building. From what I've seen of photos of IRA bomb damage the blast flies in all directions.'
'That is true. Excuse me. I'll want to see you later.'
'When you're ready…'
Newman walked rapidly back to where Howard was escorting the last three staff members into a taxi. Monica was still standing on the pavement.
'I'm going to call Tweed from a phone box in Baker Street Station,' Newman said, hardly pausing.
'I'll come with you,' Howard decided.
'Me too,' Monica said. There's something Tweed should know. We might just have a link.'
'Tweed here, Bob,' the familiar voice responded when Newman had dialled Tresillian Manor.
Tweed listened in silence as Newman reported concisely the events leading up to the catastrophe. Monica was squeezed into the box with him. Howard stood outside, erect, hands clasped behind his back, looking none too pleased at being excluded.
'Any casualties?' Tweed asked at one stage, expressed relief at the news. He listened as Newman told him about the visit of Joel Dyson two days earlier. Newman then handed the phone to Monica who explained that no one had seen the film or listened to the tape and that both had been still in the safe when the building was wrecked. Tweed asked to speak to Newman again.
'Bob, I'm speaking from Cornwall, as you know, so I'm phrasing this carefully. The phone doesn't appear to be bugged, but still. Now! Do you remember – no names – a place down here we once stayed at overnight?'
'Yes.'
'Drive down to the same place as soon as you can. Make sure you're not followed.'
'For Pete's sake, I'd know.'
'Make sure! Now put Howard on the line. Tell him I am short of time.'
'Wherever you are I want you back in London quickly…' Howard began.
'No! Now listen to me and don't argue. You'll need a fresh base
'There's that concrete horror down at Waterloo…'
Howard was referring to what the public thought was the new HQ of the SIS. Pictures had appeared of it in the press but it was purely for low-level admin.
'I said listen to me!' Tweed snapped. 'I suspect we're up against the most powerful network in the world – and don't ask me to identify them yet. That network is Out to exterminate all of us. I'm not sure why yet. You've got to go underground. Move the whole of our staffand yourself-to the training mansion at Send in Surrey. It's surrounded with large grounds and is well guarded. That is if you value your life. And I'll only phone you at Send.'
'I don't like running…'
'We're all running from now on, Howard. Running to survive. Think of the lives of your staff.'
'All right. Send it is. A bit of peace and quiet might be quite a change. What are you going to do?'
'Go underground.'
4
'Lord, it's marvellous to be outside in this fresh air,' Paula said as she walked with Tweed, climbing up the moor.
Below them Tresillian Manor was a miniature house huddled in its bowl. Butler walked a few paces behind. He had insisted on accompanying them for their protection.
Tweed had earlier phoned the police after talking to Cook, who had recovered quickly. She had not been optimistic about an early arrival.
'No good phoning Padstow. The police station's just a cabin and most of the time no one is there. In the phone book they advise phoning Launceston but I think your best bet is Exeter. That's a real headquarters.'
Tweed had phoned Exeter. He had sensed the inspector's shock at the other end when he'd given details of the massacre waiting for him.
'Never 'ad anything like that. Might be best if I called Lunnon.'
'Just so long as someone gets here fast,' Tweed had snapped and put down the phone.
The ground was hard, ribbed with rocks, covered here and there with gorse. As they climbed higher Paula pointed to a rocky eminence rearing up in the distance from the shallow bleak moor surrounding its base.
That's High Tor. I once climbed-' She broke off. 'I wonder who that is? There's a man on a horse at the summit of the tor.'
Tweed looked up. Too far away even to guess at what he looked like, the horseman remained stationary for a brief interval and Tweed had the impression he was studying them through field-glasses. Then he was gone.
'Saw you, mate,' Butler said with unconcealed satisfaction.
Tweed and Paula swung round. Butler was holding a small slim monocular glass, another sophisticated device created in the basement at Park Crescent. It operated like a high-powered telescope.
'A big chap,' Butler continued. 'Wearing a deerstalker hat. That's all I observed before he vanished.'
'You really are a wizard,' Paula commented. 'The equipment concealed among your clothes.'
She turned round, started walking, stopped and grabbed Tweed by the arm.
'Up there, midway down High Tor. I saw the sunlight flash off something. More binoculars.'
'That horseman again,' Tweed suggested.
'No, it's someone else. Look at the bottom of the tor.'
On the level, a long way below the summit, a horseman was riding off at a furious gallop. Tweed frowned as Butler came alongside them, Walther in his right hand.
'This is sinister,' Tweed said. 'We have the massacre at the manor, which I'm convinced was supposed to include us. The killer was probably instructed to wipe out the whole lunch party without knowing his targets -with the exception of Julius Amberg. And now we are under surveillance. Then there was the Park Crescent bomb.'
'I can't see any one outfit – however large and well organized – synchronizing both atrocities so close together. Not one in London and the other in Cornwall. Amberg only phoned you this morning,' Paula reminded him.
'Except that is what appears to have happened,' Tweed rejoined.
'A motorcade is approaching the manor,' Butler warned.
They all turned round and looked down on the distant road snaking over the moor towards the entrance. Three police cars and one private car leading the procession.
'Better get back,' Tweed said. He looked at Paula. 'How are you feeling now?'
Tons better.' She patted her stomach. 'All's well. That dried toast Cook made me was just what I needed.
'That's a terrible thing which happened at Park Crescent,' she went on as they hurried back down the sandy track. 'At least no one was injured or killed. I don't understand what's going on.'
'A wholesale and frighteningly professional attempt to wipe us all out. And I have only two clues as to who is behind this extermination campaign.'
'Which are?' Paula asked, not expecting Tweed to tell her.
The fact that so few people know the location of our HQ, that so few knew we were due to arrive at Tresillian Manor. Those go together. The other clue is Joel Dyson…'
He stopped speaking as they neared the entrance and out of the front of the private car, a Volvo station wagon, a tall, lean and lanky figure stepped. The last man on earth Tweed wanted to meet at this juncture.
'No one mentions the Park Crescent outrage,' he warned. 'Not unless someone else mentions it first. We don't know about it.'
'What's the matter?' Paula enquired.
'Don't you recognize him? That's our old friend and my sparring partner, Chief Inspector Roy Buchanan of the Yard.'
