Colin Forbes - By Stealth

`So why are you puzzled?'

`Because the normal hull of a larger vessel would have smashed up his skull far more brutally. That's all I can say.'

`You could tell hie about the surgeon capable of amputating Irene Andover's arm with such skill.'

Rabin cleared his throat. 'Now we are in the realm of professional ethics. My lips are sealed.'

Tweed put down his cup carefully. He stood up, reached for his Burberry placed over the arm of a chair, put it on slowly, then stood erect, hands shoved inside his coat pockets. Rabin, thinking he was leaving, looking uncomfortable, also stood up. Tweed braced himself, stared hard at his host.

`Then you'll have to unseal your lips, won't you? Throw so-called medical ethics to the winds.' His voice was cold and grim. 'Now you listen to me. There have been two cases so far of eminent men having close relatives kidnapped. No ransom demanded. Just an order that they must retire prematurely from all professional activity. And, to encourage them, at a certain stage one receives the severed arm of his daughter. The other, the severed hand of his wife. Later, the father of the first victim, Andover, has to be told his daughter's dead body has been washed up in the Solent. You've just examined her body. Murdered by the cold-blooded injection of cyanide. Rabin, this is a matter of national security. I know now I have stumbled on a conspiracy of global proportions. My only lead is the fiend who carried out the amputations. I need a name.'

`You make out a very strong case,' Rabin commented.

`And, if necessary, I can make out a much stronger one,' Tweed continued in the same controlled voice. 'I think you know who the surgeon might be. Who?'

`This conversation has to remain strictly between the two of us…'

`Did you have to say that, knowing me?' Tweed demanded.

Rabin gave him a quick glance, walked over to the wall. He took down the framed photograph he had looked at earlier, laid it on the top of a sideboard.

`This was taken at an international medical convention in Mexico City just a few years ago. Look at this man.'

He pointed to a figure seated next to Rabin. Tweed examined it. The print was very clear. A large, heavily built man with a paunch. Clean shaven, he wore rimless glasses, had a high forehead and thinning hair. He was smiling, exposing a perfect set of large teeth. Tweed had the impression of a clever man with a high opinion of his own cleverness.

`Dr Carberry-Hyde,' Rabin said. 'Knew him for years – we trained at medical school together. He always made a point of keeping in touch even when he'd become one of the country's top surgeons.'

'So why might it be him?' Tweed probed.

`He has an insatiable appetite for women. There was a case when he tampered with a woman who was drowsy during a preliminary examination. A nurse he'd sent into the next room witnessed the incident through a half-open door. The woman's husband complained. The nurse kept quiet. Then, blow me, he does the same thing with his next woman patient. This time two nurses – including the one who witnessed the previous incident – watched him. When there was an inquiry both nurses gave evidence. Flagrant cases. He was struck off. The case never made the press – too full of a political scandal.'

`That cut him off from a lucrative income,' Tweed pointed out. 'So what happened to Dr Carberry-Hyde?'

`He went to live in the New Forest. Dropped me a line just once. I think I've got the letter still. And now I come to think of it, there was a brief mention in the press.'

Rabin opened a lower drawer in the sideboard, sorted quickly through a pile of papers. He stood up with an envelope in his hand.

`Got it. Says he's managing to earn a pittance as a salesman for a pharmaceutical company.'

`And this Carberry-Hyde could have carried out these amputations?'

`Standing on his head. A great loss. Brilliant chap.' `Any address on that letter?'

`Yes. April Lodge, Brockenhurst.'

Nothing of Tweed's reaction showed in his expression. His encyclopaedic memory was flashing back to the house supposed to be for sale in Brockenhurst, the house Paula had visited with Newman. What was the woman's name? Yes, he recalled it. Mrs Goshawk. Of April Lodge, Brockenhurst.

`You can rest assured,' he told Rabin, 'that no one will know – outside my organization – how I obtained this information. And may I borrow this framed photo? Thank you. I'll let you have it back, of course…'

Tweed had no regret that he had fooled Rabin in saying he had had to tell Andover about his daughter's death. Any pressure was justified to trace the hideous doctor who had carried out the amputations.

On their way back to Park Crescent – with George driving and Butler hugging the executive case – Tweed had the car stopped near a public phone box. He called Commander Noble of Naval Intelligence.

`I have something technically unique to hand over to you,' he told the Commander. 'The sooner you reach my office the better…'

Tweed was surprised by the speed with which Noble reacted. He had hardly taken off his Burberry and settled himself behind his desk when Monica answered the phone.

`It's Commander Noble again. Waiting downstairs.'

`Wheel him up…'

Noble sat down in the armchair, gratefully accepted a cup of coffee from Monica, and listened without interruption. Tweed told him quite frankly about the dramatic interview with Gaston Delvaux, about the small Stealth plane he had constructed inside his plant. Then Butler handed over the executive case.

`I wonder?' said Noble.

He opened the case, examined the new device, handling it with great sensitivity. Then he replaced it inside the case. `I wonder,' he said again, 'whether this device really does work in the way Delvaux claims?'

`You'd better test it.' Tweed leaned forward. 'And may I suggest your boffins get their skates on? Delvaux has always known what he's doing before. He turned down that super-gun idea with the incredibly long barrel the Iraqis pinned their faith on. Delvaux did some mathematical calculations, said the theory was unsound.'

`Oh, we'll test it,' Noble assured him. 'Both Naval and Air Intelligence. And as a top priority. Did you notice my car parked outside with three men inside?'

`Yes, I did,' Tweed replied. 'A big job. Heavy looking.'

`Should be. It's armour-plated. And my escort is armed. Thank you, Tweed. If you don't mind, I'll get the show on the road…'

When Noble had gone Tweed swung round in his swivel chair. He faced Butler as he gave him the instruction.

`A job right up your street. Drive down to April Lodge, Brockenhurst. It's somewhere on the outskirts. Owned by a Mrs Goshawk. I think she had a lodger, a Dr Carberry- Hyde. Try and find out if she knows where he is now. If necessary, put on the pressure.'

`I'm on my way…'

`A man of few words but plenty of action,' Tweed commented to Monica when they were alone. 'And I have a job for you. Come over and look at this photo taken in Mexico City.' As she leant over his shoulder he pointed to the figure Rabin had identified.

`Dr Carberry-Hyde. I want the Engine Room wizards to blow up his picture to a size about five inches wide by five deep. Glossy prints. One hundred copies. If they kick up tell them I'm expecting another miracle…'

Monica paused at the door, the framed photo under her arm. Tweed looked up and waited.

`I was just wondering whether they really do exist – invisible ships. We know Stealth planes do – the Americans built the Stealth B2 bombers. But ships? I ask you.'

`I'm relying on Paula's eyesight that night when Boyd died in Lymington.' Tweed paused. 'But you're right – it does stretch the imagination.'