down. Paula was perched against the back of a couch which faced the windows, so she also could see most of the occupants.
The large study was cheerful with the sun shining outside. So Paula wondered why she sensed a sinister atmosphere. Her right hand was close to her shoulder-bag, within inches of her Browning.
'You lost Albert Bridge,' Warner said acidly.
'True,' agreed Tweed. 'But we saved five other bridges, key bridges. With support from the SAS.'
'Why wasn't I informed of their presence?'
'Presumably their commander thought it unnecessary. The SAS work in great secrecy.'
'The Cabinet won't like that, won't like it at all.'
'So why did I receive a note of congratulations and thanks sent by courier this morning from the PM himself?'
'That would be purely a political communication,' sneered Palfry.
'I don't recall asking your opinion,' Tweed said quietly, staring hard at the speaker.
Palfry looked uncertain how to reply. He turned to look at Warner for help. At that moment the door opened and a servant appeared. She was looking nervous.
'Sir, we have another visitor. Mr Drew Franklin.'
She had hardly finished speaking before Franklin practically pushed her aside. He told her she could go now, that this was a private meeting. As she left he walked further in, looked round, went over to stand near Eva.
'I knew you'd not want to discuss this without me,' he told Warner in his most arrogant voice.
'Of course not.' Warner was obviously taken aback by this new arrival. He recovered quickly. 'You know, Drew, you are always welcome.'
'Very diplomatic of you, Victor. You can think fast on your feet, I'll give you that. You can even do it sitting down. What is the purpose of this meeting?' Drew demanded.
'From my point of view it is to identify the mastermind who planned this damnable al-Qa'eda attack,' Tweed plunged in. He glanced at Palfry and Eva. 'Master criminal might be a better description. That person is in this room now.'
'What the devil do you mean?' rasped Warner, looking at Palfry and Eva, where he had noticed Tweed staring.
'At an early stage,' Tweed explained, 'I developed the suspicion that Carpford was the original base for a number of al-Qa'eda killers. So strategic. They would be landed from small ships at a remote beach where transport would be waiting for them. Then along the A268 passing close to Northiam and across a series of country roads which eventually brought them here to Carpford. These movements always at night. But where could they install each group in comfort and secrecy – prior to their moving-on to Oldhurst Farm near Milton Keynes? Why – in Mr Palfry's very large house which has many bedrooms on the upper floor. Where in one room we found twenty sleeping-bags piled up…'
'This is outrageous!' Palfry burst out. 'I do not see why I should listen to any more of this nonsense…'
'Those sleeping-bags will be examined by forensic experts,' Tweed continued remorselessly, 'and I have little doubt they will find fibres, hairs which never came from a European.'
'I'm leaving…' Palfry began, his faced twisted in fury.
'I don't think so.' said Buchanan.
He grasped Palfry, who had started to walk, twisted his arms behind him, produced a pair of handcuffs. In the silence Paula clearly heard the click of the handcuffs locking.
'You don't have to say a word…' Buchanan began, continuing to read him his rights and informing him he could make one phone call for a lawyer.
'I don't want a friggin' lawyer,' Palfry screamed.
'I think a period of calm would help this situation no end,' Warner suggested, staring at Palfry. 'From what I gather, Superintendent, you have no actual proof yet for this extraordinary accusation. I was a lawyer before I entered politics.'
'We have probable cause to treat Mr Palfry as a suspect in a crime almost without precedent,' Buchanan retorted.
'Don't you need a warrant?' Warner enquired.
'It does help,' Buchanan agreed. He produced a document from his pocket. 'So I obtained one. It gives me permission to search Peregrine Palfry's house. I can understand your reluctance, Minister, to accept your assistant would be involved with al-Qa'eda, but he certainly provided accommodation for at least twenty of them, maybe more over a period. He acted as halfway house from the coast to Oldhurst Farm.'
'And where, may I ask,' Warner demanded caustically, 'is this place?'
'I told you,' Buchanan continued, 'it is near Milton Keynes. It is where five stolen milk wagons were used to transport the shell-like bombs destined to destroy six major bridges over the Thames. At the farm the bombs were transferred inside small white vans which would take them to the banks of the Thames.'
'Sounds a most ingenious plan,' Warner commented, staring over his pince-nez with: cold eyes at Palfry.
'But then,' Tweed broke in, standing with his hands in his overcoat pockets, 'there is the mysterious flight which Drew took to Cairo quite a while ago. And on that flight he had a companion – Miss Brand. They flew on to Tel Aviv before returning via Cairo. Who, I wonder, were they going to meet?'
As he spoke, Tweed swung round. His grim gaze swept over Franklin and Eva. Drew, compact and neatly dressed as always, stared back at him with a hostile expression. By his side Eva stood very erect, her beautiful face showing nothing of her reaction.
'Now this is getting interesting,' remarked Warner.
'Very interesting indeed,' Tweed agreed. He now held the attention of everyone in-the room. He turned round again. 'Mr Margesson, I think it is time we gave you the opportunity to tell us what you know.'
Margesson, looking very different wearing a business suit, stepped forward. When he spoke his voice was no longer that of a lofty preacher. He looked alternately at Tweed and Warner as he began.
'Victor Warner paid frequent visits to my house at night. We have had many long conversations. When I use the word 'conversations' I mean he talked, I listened. He has a most forceful manner. I realize now, after my night in London away from here, that living alone I was susceptible to what he said. So much so I came to believe him.'
'So what did he say?' Tweed asked, encouraging him.
'He felt Western society had collapsed, that it no longer had any moral structure. That the so-called liberation of women was to blame. Morals had been thrown out of the window, the divorce rate was soaring, everyone behaved as they felt urges. Married men went with other women, women were worse, going with other men when the mood took them. Married women. He thought the only salvation lay in the East. Muslim women kept their place, would walk three paces behind their husbands, covered themselves with clothing and veils, so avoiding the attentions of men. Discipline was a word he often used. He wished to impose the Muslim system on the West.'
'Fundamentalist Muslimism?' Tweed suggested.
'Oh, he used that first word frequently,' Margesson replied. 'I found myself absorbing his views, his language, believing in it. Now I know I was used.'
'Used how?' Tweed enquired.
'He needed someone he could bounce his ideas off. I feel he is a lonely man, under permanent pressure.'
'You do realize this man is as mad as a hatter,' Warner said quietly. 'He should be in an asylum,' he went on as he polished his pince-nez, then perched them back on the bridge of his hooked nose.
'It's a thought,' Tweed agreed. 'The trouble is we have another witness with damning evidence. Billy Hogarth.' He turned to Hogarth. 'Would you describe to us what you saw on the night Paula Grey was attacked and imprisoned?'
'I saw it clearly.'
Billy was a less confident speaker than Margesson. He hesitated. Tweed made no effort to prod him to continue.
'A friend who visited Israel gave me a pair of night glasses,' Billy went on. 'Being on my own I often used them to scan the village. I was doing so on the night you are talking about. I didn't know what to do, so I did nothing.'
