Colin Forbes - By Stealth

`That's a nice pen,' Newman remarked. fountain-pens are coming back into fashion. And it suits your neat handwriting.'

Pile it on, Bob, Paula thought. Helen was playing with the fat pen, made a movement as though to show it to Newman, then dropped it back inside her bag.

`It was a present from my favourite uncle. I guard it with my life…'

Tweed seemed totally absorbed by Lee. She took out her jewelled cigarette holder, inserted a cigarette, and put the holder between her lips. She made no attempt to light it and Tweed, a non-smoker, produced the lighter he always carried. Igniting it, he leant forward. Lee snatched the holder out of her mouth away from him.

`Sorry. I'm giving up smoking. I do this as a test of will power. So far I haven't lit a cigarette for over four weeks.'

`Damn silly idea,' Burgoyne commented. 'Just don't buy any cigarettes. These pseudo-psychological methods never work. I suppose that crank doctor you consulted suggested it.'

`Maurice,' Lee said sweetly, 'why don't you mind your own damned business?'

`And are you here on business, Brigadier?' Tweed asked, seizing on the opening.

`Yes. What about you?' Burgoyne barked.

`The answer is yes,' Tweed said slowly. 'In my capacity as Chief Claims Investigator for my insurance company. I am actually investigating a particularly grim kidnapping.'

Was it his imagination or had a sudden hush descended on the party? Paula, who had pushed her chair back, was in a better position to see everyone. She could have sworn someone froze for a second. The trouble was she couldn't identify who it was.

`Anyone we know?' Burgoyne asked eventually.

`I would assume probably not,' Tweed replied in the same slow tone. 'And I am close to my target.'

`I'm going to bed,' the Brigadier announced abruptly, and stood up. 'The rest of you can chatter the night hours away.'

On this polite note he left them. Lee insisted that she and Tweed walked up the boulevard to the Copenhagen Tavern. Willie turned to Paula as Lee went to fetch a coat.

`Now you are going to join me for a nightcap. We can get one just up the street at Les Arcades. You'll like it. Quite atmospheric. Be a devil, say yes.'

`I'll get my own coat,' Paula agreed immediately. At least someone was showing interest in her. 'Won't be a tick…'

Helen waited until she was alone with Newman before she made the suggestion. Facing him, she fiddled with a brooch under her mandarin collar, her grey eyes staring straight into his.

`If you feel like it, we could slip into the bar over there and have a quiet drink and a chat. Get to know each other better.'

`Then why are we still sitting here?' Newman asked, and gave her a warm smile.

Tweed didn't let on to Lee that he was familiar with the Copenhagen Tavern. At that time of night there were only a few customers – some finishing a meal, others sitting over drinks.

A spacious establishment, it had an intimate atmosphere – largely created by the fact that the walls were lined with brown cloth, combined with subdued lighting from brass wall sconces supporting brown shades.

Tweed guided Lee to the back of the split-level room, avoiding the steps leading up to a large alcove on the right. He chose one of three empty tables at the back of the room with brown banquettes against the wall. Lee slipped round the table on to the banquette, tapped the space beside her. Tweed took off his coat, walked round the other end, perched the coat on the banquette between Lee and where he sat. She stripped off her coat, folded it carefully, placed it on top of his and pushed the pile towards him. Then she eased herself closer.

To his surprise she ordered a glass of dry French white wine when the waitress came and he followed suit.

`I'm floating in champagne,' she confessed in a husky voice. 'God! The Brigadier is a pain in the proverbial.'

`Why work for him then?'

`For a secretary-housekeeper the pay is very good. And I still haven't a clue about his business. He seems to dictate letters in some sort of code.'

`You mean a code like the Secret Service are supposed to use?'

`No. But his phraseology is strange. I always have the feeling there is a double meaning to the words. Still,' she smiled and for a moment left her full red lips half open, `don't let's talk about him. Let's talk about us.'

She sipped at her glass of wine, watching him over the rim of the glass. Her greenish eyes glowed with excitement.

`Isn't that Guerlain Samsara? The subtle perfume I caught a whiff of?' Tweed enquired.

`Yes. You seem to know a lot about women. Helen Claybourne has a bottle, let me try it.'

`Maybe the Brigadier would buy you a bottle,' Tweed suggested.

Not Maurice.' She smiled warmly again. 'He reckons he pays me too much. He'd say I could afford to buy it myself. Which I suppose I could.' She sipped more wine. 'Your Paula is a striking-looking girl,' she said suddenly. `And sharp as a tack.' She smiled again, wickedly this time. 'I bet she's a marvellous asset – in every sort of way.'

Tweed evaded the probe. 'She is extremely efficient. Incidentally, whose idea was it for the four of you to come on this trip together?'

`Are you interrogating me?' she needled him good- humouredly. 'It was Maurice's. I'm afraid he treats Willie as a pet lap-dog. I hope that doesn't sound cruel. I gather the friendship started ages ago out in the Far East.'

`Any idea what Willie did in those days? To earn his living, I mean.'

`More interrogation,' she chaffed him. 'You're not a top claims investigator for nothing. According to Maurice he – Willie – was known as Mr Fix-It. Let's suppose two trading companies were trying to take over each other. And things were getting nasty. They'd call in Willie – as a kind of mediator. You know how he rambles on. And apparently his amiable personality helped. Plus his stamina. You might not believe it, but he can stay up all night and be as fresh as a daisy in the morning. I imagine he used a mix of diplomacy and wearing everyone else down until he got them to agree to a compromise. There's more to Willie than meets the eye.'

And there's more to you than I'd thought, Tweed said to himself. The fun-loving blonde was turning out to have a good head on her beautiful bare shoulders. Which must have fooled a lot of men.

'Thank you for the drink – and especially your company,' Lee said and kissed him on the cheek. 'Let's do this again. And now I think I'd better get my beauty sleep. Poor Paula – God knows whether she will get to bed tonight. Willie really does have the stamina of the devil.'

She put away the jewelled cigarette holder she bad been twirling between her fingers after removing the unlit cigarette.

Earlier, as Willie had walked up the boulevard with Paula, they had passed the Copenhagen Tavern. Its wooden frontage was painted an over-bright blue. Paula had glanced through the closed door, wondering how Tweed was getting on with the glamorous Lee.

`We're nearly there, my dear,' Willie had said, rubbing his hands. 'Just a few more steps. It's bit brisk out tonight. You are warm enough, I trust?'

`Very comfortable, thank you,' Paula replied, grateful for his consideration.

Willie wore a heavy check overcoat and no gloves on his large hands. When they arrived at Les Arcades he took her arm to escort her into the warmth. A small but gallant gesture. Sometimes I prefer older men, Paula said to herself.

`Ladies first,' Willie said as he had opened the door.

Typical of Brussels, Les Arcades was a long narrow, deep room stretching away with a bar midway along on the right. Framed oil paintings and sketches of horses decorated the walls, the ceiling was oak-beamed and the banquettes were a pale green colour. Discreetly lit by wall sconces, it had a cosy atmosphere. A well-built Belgian came from behind the bar to greet them.