Colin Forbes: Cell

'Dangerous might be nearer the mark,' Tweed commented.

They had dropped to a much lower level after Buchanan had swung along a narrow lane to his left. As they entered Foxfold Paula realized it was a normal village, nestling in a deep gulch. There were street lights, and old brick-built houses and cottages stood well back from the road. High up on the gulch, overlooking the village, was a large house with a blaze of lights. Buchanan turned off the lane and climbed a steep drive leading to the perched house.

'That's the Peacock,' Buchanan said as he pulled up in front of a large window with leaded lights.

'Well,' Paula began, her mind darting about, 'at least we know that mysterious man with the black overcoat exists. Mrs Gobble has seen him prowling about in the night.'

'One thing I meant to ask you, Roy,' Tweed said as Buchanan switched off the engine, 'is do you know how it was possible for Victor Warner to buy land and build that monstrosity? Everyone else has to pay rent to that dubious London lawyer.'

'He was smart. He had a surveyor check the area, found that the developer, the New Age outfit, had overlooked it. Jumped in and bought it, then had his house built by workers imported from Milan in Italy. He's very rich. You know why?'

'No idea.'

'He keeps this quiet. His father owned a company which manufactured – of all things – a laxative. Victor inherited a huge fortune when his father departed this world. He likes to keep the source of his wealth quiet.'

'No wonder!' Paula chuckled. 'A laxative!'

They were about to enter the hotel when a Maserati sped up the drive, parked behind Buchanan. The driver jumped out of the car. Tall and slim, agile, he wore a long dark overcoat. Paula whispered to Tweed.

'It's him. The man you saw at the edge of the wood watching us in Carpford.'

'I don't believe it,' Tweed replied with astonishment. 'Of all people. This is my old friend from Belgium, ex-chief of their anti-terrorist squad. Jules Beaurain.'

As Tweed made introductions, Paula was struck by Beaurain's powerful personality, by his good looks, by his courtesy and command of English. He kissed her hand briefly and gave her a wonderful smile.

Six feet tall, in his late thirties or early forties, his hair was black, neatly brushed, his blue eyes piercing without any hint of anything but friendship. His face was long and beneath his strong nose were firm lips and a fine jaw. All his movements were swift.

'The brilliant Paula Grey,' he said, still smiling. 'When Tweed visited Brussels he praised your talents to the sky. So it gives me great pleasure to meet you. I had not expected someone quite so attractive. Don't know how you get any work done with this lady in your office.'

'That's right, pile it on,' Tweed replied with a mock grumble. 'We are just going in for dinner. Paula is starved. Can you join us?'

'I also have not eaten for years, so it seems. Certainly I should be honoured. And I trust the famous Superintendent Buchanan will be another guest.'

'How do you know he's a Superintendent?' Tweed enquired. 'I remember he was a Chief Inspector when we last met in Brussels.'

'I make it my business to know what is happening in so many different parts of the world. Does your friend realize my career, now ended, tallies not so far from his?'

'I do,' Buchanan said emphatically. 'Notorious would describe how we regard him at the Yard. But after commanding the anti-terrorist squad you returned to the police in the role of Commissioner.'

'This is fascinating,' Paula interjected, 'but I'm still in great need of food.'

'My apologies.' Beaurain took her by the arm and led the way into the hotel and the restaurant. 'Let me choose the table where we can talk openly. I am staying here at the moment.'

They sat down at a long table perched in a corner under the eaves of the ceiling. Before Tweed could open his mouth Beaurain, sitting next to Paula, was suggesting different wines from the list. He also recommended mushroom soup and lamb chops to follow.

'I, unlike my countrymen, prefer them bien cuit.'

'So do I,' said Paula. 'And the soup. My mouth's watering.'

She also ordered Chardonnay to drink and Beaurain nodded his approval. Everyone followed his choice and Paula began attacking the freshly-baked rolls. There were only two other couples, seated at tables well away from them.

'You will soon feel that life is worth living again after your grim experiences exploring Carpford. All the inhabitants are so peculiar. I doubt after leaving Mrs Gobble you enjoyed the encounter with Margesson. I doubt, also, that Mrs Gobble is all that she seems.'

'You,' Tweed accused, 'are the man with the field-glasses who watched from the edge of Black Wood.'

'The very same. I have been keeping an eye on what I suspect is a cleverly disguised base for some operation.'

'Incidentally,' Buchanan observed, 'I never once spotted you following us in that Maserati.'

'I should hope not. During my career I have had to follow some very dangerous villains without their knowing. It is not so difficult once you get the hang of it.'

'You just called Carpford a base,' Tweed observed quietly. 'A base for what? Run by whom?'

'I simply have no idea. We could discuss the notion when we next meet.'

'You remarked outside that your career has ended,' Tweed persisted. 'You have left Belgium for good?'

'I have. When I became Commissioner I soon realized that politicians were trying to control me. Since there is so much corruption over there I resigned.' He turned to Paula. 'You see, my father was Belgian but my mother was English. Also my wife was murdered. Before I left I tracked the killer down. I shot him dead.' He looked at her. 'I hope I do not shock you.'

'Not in the least. I'm sorry you had that experience.'

Paula found she was liking Beaurain. Seated alongside her, he had not once touched her as certain Frenchmen would have done at every opportunity. Buchanan twiddled the stem of his glass as he looked at Beaurain.

'What is your view on the disappearance of Mrs Warner?'

'Paula, excuse me, but I must answer frankly. I think she has been murdered. I hope there is not an even grimmer option.'

They separated when they left the Peacock. Buchanan was anxious to get back to the Yard. He had arranged for the sturdy Sergeant Abbott to drive Tweed's car back to Foxfold and it was waiting for them when they emerged into the icy night. Beaurain had said he was staying to 'continue my holiday'. He had promised to keep in touch with everyone.

'Funny sort of holiday,' Paula remarked as Tweed drove them down to the main road where they joined the route they had used coming down from London.

'I've never known Jules take a holiday,' Tweed told her. 'I think he's determined to unearth the secret of Carpford.'

'But is there a secret?'

'He seems to think so. Never known him to be wrong yet.'

The heavy meal, the warmth of the car, soon sent Paula to sleep. Her head sagged and she only woke as they were approaching Park Crescent. Tweed glanced at her.

'How did you know we'd arrived?'

'I sensed you were suddenly driving slowly. And we have a reception committee waiting for us,' she commented as they entered the Crescent.

Two cars were parked in front of the entrance to the SIS building. Newman was striding up and down, hands in the pockets of his overcoat. Characteristically, the calmer Marler was seated behind the wheel of his car, smoking. Paula checked the time. 11.15 p.m.

'We're in good time,' she remarked.

'Doubt if Newman would agree with you.' Tweed replied as the rear door was flung open and Newman jumped inside. Paula told him to close the door since all the warmth was escaping.

'Now listen closely both of you,' Newman began, his tone unusually grim. 'One of Marler's top informants, Eddie -I doubt that's his real name – insists he has important information. The trouble is he'll only talk to you, Tweed. And we had a bit of an evening of it…'