Colin Forbes - The Main chance

It was a few seconds earlier when Professor Heathstone had glanced out of the window and made his remark about 'wedding parties'.

Harry now dragged the thug with the injured leg out of the car, pushed him face down on the hard gravel, produced his first pair of handcuffs and clamped them tight round the thug's wrists. He ran round to the driver's seat where Marler had opened the door and pressed the muzzle of the Walther hard against one eye. No point in playing around with lethal scumbags.

Marler was fluent in French and in dirty language the thug would understand ordered him out, to lie stomach-down on the drive. The thug hesitated, still clutching his knife. Harry brought the barrel of his automatic down hard across the thug's fingers, which he broke. The thug screamed, the knife fell, Harry hauled him out, shoved him onto the drive, used a second pair of handcuffs to pinion his wrists behind his back, ignoring the man's moans about his fingers.

Hurrying to the rear, he wasted no time at all while one thug, under the threat of Newman's revolver, meekly stepped out and lay on his stomach on the drive. He had been shaken by the sight of Harry's first captive lying with one leg at an abnormal angle. The remaining thug was made of sterner stuff.

Despite Newman's Smith amp; Wesson he leapt out of the car, his wide-bladed knife aimed at Harry's stomach. Newman brought the barrel of his gun down on the bridge of his nose, often a lethal blow. He collapsed, half inside and half outside the rear of the car. `Thanks,' Harry said. 'That was close. He's probably dead. Who cares?'

He checked the thug's carotid arteries. His reaction expressed surprise and something like a hint of regret. `Bastard's alive. Ticking over nicely.'

He hauled him fully out, turned him over, brought both hands together, clamped another pair of handcuffs on them, stood up. `Not a bad morning's work, Marler commented. `Now I suggest we put all the bodies in the back of the Merc and deliver them to Commander Buchanan. They'll all be illegals so he can send them back to France with our compliments.

In Room 14 on the first floor Paula was getting impatient. She checked her watch, looked at Tweed. `He's been gone five minutes. I'm suspicious.' `So am I,' said Tweed. We'll go and have a look.'

Paula had her Browning by her side as Tweed threw open the interconnecting door. Professor Heathstone had disappeared. He walked into another bedroom. Nobody. On a table an old copy of Ulysses. He opened it to the publisher's data in the preliminary pages. He laughed. `It's a third edition, not a first. Worthless. And not a document inside. What a surprise!'

Paula ran across to a side door marked FIRE EXIT.

Opening it, she saw stone steps leading down. She ran to the bottom with Tweed behind her calling our for her to be careful. Opening the door on the ground floor by lifting a bar she found herself in an alley. Opposite a door led to a garage. She heard a car starting up but by the time she was inside it had disappeared, turning in the direction of Hengistbury.

Tweed led her down the alley into the main street and round into the car park. The Merc, driven by Newman with Marler by his side and Harry between them, was about to leave. In the back, handcuffed bodies were piled on top of each other.

Marler lowered the window. He beckoned to Tweed and Paula. `This is what it was all about. The gentlemen in the back were supposed to kill both of you. We're taking this lot, all illegals, I'm sure, to dump them in Buchanan's lap.' `That would be a long drive,' Tweed told him. 'I'll phone Buchanan and tell him to send police cars down to meet you, take your packages off you, then you can drive straight back to Hengistbury.' `How did you get on with Professor Heathstone?'

Marler asked as Newman started the car. `It was rather a short conversation, then he slipped away via a connecting door into the next room.' `So Calouste has escaped once more,' Marler said, lowering his voice. `He's a persistent rat. He'll be back. I'll be waiting for him.'

`There's a sealed envelope waiting for you from Buchanan,' Lavinia greeted them as she opened the door into the hall. 'He phoned and said that it was coming by courier. He spoke to me when I told him you were out with Paula. `You told him the rest of my team were also out?' Tweed asked as they entered the hall and she closed the door. `I did not.' She smiled. 'He's a man who uses few words. So am I. I don't pass on information to anyone unless I have to.' `Well, I'm grateful,' Tweed replied as she handed him the envelope. 'Is there anywhere here where we won't be disturbed?' `I'd use the smaller upstairs library next to Bella's study. No one likes to go there these days.'

Tweed thanked her again. She was wearing a longer blue skirt, the hem ending just below her knees. Round her waist she had an apron. She touched it. `Please excuse this. I'm in the kitchen baking more lemon pies. Now, give me your coats then you can hide in the library.

Tweed entered the upstairs library. Sitting down at a table, with Paula by his side, he checked the envelope's seals, which were unbroken. He opened it slowly.

The mobile buzzed. It was Buchanan. `Tweed? Good. Just to tell you the envelope – it has arrived? Good – contains five portraits of a man Loriot of the French DST believes is Calouste. If so, it's a coup. Sketched by a student in a back-street Paris bar. The subject had a Frenchman with him who might just be his deputy. The sad confirmation is the student was found headless, floating in the Seine. That was after I'd seen him at HQ and he'd told me he heard the deputy address him as Calouste. When I just said "I' and "me" I was quoting Loriot.' `Why would that trigger off the student?' `Because Calouste is becoming less invisible. There was an article splashed in Le Monde at my suggestion. A blazing headline worded "Calouste Doubenkian: Wanted for Questioning". The reporter who wrote the article is now under police guard in a safe house. Any progress down there about what the reporter Drew Franklin is calling "The Necklace Murders"? Didn't think you'd tell me anything yet. I must rush off now.'

Tweed told Paula the gist of what Buchanan had told him. She nodded impatiently. `Is it going to take all day to see what's in the envelope?' `Curiosity killed the cat, to coin a cliche,' he teased. Well, women are curious like cats if they've anything up here -' she tapped her forehead – 'except skullbone.'

He withdrew from the envelope five photocopies of the same picture. It was a sketch executed in charcoal and could have been drawn by her. She sucked in her breath. She could tell the poor French student, murdered, might well have developed into a talented artist. But it was the sketches which startled her. `They're nothing like Professor Heathstone.' `No, they're not.'

Heathstone had struck her as being in his late seventies or early eighties. The sketch was of someone in his late forties at a guess, an evil-looking man with a spade- shaped jaw, a smooth skin, a crooked nose and wearing dark glasses, which concealed his eyes. Something about the sketch made her suppress a shudder. `Perhaps Heathstone was a deputy,' she said doubtfully. `I thought maybe you were going to suggest Heathstone was heavily disguised. The contrast is too great for that.'

Well, when he fled I heard Heathstone's car heading this way towards London.' `Or maybe Shooter's Lodge.'

There was a tapping on the door. Tweed slipped the sketches back inside the envelope, then called out, `Please come in.'

Lavinia appeared, without her apron, carrying a silver tray with Rosenthal crockery, a large pot, a jug of milk, plates, on one of which was a selection of cakes. She arranged them on the table. `I thought you might like some coffee to keep you going.' `Yes, we would. How considerate,' said Tweed. 'And now you're here do you mind if I ask you a few questions?' `Of course not.' She carried a chair over to join them, sat down. 'I can't promise to answer all of them if they concern how the bank operates,' she concluded with a smile. `I don't want secrets,' he said, turning his chair so her knees almost touched his. 'But Bella gave me no idea at all. You must keep records.' `We do. In a way you'll think we're old fashioned. We have no computers in the place, no Internet connection. Bella said if hackers were able to penetrate the Pentagon, which quite young boys did, then they could certainly penetrate ours, if we had them.'