goulash of nationalities – which collapsed at the end of the First World War. More recently, they point to Yugoslavia. Again a mix of races with their own languages, religions. Tito dies and the whole house of cards comes tumbling down.
'So?'
'They foresee a scenario whereby an overwhelming Muslim force could conquer Western Europe. Supposing a federated Europe was attacked. Imagine the indecision in Brussels. They'd still be working out what to do when the Muslims crossed the Rhine. There'd be a large element arguing that any life would be better than death.'
'So what do the Americans propose to do about it?'
'They have a plan. I do know that. Morgenstern, remember, was born in Europe. Was in Europe until he was a young man and went to the States.'
'It's his plan?'
'I don't know. But he carries tremendous influence in Washington.'
'What is the plan?' Tweed asked point blank.
'I don't know. They never forget I'm English.' Strangeways finished off his drink. 'So they don't confide in me.'
'But you seem to know a lot.'
'I simply know how they're thinking. What about you? Have you a clue as to what is going on?'
'Nothing, really,' Tweed replied evasively.
'I do know they think very highly of you, Tweed,' Strangeways said casually.
Strangeways was looking at the wall as he said this. His right hand was playing with his empty glass. For a moment Tweed detected a hint of shiftiness in his host, something he had never seen before.
'Why me?' he asked.
'They respect your global outlook. Your achievements in the past. Above all, you're not a politician. Morgenstern once described you as having the brain of a statesman.'
'Nice of him. Do you agree with what is happening?'
'Damn it, I can't make up my mind. The world is changing day by day. There's no precedent for the present grim situation.'
'Why did you ask me down here, Guy? If I may call you that?'
'Of course you may. I felt a strong need for a sounding board. To get your reaction. I'm going to have another drink.'
'I hope you don't mind – ' Tweed checked his watch – 'but I'll have to be going soon.'
He looked round the chilly uncomfortable room. Yes, it all came from a boarding-school upbringing. There was an atmosphere in the room he didn't like, a restlessness which he felt sure originated in his host. He also felt alarmed and couldn't put his finger on the reason for this sensation.
'Sorry, Tweed,' Strangeways said, returning with his refilled glass. 'I've been pouring out my anxieties to you. Not like me.'
'Why do you think the Prime Minister was assassinated?' Tweed asked suddenly.
Strangeways was sitting down. He froze. The liquid in his glass shook. Then he stood up, his expression grim.
'That was a nasty business.' He drank more whisky. 'But I'm detaining you.'
He accompanied Tweed into the forbidding hall, went over and opened the library door. Paula was immersed in her book. She looked up and smiled.
'I've really enjoyed the peace and quiet in here.' 'Rupert hasn't been bothering you, has he?'
'Heavens, no.'
She spoke over her shoulder as she carefully replaced the volume where she had found it. Strangeways watched her action with approval.
'You know something,' he told her, 'you're the first visitor who hasn't taken out a book and then left it on one of the couches. Tweed is leaving now…'
The three of them were walking across the hall when the front door was hurled open. Rupert entered, slapping his crop against his thigh. He stared hard at Tweed.
'Don't know you.'
'No, you don't,' Tweed replied abruptly.
'But I must say goodbye to the alluring Paula.'
'Go straight upstairs to your room,' Strangeways snapped.
'Your wish is my command.'
Rupert began running up a wide curving staircase to the left of the doorway Tweed and his father had just left. As he ran he twirled his riding crop in a way which reminded Paula of an American girl leading a parade before a sports match, manipulating her symbolic stick. He's athletic, she thought. Then Rupert threw the crop into the air, caught it with one hand as it fell behind his back. And quick reflexes, she said to herself.
'I'll give you a buzz,' he called down to Paula. 'We'll have dinner in London.'
She didn't reply, Strangeways tightened his mouth and then his son was gone. The doorway where Rupert had entered was still open. Paula thanked their host as they left and Tweed turned on the terrace.
'Enjoy your dinner with Morgenstern,' he said.
Strangeways said nothing, merely nodded before closing the door. At the bottom of the steps Tweed paused with Paula, glanced up at the right-hand turret before getting behind the wheel of his car.
'Someone is watching us.'
'I know. Mrs Belloc, seeing us off the premises. I'm glad we are going. Something creepy about that place.'
7
Tweed had a shock when he arrived back at Park Crescent. He had found the Merc parked outside a tea shop in Parham. Newman had emerged immediately with Butler and Nield. Paula was secretly relieved to see Butler. During the drive back Tweed had told her he would explain what had happened with Strangeways when they got back. This made Paula resolve to say nothing about her encounter with Rupert for the moment.
It was dry and bitterly cold when Tweed parked his car and they entered the SIS building. George, who let them in, pointed to the waiting room.
'You'll never guess who is waiting to see you.' 'Then I won't try.'
Newman and Nield were heading up the stairs to Tweed's office when George called out to them, 'Marler has arrived. You'll find him up there.'
Butler paused. He made no attempt to follow the two men up to the first floor. He spoke tersely before heading for the door to the basement. 'I have to visit the boffins. They're cooking up a new gadget for Marler.'
'Well, George, what is it?' Tweed asked when he was alone with Paula.
'And you'll never guess what he said to me. Chief Inspector Roy Buchanan has been waiting for almost an hour. He told me that if anyone at the Metropolitan Police asked if he was here I was to say I hadn't see him.'
'He used the phrase Metropolitan Police?' Tweed checked in a puzzled tone.
'His very words.'
'Sorry to keep you waiting so long, Roy,' Tweed apologized as he entered the waiting room with Paula. 'You didn't phone to let me know you were coming.'
'Deliberately. My office may be bugged.'
Paula was gazing at their visitor. Normally Buchanan's manner was sardonic, deceptively offhand. Now he looked like a man under pressure, his expression grim. She recalled the bizarre change in Strangeways' appearance, how the jokey amiability had been replaced by tension. He had struck her at Irongates as being taut as a guitar string under unbearable strain. What on earth was happening to these men?
'Roy,' said Tweed briskly, 'in my office there are Newman, Nield and Marler. And, of course, Monica. Would you sooner they didn't hear what you have to say?'
'I'd sooner they did. At least they are trustworthy…'
