Paula said with a frown. 'Such different personalities. The Brig. – as Willie kept referring to him – is my idea of a brilliant commander. Decisive, I'd say, sharp as a tack. But something almost sinister in that saturnine smile of his. Willie is such a contrast. Very like a generous uncle I once had and liked. Bumbling – I imagine Helen Claybourne has to look after running the whole place efficiently – and good-humoured.'
`A fair description of both men,' Tweed said, cleaning his glasses on his handkerchief as he watched her.
`And a big contrast in wealth, I'd guess,' she went on. `The Brig. struck me as rolling in it – whereas Willie has to count the pennies.'
`Anything else?' Tweed coaxed.
`Yes. Burgoyne is living in the past. Look at how he's furnished Leopard's Leap – a funny name – with mementoes from his years in the Far East. But Willie hasn't a thing from his past, as though he's put it all behind him.'
`All contrasts so far,' Tweed observed.
`Oh, they do have one thing in common. I got it wrong when I said Willie has left it all behind him. Didn't you notice how both men seemed frozen in a time-warp? I mean the language they used. Burgoyne referred to Irene's French boy friend as a bounder. No one uses that term any more. Except maybe the British expats still living in Hong Kong. The same thing with Willie. He used the phrase stout fellow, talking about Burgoyne. So archaic. They're both mentally tied to China, to their old life in the Far East.'
`If you say so,' Tweed remarked absent-mindedly.
Paula jumped up, annoyed. Without realizing it Tweed had repeated a phrase she'd used earlier. Edgy from her experiences the previous day, she thought he was mimicking her.
`All right,' she snapped, 'I talk too much. But remembering we were nearly murdered last night, don't forget the bricks and the small concrete mixer on Burgoyne's verge. He's in touch with a builder – and that could be where that orange monster came from. I need some fresh air. I'm going for a walk..
She closed the door quietly as she left, fuming. Tweed perched his glasses back on his nose.
`Actually Paula said something very significant. And it could just link up with Andover's report in the file he gave me.'
`And you're not going to tell me what it was?' Newman hazarded.
`Too early. I need to be sure. As I said earlier, I need more data.'
`I remember.' Newman stirred restlessly. `So when do we start getting that data?'
`Oh, I've already started. I was up earlier than either of you this morning. I collected a load of change from the office here, then drove into Lymington to locate a public phone box.'
`Go on.'
`I called Colonel Stanstead, the Chief Constable. Poor Boyd's remains are now in an ambulance on the way to London. I called Sir Rufus Rabin, the eminent pathologist we sometimes use. Rabin will examine the body and report to me. I called Monica at Park Crescent,' he went on, referring to the HO of the SIS. 'Harry Butler and Pete Nield are already on their way down to take turns in watching Andover's house, Prevent. And you can help, if you will. Go and see that Acting Harbour Master, Watford. Play up to his sense of self-importance. Find out if either – or both – Burgoyne and Fanshawe own a boat berthed round here. If so, what type of craft they have…'
`I might have known it.' Newman sighed. 'While we were in the land of Nod you've been purring like a dynamo…'
`I have also asked Monica to check with the right contacts to get me all that is known about the history of Fanshawe and Burgoyne all those years they spent in the Far East. Plus a profile on Andover. She'll be up all night, our Monica.'
`The energy of the man,' Newman commented. 'Oh, while I remember it,' he said casually, 'was Paula badly cut up about Boyd's death?'
Tweed kept a straight face. 'Naturally she was shocked. But they weren't very close. They just seemed to get on reasonably well together. Nothing serious.'
`I'm glad it wasn't an earth-shattering blow. But why are you taking all this trouble?'
`Because I've read Andover's file and certain elements came back to me when Paula was talking. My earlier action in rushing into Lymington was prompted by Paula insisting she saw something in the fog last night down at the marina. She does have exceptional eyesight. I also don't like one of my men – even a new recruit – killed under suspicious circumstances.'
`You mean Harvey Boyd, ex-SAS, was…'
`About to join the SIS after passing our training course with flying colours…'
`I didn't know that,' Newman rapped out.
`I'd hardly had time to tell you, had I? Bob, I really am worried. There are several apparently unconnected mysteries here. I'm beginning to feel we've stumbled on to something very sinister indeed.'
`Then I'd better get down to have a little chat with charming Mr Watford. You're going back to London?'
'Not just yet. There may be important clues I can hit on down here. I'm driving round Lymington. Maybe call in at one or two pubs. That's where you find out about the locals…'
Tweed was climbing into his Escort in the car park outside Passford House when Paula appeared, back from her walk. She peered in at the window as he fastened his seat belt.
`I'm sorry I was so rude, flouncing out like that. I suppose I couldn't come with you?'
`Hop in…'
He drove them out of the hotel entrance and along the winding country road leading to Lymington. A hard frost sparkled on the bare trees and the air was cold and fresh. He was turning on to the main road when Paula made her remark.
`This is Bob Newman's ideal weather. Says he works and thinks better in crisp air.'
`Let's hope he's doing both at the moment.'
`During my walk I was wondering what I could do – the rest of you are so active. I'd like to investigate the backgrounds of those two women – Lee Holmes and Helen Claybourne. I feel there could be more to them than just being so-called housekeepers to those men.'
`Check them out. I don't imagine it will be too easy. And I'd be careful.'
`So you think there's something odd about one of them?'
`I just warned you to be careful…'
A few minutes later he drove into the public car park behind a Waitrose supermarket. He stopped the car in the Long Stay area where there was nothing to pay. The receptionist at Passford House had told him how to find it.
Walking back to the main street, it was after eleven when they wandered past old Georgian frontages and a mix of shops. Tweed stopped at Pier 68, a bar-restaurant, ushered Paula inside.
`Barmen usually know the locals pretty well,' he whispered. 'I'm after certain information. Those ships that disappeared…'
Inside Pier 68 was a long cosy room with a bar counter and stools along one wall. Beyond, through an open doorway, Tweed saw tables laid neatly for lunch. He perched on a bar stool next to a man with a stiff blue cap, a
