Colin Forbes - By Stealth

`I suppose it's his military background,' Tweed suggested.

`That's another thing! Conscription should be introduced again. That would instil some discipline into these louts who bang old ladies over the head to grab a few pounds. And often for what? To finance their beastly drug habit. Very hot on that, is the Brig.'

`And what do you think?' Tweed enquired.

Willie beamed. 'Have another glass. I'm going to…'

`I haven't finished my present drink, thank you.'

Tweed felt sure this was Willie's second visit to the Sambri bar this morning. His face was even more flushed than usual as he ordered a fresh glass for himself.

'My view?' Willie pursed his wide mouth. 'The Brig. does rather go over the top. Up Guards and at 'em. But he was a brilliant soldier, so I just listen. Not much choice once he gets going. A real martinet. But there's never a dull moment when he's around.'

`He's staying on in Hamburg for a while?'

`Never can tell with him. He's like the proverbial grasshopper. We could be off to Vienna at the drop of a hat. The Brig.'s hat.' Willie chuckled, drank some more champagne. 'What about you?'

'My programme is vague. Depends on how events unfold. I hope you'll excuse me. I also have an appointment…'

It was a very thoughtful Tweed who went up to his room.

`There's your chance, Bob,' Paula said after they had left Tweed and wandered into the lobby. 'Tweed said get next to Helen – and there she is. Looking this way and practically sending out a siren call to you. I'm going to get a bath. Have fun…'

Helen Claybourne, seated on a couch, was writing in a notebook with her large elegant fountain-pen. She tucked the cap over the nib and gave Newman her cool smile as he sat beside her.

'Unless you're busy,' he suggested.

'Very glad not to be.' She'd closed her notebook with a snap. 'Willie has the wildest schemes for making money. I spend half my time persuading him not to invest in some hare-brained scheme. He's a sucker for con-men – unlike Maurice. You wouldn't get a penny out of the Brigadier until he'd interrogated you into the ground.'

Helen looked smart as paint, as always. She wore a grey pleated skirt which ended just above her shapely knees. A well-cut grey jacket hugged her figure and underneath she was clad in a white blouse with a high- necked collar.

Perched in a corner of the couch, she tucked her legs under her like a cat and turned to face Newman. She flicked a speck of cigarette ash off his lapel and stared straight at him with appraising eyes as she asked the question.

`Just what are you up to, Mr Newman? You seem to be on the go most of the time. I saw you leave earlier about nine with Paula and Tweed. Are you after a juicy story? Or shouldn't I ask?' she teased him.

`We've been exploring Hamburg, taking in one business call. You're staying on here?'

`God knows. Maurice is talking of moving on to Copenhagen. Do you know a decent hotel there?'

`The d'Angleterre,' Newman said promptly.

`Maybe we could have lunch?' she suggested, her eyes still holding his. 'I suppose you do know nowadays it's not thought too forward for the woman to chase the man?'

`We might do that – have lunch. If we can avoid Willie and the Brigadier.'

`Talk of the devil, here comes Maurice. Save me from a fate worse than death.'

Burgoyne, spruce in a check sports jacket, navy blue trousers, hand-made brogues, and with a crimson cravat at his neck, pulled up a chair. Sitting in it very erect he tugged at his moustache and gazed at both of them.

`Hope I'm not intruding – or are you beginning to start an affair?'

`I live in hope,' Newman replied in a neutral tone.

Helen's reaction was savage. She straightened up, leaned forward. Her grey eyes blazed and her tone was venomous.

`That's an outrageous suggestion. You'd do well to watch your tongue. You're not in the Army now. Bad manners in the officers' mess don't go down well in these surroundings.'

Did I drop a great big boulder in the pond?' Burgoyne asked ironically. 'It was a joke. You do know the word, Helen? Spelt j-o-k-e.'

'In the worst possible taste,' Helen fumed.

'Anyone for coffee?' Burgoyne enquired, quite unperturbed.

'I thought you were going to say anyone for tennis,' Helen continued her onslaught. 'You do realize that half the time you talk like old China hands back in Hong Kong – language thirty years out of date?'

Newman noticed a flash of fury in Burgoyne's eyes at the phrase 'old China hands'. It lasted only for a second. Burgoyne continued to be anything but conciliatory.

`I suspect I touched a raw nerve with my use of the word affair. You really must learn to conduct these things more circumspectly.'

`And you,' Helen told him, 'might learn not to butt in where you're not wanted. Half the time, back in the New Forest, you're dragging Willie and I off somewhere we don't want to go. Or hadn't you caught on?'

`Willie,' Burgoyne observed, 'will tag on to go anywhere – provided someone else is paying for the drinks, food, and accommodation.'

`For a pseudo-Brigadier you have a crude way of expressing yourself,' Helen rapped back. She looked at Newman. 'I'm feeling peckish, Bob.'

`Then let's try the Grill Room.'

As they stood up Helen threw one more verbal javelin, glaring at Burgoyne.

`If you're having lunch here too, I can recommend the Haerlin restaurant…'

Tweed and Paula stepped out of the elevator and immediately Paula spotted Burgoyne, who was still sitting with a cup of coffee in front of him. She nudged Tweed.

`I've seen him. Let's go and have a little chat with our eminent soldier.'

To her surprise the Brigadier smiled as though he welcomed their company. She was even more surprised when he jumped up, offered her a chair.

`Miss Grey, you are looking positively radiant. I like your suit. Very chic.'

`Thank you.' She sat down slightly dazed at the absence of Burgoyne's normal brusque manner. Tweed chose a seat placing him between them. 'They've left you on your own?' Paula suggested.

`I'm afraid so,' he replied, sitting down next to her. 'I don't appear to be very popular. Would you do me the honour of joining me in an aperitif?'

Paula stared, taken aback by the politeness. 'A glass of dry French white would go down nicely.' Burgoyne glanced at Tweed, who chose mineral water.

Burgoyne raised a hand, beckoned with his index finger to a waiter. Oh dear, Paula thought, reverting to type – dealing with the peasants. She had a further surprise.

`Could you be good enough to fetch us a glass of French wine, mineral water, and I'd be grateful for a double Scotch?'

`I hope we're not spoiling a few minutes on your own while you ruminated on a business problem,' Tweed remarked.

`On the contrary, it's a change to enjoy pleasant company. I've just had a vicious duel of words with Helen Claybourne. She's gone to lunch with your Robert Newman. She banned me from taking my own lunch in the Grill Room.'

`Doesn't sound like the Helen I've met,' Paula commented. 'I wonder what was wrong?'

`Ah! You don't know the real Helen. That outward coolness fools everybody. Underneath she's a ruthless tigress.'

`That's interesting,' Tweed interjected. 'It sounds very much as though she's taken a dislike to you. If so, why on earth does she travel with you?'

`Willie…' He paid the waiter, added a generous tip, and sighed. 'Willie,' he repeated. 'She appears to feel her job involves looking after him. Which is amusing. Master Willie is only too capable of looking after Number One.'

`He seems so indecisive,' Paula said.

`That is the impression he creates, I agree. In business, as well as earlier in the Army…' He paused and looked at Tweed. 'I learned never to take people at face value. You can come badly unstuck if you do. But I'm sure the insurance game has taught you that…'