shipping?'
`Look at the map.' Tweed jumped up, walked over to the wall map of the world. 'I think that's where Stealth vessels are sailing to Europe from. The logical secret route, avoiding the major shipping lanes, is via the Timor Sea – where ships have disappeared. Then via the Cape – where more ships disappear. And Vietnam is the other major power where the Communists are firmly in the saddle. They've secretly linked up with China, I suspect.'
`It really is frightening. And just when we thought we could relax …'
`Which is just what we're not going to do,' Tweed said grimly, returning to his desk. need the strongest team I can muster when I reach Brussels tonight. Book a seat on my plane – and through to Hamburg later – for Butler.'
The phone rang. Monica answered it, placed a hand over the mouthpiece.
Guess who. It's Philip Cardon…'
`You are supposed to be sleeping,' Tweed snapped. `Why are you calling? Before you answer tell me just where you are calling from.'
`To talk to you briefly, from a public phone box,' Cardon said laconically.
`You didn't go to bed?' Tweed demanded.
`Yes. Couldn't sleep. I'm wearing a heavy overcoat and a pair of trousers over pyjamas. Look, I got the feeling something big is breaking. After a bit of kip I want to be included in on it.'
`You need a holiday…'
`I said I wanted to be included in it. Are you deaf?'
`All right,' Tweed said in a resigned tone. 'Phone Monica but only after a long sleep.'
`Agreed. And don't forget what I said about Chengmai…'
Tweed told Monica the gist of the conversation after he put down the phone. He drummed his fingers on the desk.
`We could use every man. Book Philip an open ticket to Brussels and on to Hamburg. Then another one on a direct flight to Hamburg.'
`You really are mustering the troops,' she commented.
`I'm sure Dr Wand will be doing the same thing.'
`Do you think he's right about this character, Vulcan? A top mole who is one of Wand's chief associates. And English, too.'
`Not a mole,' Tweed corrected her. 'Philip emphasized his contacts in Hong Kong said he existed. That he'd spent time in the colony. Yes, I think he does exist. Interesting that he's an Englishman…'
Benoit, accompanied by plain-clothes officers, followed Newman into the dank wilderness of the Parc d'Egmont. Behind him walked Paula and Nield.
On Benoit's order to the General Manager of the Hilton the windows of the Cafe d'Egmont overlooking the park had been masked. It was night and the only illumination came from torches held by the police and Newman.
It was Newman who had phoned Benoit. He had received a strange call in his room. The muffled voice sounded like a man's, and the message had been delivered in English.
`You will find something interesting if you go now to the Parc d'Egmont. Better go back home. Don't trip over anything…'
`I can take you straight to it,' Newman said as he led the way.
`I don't for a moment think you imagined what you saw, my friend,' Benoit replied.
Newman trod carefully down the wet grassy slope. Close to a tree, he stopped. Silently he aimed the beam of his torch. The body lay on its back, legs tangled, the eyes staring sightlessly upwards. Benoit and another officer stooped to examine it.
`Cyanosis,' Benoit commented. 'Lips blue, whole face has a bluish tinge.'
`My verdict,' Newman agreed. 'This is Joseph Mordaunt. Freelance journalist I know slightly. Last saw him in the New Forest area in England.' He paused. 'And then in the lounge area of the Hilton about noon.'
Paula stepped forward, shocked. Only a few hours ago she'd had a long and very pleasant lunch with the heap lying on the ground which had been a live human being.
`I can tell you something about him,' she said.
`Back in the hotel,' Benoit said tersely. He looked at Newman. 'This is the second case of murder by cyanide within walking distance of the Hilton. The driver of the cab which was stolen and driven to Liege was found in Marolles. And whoever drove that cab murdered Sir Gerald Andover. Three murders close together. For me that is three too many.'
`I think you can see how it was done.' Newman crouched down. He aimed his torch at the sleeve of the right upper arm. A rip in the coat's cloth showed clearly. `My guess would be the hypodermic was rammed straight through his clothes into the flesh.'
`Same technique as was used on the cab driver,' Benoit remarked, crouching beside Newman. 'Which suggests it could be the same person.'
`I think it was a woman,' Paula said suddenly.
`Why do you say that?' Benoit asked sharply, looking up at Paula.
`Because Mordaunt was a man who liked women. But he wasn't stupid. This is a lonely place. Only a woman, I'd have thought, could have got close enough…'
She broke off as a fresh group of men appeared with torches. A short, plump, bald-headed man, carrying a bag, put on his glasses, peered at Benoit after a glance at the body.
`You do choose the most original locations to find your corpses,' he observed.
Pathologist,' Benoit whispered to Newman as they straightened up. 'And the forensic boys. Let's get back to the hotel and leave them to their work. I'll come back with you by myself. The hotel manager is nearly doing his nut about a murder just outside his cafe.'
Despite the macabre atmosphere Paula smiled to herself. Doing his nut. Benoit prided himself on his command of English slang.
`I do have grim news for you,' Benoit whispered again to Newman as they made their way out of the park.
Entering the hotel Paula noticed Helen Claybourne curled up like a cat on a couch, reading a book. She looked up, raised a hand in a small salute, returned to reading her novel.
Benoit shook his head, frowned as the hotel manager began to approach them. Standing in front of the closed elevator doors, no one said anything. The doors opened and Lee Holmes stepped out. Paula caught an aroma of fresh talc. Lee had just had a bath. She grabbed Newman by the arm.
Bob! Give me just a second. Please! I do want to explain,' she pleaded.
`I'll be up in a minute,' Newman said. 'Here's the key to my room,' he went on quickly, handing it to Benoit. `Paula knows the number. I'll join you very shortly…'
Newman suggested to Lee they could talk in the bar. She nodded and he was glad she didn't take hold of his arm. He was still slightly irked by her disappearance from the restaurant in Grand' Place without a word, although his mind was mostly filled with the murder of Joseph Mordaunt.
She led him to a secluded corner banquette. He sat beside her, leaving a gap between them. She ordered a brandy and Newman asked for a glass of Chablis.
`I really am sorry to treat you in the way I did,' she began. 'The waiter gave you my message?'
`No. But the place was busy and I paid a different waiter for the drinks. What message?'
The drinks arrived and she grasped her glass immediately, sipping a little of the brandy. Then she turned to face him.
He caught a whiff of her perfume. Guerlain Samsara, Tweed had said. There was still that mystery as to who had the bottle: Lee or Helen.
`I suddenly felt sick – very sick. The smell of food in the place made me feel worse. I drank a whole glass of mineral water at one go, asked the waiter to tell you that I was feeling off colour and was going straight back to the hotel.'
