At Park Crescent, Newman was still out with Pete Nield. Monica thought they must really be knocking it back. Harry had left, telling Monica he was on his way to Paradise.
'Some people call it the East End,' he added as he left.
Paula went over to Tweed, leant over his desk, whispered a suggestion.
'I have info to pass on, just between us. Would your house be the best place?'
'I'm leaving now, so it would be.'
She followed him in her car, stopping several times to pick up some shopping. She arrived after dark to find two new locks on the front door. A Banham and a Chubb. Tweed appeared quickly when she'd pressed the bell three times, then twice.
Taking two of her three carrier bags he ran up the stairs. Paula followed, noting the locks closed automatically when she shut the door. Tweed was sitting at his desk, studying files when she walked in, picked up the two bags.
'You haven't eaten today,' she told him. 'I'm cooking a meal for both of us. Liver, bacon, fried egg – followed by creme brulee.'
'Appreciate that,' he said not looking up.
She went into the kitchen, closed the door. She knew where everything was. She donned an apron, set to work. He had laid the table when she returned with the meal. She frowned.
'That's my job. Come and get it while it's hot. I can tell you about my afternoon while we eat…'
Tweed ate voraciously, congratulated her on another first-class meal. He fixed his eyes on hers as he posed the question.
'You have information?'
She told him. About following Newman and Nield. Their meeting in Popsies with Coral Flenton. Newman, frustrated, driving off with Nield. Her own meeting with Coral, their conversation.
'So Coral and Viola Vander-Browne were friends, went back a long way – to their schooldays,' Tweed observed. 'A strange twist. I find it odd.'
'I found something about Coral odd, but I can't put my finger on what it was. And she emphasized how far away her desk in the next room is from the Cabal's hideaway…'
Paula stopped as the front-door bell rang three times, then twice, the signal that it was someone from Park Crescent. Ever cautious, Tweed in his shirt sleeves extracted his Walther, ran down. A large cardboard-backed envelope had been pushed through the letterbox. On the front in neat lettering was Mr Tweed, from M-r. Marler.
Taking the envelope back upstairs he sank into his favourite armchair. Paula perched on an arm. She watched his expression as he took out a batch of colour photos and hid them from her. The reaction to the first one told her nothing. He looked at two more, then at Paula as he handed her the three photos.
'Who are these women? Any idea? The smaller one is Coral Flenton – Marler has written her name on the back.'
'Glory! This is crazy,' Paula exclaimed. 'The woman who is calling on Coral is the Parrot, I'm sure. She was disguised when she came to see you but I'm sure it's her.'
'And Coral told you in Popsies she hated the Parrot. No sign of hatred there. They look the best of friends.'
'What the devil is going on?'
'Loose strands are beginning to link up. First, Coral knew poor Viola. Now she has the Parrot as a friend.'
'I'm confused,' Paula admitted.
'Well, you know I never trust anyone. Nield's informant has been playing a double game, but how?'
'I'm shaken – after what Coral told me. And I've just grasped what I thought was odd about her. While talking she kept looking down at her coffee as though she didn't want to meet my eyes.'
'There are four more colour pics Marler took. In the East End, this time. Fitch is on the loose again.'
He handed her the pic showing Fitch walking towards Newman, then three more. One showed the sign board of the Pig's Nest. Another of Fitch inside the pub talking to another man. There were two of the same view. Marler must have stood at the open door. He had a lot of nerve, Tweed thought as he handed her the last photos.
'I recognize Fitch at the bar,' she said. 'But not the thug he's drinking with.'
'Thug is too mild a word. That's Mugger Morgan, a very nasty piece of work. Buchanan once showed me a picture of him leaving court. Once again his lawyer had got him off a serious charge of brutal manslaughter. On a technicality. Newman caught Fitch trying to invade your home. He may try again. Wherever you go now you need someone with you from the team.'
'I think you're right.'
'And I'd better follow you home in my car.'
'Couldn't I stay in the spare bedroom tonight? I've done so before. I did bring some night things with me.'
'Good idea. Sleep well.'
She bent down and gave him a kiss on the cheek, then headed for the spare bedroom. Tweed continued checking his files on agents operating abroad, recent reports. Nothing from Philip Cardon, who could be anywhere.
Paula reappeared in her pyjamas and dressing-gown.
'Any idea of what time it is?'
'I thought you'd be asleep.'
'My mind was churning over those photos and other developments. It's 2 a.m.' She placed both hands from behind him firmly on his shoulders. 'Up you get and off to bed.'
'I suppose you're right.' He suppressed a yawn. 'I need to be fresh for tomorrow, that is today in the morning.'
'Why?'
'We have a meeting with the Cabal at their HQ in Whitehall. The two of us. I want to study those three brothers.'
'Two brothers, one half-brother.' She increased the pressure on his shoulders. 'I want to see you actually go to bed.'
For discretion's sake, Paula left early, collected her car from behind Tweed's in the nearby mews where he'd rented space. When Tweed arrived three-quarters of an hour later the whole team was assembled in his office. Monica spoke up immediately.
'I've got someone hanging on the line you will want to talk to,' she said.
'Hello,' Tweed answered.
'Wonder if you still recognize my voice,' the caller began.
'Philip! Where the hell are you now? Or maybe you'd sooner…'
'Just listen. You need to fly to Aix-en-Provence today. By this flight. Here are the details… You land at Marignane Airport, in the middle of nowhere. I'll have a car waiting to drive you to your Aix hotel, the one in the north of the city. It would be safer if you brought two members of the team.'
'Paula and Newman?'
'Perfect. Something very weird is going on. A certain Noel Macomber is arriving late tonight to meet a most dubious character tomorrow evening. Twenty-four hours should do the trick. OK?'
'Yes.'
The line went dead. Tweed looked round the room. Paula could tell he was delighted. He gave them the news.
'So,' Newman commented, 'our wandering boy Philip Garden has surfaced again. Bet he knows what is going on over here. Strange that Noel Macomber is flying out to Aix. To meet whom?'
'We'll find out, won't we,' Tweed told him. 'Heathrow is the worst part. All those queues on security grounds. I hate that.'
'That's all right,' Monica called out. 'I'll phone your old friend, Jim Corcoran, chief of security. He'll slip you through the queues.'
'Good idea,' Tweed agreed. 'Now Paula and I have an appointment with the magic circle. All the Macombers.
