sported a trim moustache. Marler had already weighed him up as a con-man, consumed with his own vanity. He walked into an expensively furnished drawing-room. Shaded wall-lights. The walls were painted a pale green. There were framed pictures of girls wearing nothing except inviting smiles. It all fitted in with the personality of the owner.
There was another performance as all three locks on the door were closed. Marler took the opportunity to pick up the Mauser by the barrel, to extract the magazine, putting it in his pocket.
'Just in case we have a disagreement,' he explained, placing the weapon back on the table. 'You are Martin Hogarth?'
'You knew that before you started trying to kick the door down.'
'It could have been a neighbour.'
'Let's get one thing clear from the start. I've already had a visit from your lot. When I was with my brother, Billy, that tart you employ wormed her way in.'
Marler hit Martin. A hard swift blow on the meagre chin. Martin went over backwards, ended up on the deep pile carpet, one hand nursing the chin. His shifty eyes were full of venom as he slowly clambered to his feet.
'I'm reporting this to the Minister, Victor Warner,' he hissed. 'An unprovoked assault.'
'Do that. Waste of time. Don't come under his jurisdiction.' Marler's voice was calm, indifferent. 'But clean out that mouth of yours. Maybe a good job I emptied the Mauser? You look put out. While we're on the subject,
Miss Grey is a very professional woman, also a very decent one. Now, we'll talk.'
Marler perched himself on a silk-covered upright chair. As he did so Martin opened a cupboard, brought out a bottle of fine Scotch, poured himself a stiff one, swallowed it. He returned it to the cupboard without offering his guest a drink.
'You have motor-cycle couriers calling on you at dead of night,' Marler began. 'They bring large envelopes.'
'Nothing to do with me,' Martin snapped as he sprawled in an arm chair, legs splayed out on the carpet. 'They park their damned machines against my bungalow wall at the side. A ruddy nuisance.'
'So why not go out and tell them to park their machines in Carp Lake?'
'I read the newspapers. Britain is as dangerous a place today as Afghanistan. They carry knives, not fussy about using them.'
'You've been to Afghanistan then?'
The shifty eyes flickered. Wandered about the room. Martin reached for his glass, realized it was empty.
'Good Lord no,' Martin replied after a few moments. 'Africa and Asia are full of savages. Trouble is we're letting the blighters in here. They should beat them up when they crawl in here and send them straight back…'
'How did you come to buy this bungalow?'
'What? Oh, saw an ad in The Times. Rented it, wasn't for purchase. Got it for five years. Rent's extortionate…'
'You were vetted by Pecksniff then?'
'Vetted! Don't like that word at all. I did pay one visit to the Dickensian old clot's office in the sewers…'
'Your Dickensian old clot has disappeared, probably murdered. Why?'
'Hold on, Sweetie.' Martin got up, fetched the Scotch, poured himself another stiff one. 'Cheers!' he said, raising the glass.
Marler ignored the insult as Martin emptied the glass. He sat very still while Martin sprawled again in his armchair, clutching his glass. The silence continued and Martin felt compelled to speak.
'Was there anything else?'
'Yes, I'm wondering why you chose this quiet isolated spot to live in. Not that it's quiet any more – not with four murders to its credit.'
The shifty eyes again began scanning the room. Almost as though its occupant was checking up to make sure nothing was missing since his visitor's arrival. Martin was clutching his glass tightly.
'Four murders?' he enquired eventually. 'You've lost me.'
'Let me help you.' Marler began counting on his fingers. 'We have Mrs Warner, gone missing. Mrs Gobble, ditto. Jasper Buller, Chief of Special Branch, ditto. Now Pecksniff, ditto. Chief Superintendent Buchanan of the Yard, a most experienced officer, now thinks all four were murdered. Why? They knew too much. Maybe about the New Age Development organization?'
Marler's barrage of interrogation was getting to Martin. He shifted restlessly in his chair. Withdrawing his sprawled legs, he sat up straight.
'I never knew any of these people.'
'You knew Pecksniff. You've just told me you met him. And maybe,' Marler went on, remembering what Paula had told him, 'you were worried about Mrs Gobble's high-powered telescope observing what you did, who came here.'
'Telescope? Sweetie, you've lost me again.'
'I think,' Marler decided, standing up, 'I have obtained the information I came for. I'll leave now if you'll kindly go through unlocking all those Banhams again.'
'Information?'
Marler made no reply as Martin went to the door, unlocked it. Opening it, he glared at Marler. 'Information? What information?'
'People never seem to know when they've talked too much.' Marler turned on the doorstep outside and smiled. 'I don't think we'll be calling on you again. Unless, of course, we come with an arrest warrant.'
His last view of Martin was of all the colour draining from his face. Soon as he's barred and bolted the place he'll run for the whisky bottle, he said to himself. A really well-worthwhile interrogation.
The entire team – except for Marler – was assembled in Tweed's office. There was a tense atmosphere as Beaurain walked in. Outside it was a clear, cold night. Beaurain rubbed his finger across his moustache as he sat down, then spoke, his manner grim.
'I think we have very little time left…'
'My sentiments also,' agreed Tweed.
'So,' Beaurain continued, 'I am now convinced the brain base of al-Qa'eda is located in Carpford. You disagree, Tweed?'
'No. I have come to that conclusion. Some very suspect people in that strange village.'
'So we must establish our own base there for surveillance of the inhabitants. I have just returned from there – bringing with me Billy Hogarth. I have persuaded him to loan me his bungalow. I've settled him in a small hotel in Bloomsbury and I am going to drive up to his bungalow tonight where I shall settle myself in secretly and watch.'
'I agree,' said Tweed. 'We must go over on to the offensive now. The key is in Carpford…'
'I'll come with you,' called out Paula. 'It needs at least two people to mount the death watch.'
'Death watch?' queried Harry.
'Yes. Four people have now disappeared and I don't think any of them are alive.'
The door opened and Marler, just returned from Carpford, walked in. His expression was bleak. He told them of his experience with Martin Hogarth. His tone was more clipped than usual as he concluded.
'Something not right about Martin Hogarth. In fact, something very wrong about him.'
He listened while Tweed explained Beaurain's decision. He had only one question.
'Can we trust Billy Hogarth?'
'Yes, we can,' Paula assured him. 'I had a long talk with him and he's not involved, I'm certain. As Marler said, the rotten apple in the barrel could be his brother, Martin.'
'I think there is more than one rotten apple,' Beaurain rasped.
'We must still keep an eye on Billy,' Tweed decided. 'Make sure he stays in the hotel. Pete, Paula will describe Billy to you. Your mission is to watch the hotel, make sure he stays there.'
'He could still use the phone to call someone,' Newman warned.
'No, he couldn't,' Beaurain to him. 'When I left the hotel I cut the main phone wire outside.'
Paula was describing Billy's appearance to Pete while Beaurain stood up. He began striding up and down the office.
