Colin Forbes - The Janus Man

`Not for me,' Tweed said hastily. 'Perhaps a glass of orange juice?'

`I'll risk the punch,' Newman said.

`Ben! One glass of punch, one orange juice.'

The head of Ben Tolliver appeared again above the companionway, curious to see who'd come aboard, then vanished. She talks to him like a servant, Tweed thought. Grayle was at her most upper crust as she arranged herself in a canvas seat, crossing her shapely legs.

`This old tub is getting like Piccadilly Circus. I bet Bob didn't tell you he slept on board here two nights ago.'

`Really?' Tweed pretended innocence. 'I'm sure he found it to his liking.'

`And that's a dirty remark if ever I heard one. Piccadilly Circus, I said. I had the oddest visitor the night Bob came aboard – not thirty minutes before he arrived.'

`Who was that?' Tweed enquired.

`I don't know. Said his name was Andrews, but I didn't believe that. Nearly scared me over the side. All those bandages.'

`Bandages?' Newman interjected.

`Yes, like someone just out of hospital. Maybe he was. His whole face was covered in them – except for the eyes and a slit for the mouth. Said he was a reporter, asked me questions about Dr Berlin. Oh, things are livening up. The august Dr Berlin is back. I suppose he'll be meditating in his locked study.'

`He'll be doing what?' Tweed asked.

`Oh, didn't you know?' She paused as Ben appeared with the drinks on a silver tray. 'Ben, that tray could do with a good clean.'

`Then you'll be having a little job waiting – when you can get round to it.'

She glared as Ben served the drinks and disappeared down the companionway. Tweed had studied Tolliver as he handed round the glasses. The red complexion, the blue-veined nose of the hardened drinker. Whisky, probably. The tropics encouraged its consumption, the way of life he'd enjoyed in the 'good old days'.

`As I was saying,' Grayle continued, 'whenever he returns from one of his mysterious trips to God knows where, Dr Berlin locks himself in his study and meditates. None of your bogus guru nonsense which was popular not so long ago. He simply wants to be alone. Like Garbo, I suppose.'

`How do you know this?' Tweed enquired.

`He sacked one of his servants. A German who drank like the proverbial fish. He told Ben all about it in a bar one night. Shortly after that, he disappeared. Never been seen around since.' She raised her eyebrows, took a sip of her punch. 'A sinister disappearance some people said.'

`And what about this stranger with the bandaged face? Was he really English?'

`I'm sure he was. From his voice. Said he'd been in a car crash. Only superficial injuries, but mauled all over a bit. I'd have told him to leave – I pretended to fetch a handkerchief, left the drawer open, the one where I keep my gun. And Ben was aboard, doing something to the wheel. I have an alarm button concealed under the bunk I was sitting on. So I wasn't too bothered. And he intrigued me – his questions about Dr Berlin.'

`What sort of questions?'

`Had he returned to Priwall Island? Did I know him? When I said no – except twenty years ago in Kenya – he wanted to know his timetable. How much time he spent here. How long he was away. When he was away. In the end I told him I was a diplomat's wife, not a bloody walking encyclopaedia. He pushed off soon afterwards, limping back across the gangway.'

`He was lame? Could you describe him?'

`This is getting a bit much. No, I couldn't describe him. He said the strong light hurt his eyes, so I turned them down with the dimmer. About Bob's height and build, I think. He wore one of those floppy duffel coats, so it was hard to tell. That was the night the strange power cruiser put in here.'

`Strange?'

`Never seen it before. It moored at the landing-stage beyond the Sudwind. It arrived a few minutes before this so-called Andrews appeared like a genie out of a bottle.'

`It's still here?' Newman asked.

`No. It must have moved off during the night. It was gone by morning. The Nocturne.'

Tweed froze, his glass half way to his mouth. He frowned, trying to recollect where he'd heard the name before. She misinterpreted his expression.

`I do know what I'm talking about. I was just going below when I saw it berthing. I used my night-glasses to read the name on the hull. Nocturne. I suppose,' she continued, 'as an insurance man all you know about is statistics. Nocturne, I said. Chopin composed them.'

`I have heard of Chopin…'

`Good for you. Oh, look whom we have here. We are honoured. How are you, Diana, darling? Care for a drink? You've never been known to say no.'

`You're looking marvellous,' Diana said as she came aboard. `This old thing?'

`I meant the outfit, not what's inside it…'

`Really?' Grayle placed her glass carefully on the table, rose slowly to her feet, her expression icy, as Tweed stood up quickly, staring at Diana. Grayle opened her mouth, closed it without saying anything, and studied Diana before speaking.

`What's wrong? You're trembling.'

`I'm terribly sorry. That was unforgivably rude of me.. `Something's happened?' Tweed asked.

Diana clenched her hands, took a deep breath. She looked at Tweed, then at Newman. She unclenched her hands, folded both arms across her breasts as though struggling for control.

`Could you both come to the Sudwind? Something has happened.'

`Someone has been on board while we were in England. All my things have been searched. I'll have to wash everything – the thought of a burglar feeling my underclothes…'

`There's no outward sign of a burglary,' Newman remarked.

`Yes, but a woman can tell when someone has been rifling her things. They tried to cover it up, but I can tell. Things are not the way I left them. And, it's weird. They've put new locks on the cupboards I don't use – which are most of them.'

`Show me an example,' said Tweed.

`This cupboard, this one – and this one…'

The locks certainly looked new, and they were deadlocks – not what you expected aboard a cruiser. Tweed stared round the cabin. The storage space was considerable. And it would take more than a skeleton key to open these locks. He looked at Newman, who was checking the general capacity of the newly-secured cupboards.

`All the drawers containing your own property were locked?' Newman asked.

`None of them were. They don't lock. I'm packing all my things now.' She heaved a suitcase down off a shelf, placed it on a table, flipped open the case. She started taking her clothes out of a drawer, putting them inside the case. 'I'm clearing out. Could I stay with you at the Jensen? I'll pay for my room. You've spent too much on me already…'

Her hands were trembling again. Tweed put an arm round her waist, sat her down on the edge of a bunk.

`You need a drink. Where is it?'

`In that cupboard.' She pointed. 'Cognac, please. Just a little.'

Newman found the bottle and the glasses, poured a small quantity into a glass and handed it to her. She took several sips, put the glass down.

`Thank you. Both of you.'

`You seem exceptionally upset,' Tweed observed, sitting beside her. 'Is it only the burglary? It doesn't look like a normal burglary.'

`It's those new locks. I've got to get out of here – away from Travemunde. He must be back.'

`Dr Berlin?'

`It's his boat.'

`How are you off for money?' Tweed asked, changing the subject.

`I'm all right at the moment. And soon I'll be able to earn my own living. In London I called a couple of secretarial agencies. I was amazed what they pay for a competent secretary. It's time I stood on my own feet. I'm all right now. Let me get on with the packing. I feel I must do something…'

Tweed stood up, asked Newman to stay with her, then walked back along the landing-stage to the waterfront. Butler was leaning against a lamp post, taking random shots with a camera. Tweed paused beside him, cleaning his glasses. His lips hardly moved.