Colin Forbes - Deadlock

'Looking for the loo,' Newman said.

'That door at the end of the passage.'

She pulled strands of her long hair, tucked them in her red-lipped mouth, stopped and stared at him. 'You look English. Are you?'

'Robert Newman. And yes, I'm pretty English.'

'Thank God for that. I'm sick of speaking French. Peter insists it's the polite thing to do. He plays a mean game of tennis – hates to lose, especially to a woman. Great sportsmen, these bankers. He plays a mean game at everything, come to think of it. God, you've no idea how boring the rich are. I think I'm going to cut and run.'

'Your decision,' Newman said breezily.

She lingered, studying him. Over her shoulder Newman gazed through a half-open door into a study. A teleprinter machine was quietly chattering away, mouthing out a spool of paper.

'I'm Carole Browne,' the girl went on. 'Maybe we could meet in Brussels – or some place?'

Newman took out his visiting card, tucked it inside a pocket of her blouse. The firmness of her breast pushed against his hand.

'Ever heard of a man called Klein?' he asked.

'Yes. Friend of Peter's. Some friend. He's spent several nights here. They spend their time behind the closed door of the study…'

She broke off as Newman heard steps crunching the gravel outside. He winked at her, spoke rapidly. 'I agree this is a lovely part of the world. Riviera is the word for it…'

'And what the hell do you two think you're up to?' Brand's voice asked behind him. 'I thought you were on your way to the loo.'

'I am.' Newman half-turned. 'This young lady has just told me where it is. You need a map for this maze of a house.'

'And who, if I may ask, left that study door open?'

'I was just going to close it,' Carole snapped, 'when I bumped into your friend. Here is the paper you asked for.' She handed him a copy of The Times which she produced from the tennis bag she carried. Newman saw from the front page it was one of the issues containing a series of articles he had written on revolutionary methods for tackling the terrorist menace – complete with his picture. Carole showed no sign of being intimidated as she continued talking to Newman.

'Since you admire the scenery go to the tennis court on the far side of the house. You get the most marvellous view up the Meuse.'

'And I,' Brand said in his most upper crust tone, 'would be frightfully grateful if ail my guests would assemble by the pool.' He slammed the study door shut and Newman heard an automatic lock click into place. The key,' Brand demanded, extending his hand. No please, Newman noted. Carole delved into a pocket, handed him a key. 'Come with me now,' he told her, 'while Mr Newman is making himself more comfortable.'

After relieving himself, Newman stepped into an empty corridor, walked briskly to the exit door, turned left, marched round the front of the house and down a side passage. The tennis court was elevated on a small plateau. A pair of powerful binoculars were slung from one of the posts supporting the net.

He picked up the field-glasses and peered through them into the distance. The view of the Meuse with its sweeping bends was spectacular. He found it interesting that the focus of the glasses picked out the landing stage and the river beyond clearly.

Assumption? Brand had seen Ralston's cruiser approaching, had recognized him on deck – or thought he had. Hence his demand for the copy of The Times. He'd been going to check the photograph if the girl had brought the paper in time.

Back at the pool Brand's mood had changed. He greeted Newman affably, handed him a fresh drink, took him by the arm and sat him in the canopied swing seat next to Carole.

'He's at his most charming,' Carole whispered as Brand relaxed in one of the chairs. 'Better watch out.'

'I hear Ralston is taking you up to Namur,' Brand remarked. 'If you're really interested in the river you should later reverse – go south across the French frontier to the Dames de Meuse. Really beautiful stretch.'

'I think I might do that tomorrow. Why do they call it that?'

'Legend hath it that centuries ago three unfaithful wives in that region were turned to stone by divine power. My God, nowadays the area would be littered with stone wives. Including my own…'

'Do we have to go into that now?' asked Carole.

'While you are eating my food and imbibing my drink, my dear, you sit and listen while I hold forth on any subject which takes my fancy.' He stared at Newman. 'Lilyane is at this moment in New York having it off with a Wall Street broker – one of the advantages of having excellent world-wide communications. There's a titbit for you.'

'I'm not a gossip columnist,' Newman replied mildly.

'Oh, I thought you chaps would use anything that brought in a few quid…'

'I think maybe we'd best get back to the boat,' intervened Ralston.

He had stood up rather stiffly, his movements rather like a robot's, his voice husky. But he still walked steadily to the flight of steps as Newman said goodbye to Carole and followed.

'I'll be in touch, Peter,' the Colonel called out from the head of the steps.

'Give me a buzz on the blower.'

'Thanks for the hospitality,' Newman said amiably.

Brand didn't reply, staring at his departing guest with a brief look of hatred.

Brand unlocked his study door which was padded on the inside. He closed it and went straight to his desk, picked up the phone and dialled the number of La Montagne in Larochette. Klein answered and spoke immediately.

'La Montagne Hotel. I'm afraid we're closed for the season.'

'It's Peter. Something which needs attending to has happened.. .'

'Which is?'

'A Robert Newman turned up at my riverside place. The Newman, the foreign correspondent. He mentioned you by name. And he is interested in writing a story on gold bullion.'

For a moment Klein was stunned. His mind flashed back, recalling events of the past few weeks – months. Nowhere had he left a clue. How on earth could Newman, of all people, have linked him with the Meuse?

'My friend, the Colonel, brought him on his cruiser. I made a reference to Newman he ought to see the Dames de Meuse. I think he'll go there tomorrow. I have a picture of him in The Times. Can you send someone to meet him? We are so close to concluding the business deal.'

'I'll send Hipper to your villa this afternoon to pick up the picture. I'll arrange for someone to meet Newman. Stay in your villa until Hipper arrives.'

Klein broke the connection. He sat in a first-floor room at La Montagne with the lights on; the shutters were closed over the windows. He sat for a moment, tapping his long fingers, then dialled the Hotel Panorama in Bouillon.

They had to fetch Marler from the sitting area downstairs. The Englishman paused before he lifted the receiver. Hipper checking up on him again? He'd give him a mouthful.

'Lambert here.'

'You know who I am. A newspaper photograph will be delivered to you later today. You know the area the Dames de Meuse?'

'I do.'

'Be there tomorrow. You have to use your professional skill to conclude a deal with Robert Newman, the foreign correspondent. I do mean conclude.'

'Understood. You do realize the Dames de Meuse covers a pretty large stretch of the river?'

That's your problem. You do grasp what is required?'

'Got wax in your ears? I said understood…'

Tweed flew back to Heathrow late that afternoon. He changed his plan to go to Brussels after his meeting with Lasalle. Before he left Paris he phoned Paula, told her to call what he termed a 'council of war'.

Harry Butler met him at Heathrow and drove him straight to Ten Downing Street. 'The PM called Paula,' he told Tweed. 'When she heard you were flying back she said she wanted to see you earliest…'