'The stairs,' Monica warned, horrified.
'Bring the… pad on my desk,' he ordered Monica, then started coughing.
'Not a good idea…' she began.
'Bring the pad on my desk!' he roared.
Everyone was startled by the ferocity and strength in his voice. Monica hastily ran and picked up the pad.
'I'm going down the stairs immediately ahead of him,' said Marler. 'The hatchback is outside.'
'Water…' Tweed called out, his voice now croaking.
Monica poured a glass, handed it to Paula. Tweed tried to take it but Paula held on, guiding it to his lips. He drank the whole glass in two draughts, coughed again. They half-carried him down the stairs, step by step. Once he bumped into Marler who grabbed hold of both banisters, stiffened himself to take the weight. They reached the hall. George grasped the situation at once, ran to unlock and open the front door. Marler ran out to unlock the hatchback, open the rear door.
Tweed paused on the pavement, took in a deep breath. He looked at Paula, gave her a half-smile.
'Air's good…'
When they had Tweed flopped against a rear seat, Marler ran round to take the wheel as Paula climbed in the back. Newman waited.
'I'll keep the roster on you-know-who going,' he called out.
Upstairs, Monica had already phoned Dr Abbott, explained the situation, that Tweed was being taken home. In the Crescent the car moved off.
CHAPTER 12
They had another battle when they arrived at Tweed's flat on two floors, ground and first. Tweed told Paula where to find his keys, she fished them out of his pocket, unlocked the two Banhams, then the Chubb. Marler had held on to Tweed and Paula took the other arm and they entered the hall.
'On the couch in the sitting room,' said Paula.
'No. Upstairs in my bedroom… be comfortable there,' Tweed insisted.
'For God's sake,' Marler burst out. 'You don't want to climb more stairs.'
'I said my bedroom. I can make it myself.'
Tweed released himself from their grip, took hold of the banister with both hands, began to haul himself up. Paula and Marler leapt forward, grabbed his arms again, hoisted him up.
Inside the large bedroom Tweed sat on the edge of the bed, bent down to take off a shoe. Paula took over the job and took off bom shoes, his jacket, tie, loosened his shirt collar. Between them they had him undressed, in pyjamas and under the sheets, blanket and old-fashioned eiderdown when the door bell rang.
'That will be Dr Abbott,' said Paula. 'Go down and let him in, please, Marler…'
Tweed had flopped his head on the pillow, closed his eyes. Then he opened them and, despite Paula's protests, eased himself up on one elbow.
'My pad,' he demanded.
'You don't need that now,' Paula said firmly.
'It's in my pocket. Put it in the bedside drawer. Then get a fountain pen out of the other pocket…'
'You're not going to work…'
'Put the pad and pen in the drawer. That's an order.' As she did so he continued talking. 'No one is to know about this silliness. Anyone phoning, I'm away, can't say when I'll be back. Tell all the staff. That's another order…'
He flopped back on the pillow as Dr Abbott came in accompanied by another man carrying a machine. Abbott had a brisk manner, an amiable smile. He knew Tweed well as a friend. And he knows how to handle him, Paula thought as Abbott spoke.
'What's all this nonsense? Decided to take a holiday at long last, Tweed?'
Paula went downstairs to join Marler in the living room while the examination took place. She raised her eyes to heaven as she sat down.
'He'll make one hell of a patient.' She told Marler what Tweed had said. 'See what I mean.'
'That's what keeps Tweed going. Iron will-power…'
Abbott joined them about fifteen minutes later while his assistant went out to their car, carrying the machine. Paula also knew Abbott.
'He's got a virulent fever, a form of flu, but I suspect it's a rare strain. Has he mixed with anyone from abroad recently?'
'Yes. He toured the riot areas with us. Every conceivable nationality.'
'That's where he's picked it up, a quick-acting strain which I yet have to identify. I've given him an antibiotic and he's fallen asleep. I wanted him to be put into a clinic, but there's no budging him. Says he prefers his own bed, that he won't stand for a lot of chattering nurses fussing round him. Someone should be with him.'
'I can sleep here on that couch. You've met Monica -she can come here to relieve me.'
'Monica is a very capable woman. If there's an emergency – I don't expect one – whichever of you is on duty must call me at once. Now I'm going. I want to get the results of certain tests.'
'You'll keep me informed I hope?'
'Of course – or Monica if she's here. I have the phone number. He must not get out of bed. I slipped a bedpan under it.'
'Dr Abbott, how long do you think this will take until he has recovered completely?'
'The usual question.' He smiled. 'I never guess. But I will tell you it could be a long haul…'
Marler stood up when they were alone. He slipped on his topcoat.
'I'm obeying orders. I'm off to my flat to pack a few things, then I'll trawl Ebury Street, find that place where someone tried to bump off Lisa. I may stay in the area for several days. Something has just struck you.'
'It has. I wonder where the devil that Mark Wendover has got to?'
It was a quiet time in The Hangman's Noose. Herb was polishing the bar counter when Mark Wendover walked in, asked for a dry Martini. Herb looked dubious. 'I get a hint of American from the way you speak.' 'British mother, American father. Spent half my life here. Educated here and in the States. Get the picture. What's the problem?'
'Do my best, but Americans are perticular about Martinis. Saw you mixing it with those rioting swine,' Herb remarked as he took great care over the Martini. 'Saw you with a pal of mine, too. I'm Herb.'
'I'm Mark.' Wendover paused. I'm looking for a man called Delgado. Have a hunch his pad is somewhere round here.'
'You try your luck with some dangerous villains. Don't know where Delgado kips down – but I've seen him prowling round 'ere quite a bit. Especially down Reefers Wharf. That's across the street to the left. Any good? Don't mind if you won't pay for it.'
Wendover had just sipped his Martini. He licked his lips, took another sip, then raised the glass to the barman.
'This is the best Martini I've had since I was in New York. They couldn't do any better over there.'
'Thanks. Tries to oblige.'
Herb started polishing the bar again. Wendover had hoped his genuine compliment about the drink would get Herb talking but the British were careful what they said to visitors. He tried another tack.
'Just between us, the reason I'm after Delgado is I'm CIA.' He produced the folder he had deliberately omitted to hand in when he'd left Langley. The open folder he held up showed his photograph. He slipped it back into his pocket. 'I need to know as much about him as I can.'
'That's just beween you and me. The CIA business. And so is what I'm going to tell you. Delgado is an ugly customer. He was in 'ere one day, chatting to a pal at this very bar. I've got good 'earing. He said 'I wish we can find out more on Rhinoceros'.'
'That's an animal,' Wendover commented.
