'Not at all. She volunteered to help, just came in with me. She's a funny girl. She can be warm and friendly, and at other times she's almost rude.'
'She feels the need to assert herself, particularly in the presence of a number of men, would be my guess. I noticed Newman was very quiet while we were in the house.'
'So did I. He was studying our host and Franklin.'
'So, which one intrigued him – and why? Was it
Franklin, or Kent?'
They parked their cars on the Quay, the small square on the edge of the Frome. After putting money in the meters they walked the short distance to the Priory. They met trouble the moment they entered the hotel. In the shape of Chief Inspector Buchanan.
'Tweed, Newman, I need to talk to you both. On your own. Now. The lounge is empty. Follow me…'
'Really?' Tweed exploded. 'We've had no lunch and if we don't get it now we go hungry!'
'That's your problem.'
Buchanan was a tall lanky man in his forties, slim and normally with a languid manner. His grey eyes glared at Tweed. Behind him stood his assistant, Sergeant Warden, a tall clean-shaven man who always reminded Tweed of a wooden Indian. This time Warden came to life.
'It is essential the Chief Inspector questions you now.'
'Who asked you?' Tweed rapped out with a rare burst of apparent aggression.
'The lounge,' Buchanan said firmly, fingering his neat brown moustache.
'You have a warrant for our arrest?' Tweed demanded.
'No, of course not…'
'Then we're having lunch first.' Tweed glanced into the dining room where a waitress was hovering, wide- eyed. 'May we, please, all have lunch? Sorry we are rather late.'
'That's all right, sir.' the waitress replied. 'The chef is ready when you are.'
'I said the lounge.' Buchanan repeated, rasping. 'I have a very busy day.'
'Then you have two alternatives.' Tweed told him. Tf you have business elsewhere I suggest you go about it. Otherwise wait in the lounge and we will come in when we have finished a leisurely lunch.'
'You're supposed to cooperate with the police.' Buchanan snapped.
'Not at the drop of a hat – and when we're hungry. I am not arguing the point one moment longer.'
'There have been three murders I am investigating.' Buchanan said after he had come close to Tweed.
'Then what are you hanging about here for?'
'I'll expect you in the lounge after you've had your lunch. Don't take too long
'We'll take as long as we like. I'm not getting indigestion for anyone. Incidentally, you can get coffee in the lounge, and it's very good here…'
On this note, spoken in a genial tone, Tweed entered the dining room.
He skilfully manoeuvred the table placings so that he would be seated at a table by the rear wall with Paula, Newman, and Philip. Taking Eve by the arm he ushered her to another table some distance away, overlooking the garden.
'Bill,' he said to Franklin, 'would you mind looking after Eve?'
'It will be my pleasure.' Franklin agreed with zest.
'Afterwards.' Tweed went on as they sat down, 'we'll be grilled by Buchanan. I don't think you'd enjoy that, so Bill, why not take Eve for a drive out into the country? Leave the dining room quietly before we do.'
'What about Philip?' Eve demanded.
'In a few minutes I'll send him over to join you at this table. Then he can come with you on your jaunt. Don't come back too early.. .'
'What are you up to?' Paula asked quietly after they had ordered. 'I saw you scribble a brief note before you left the car when we arrived. You screwed it into a ball and tossed it into Marler's lap as you passed Bob's car.'
'The note instructed him to go straight back to the Black Bear and stay under cover with Meld – and Butler when he gets back with his car. Now, Philip, if Buchanan should grab you, you're down here with a girl friend on holiday. Don't tell him anything else. I suggest you now go and join Eve and Bill – and later go with them for a ride in the country.'
'I'll go over to their table now, then.'
'He didn't need much encouragement.' Newman commented. 'What's the strategy in coping with Buchanan? He's on the warpath.'
'You and I – with Paula – came down here because we thought Philip would be on his own. You, Paula, insisted on coming. We found he'd met a girl only after we got here. Buchanan knows how deeply affected Philip was -is – by the death of his wife, Jean.'
'And what about people like Marchat?' Paula queried.
'Never heard of him. I'm surprised Buchanan knows about Marchat.. .'
'Partridge.' Newman warned.
'Quite right. But Buchanan has caught on to Partridge very quickly – he did refer to three murders.'
'That's because of me.' Newman explained. 'Before I left Devastoke Cottage with Marler I slipped into the kitchen, where the phone is. I called Dorchester police anonymously, put a silk handkerchief over the mouthpiece to disguise my voice. Simply told them there was a dead body there, at least I thought the man was dead, so would they also send paramedics. I couldn't just walk out and leave the poor devil to rot for days.'
'You were right, again. But why Dorchester?'
'I guessed Buchanan would have established his base at Wareham police station on West Street, on the outskirts. We needed time to get clear. Dorchester would have to phone Wareham and ten-to-one Buchanan would be out.'
'Good thinking. Ah, here's the main course. I could eat a horse.'
'Let's hope you're not going to.' joked Paula.
'Not here. This is a first-rate hotel. Fuel up – we need full stomachs before we face my old friend, Buchanan…'
'You were right, Tweed.' Buchanan greeted them with a dry smile. 'The coffee here is excellent. Do sit down and relax.'
Tweed went on full alert inwardly. He had not expected such an amiable approach. Buchanan was a dangerous opponent, experienced at throwing people off guard. He had arranged the seating cleverly.
With Sergeant Warden, notebook at the ready, Buchanan was ensconced on a couch, long legs crossed behind a wide table. Chairs for his guests were arranged on the other side of the table, upright chairs with arms.
Tweed, Paula, and Newman had just sat down when Buchanan leaned forward. He stared at Tweed.
'Ever heard of a man called Marchat?'
'March-what?'
'I'll spell it.' Buchanan snapped and proceeded to do so. He suddenly switched his gaze to Newman.
'You know a man called Partridge.'
It was a statement rather than a question, a typical Buchanan ploy.
'I have never in my life spoken to anyone with that name.' Newman said blandly.
'Made any anonymous calls to the police?' Buchanan rapped out almost before Newman had finished speaking.
'Not since this morning.' Newman said with a broad grin. 'It isn't really one of my pastimes.'
'I'm serious.' Buchanan snapped. He turned to Tweed. 'So why are you down here with such a heavy back- up?'
'Heavy?'
'There's three of you here and Philip Cardon was with you. Where has he disappeared to? Paula, maybe you would care to enlighten me.'
