The Cauldron (10 page)

'I know these Cornish lanes - they're like rabbit warrens. All right for a visit but who would want to live here?'

'At the bottom where the road levels out you have to take a very sharp turn to the left and proceed along the edge of the creek. Apparently a very interesting character runs an oyster farm at the point where the road comes to a dead end.'

'Oysters!' Tweed said with relish. Tm going to enjoy myself down here.'

'Yuck.' said Paula in a tone of disgust. 'Some people have perverted tastes.'

'Just look the other way when I'm eating them. Here we go.'

A truck was corning in the opposite direction. Here and there they had passed setbacks in the hedges but the previous one was way behind them.

'Now we play a game of poker.' Tweed said with enthusiasm. 'We stop here, see what he does, let him work it out.'

After a minute of deadlock the truck driver began reversing until he reached a passing place. He waited until Tweed drove slowly past, acknowledging the truck driver's courtesy with the wave of a hand.

"There's the bottom of the creek.' Paula warned. 'Where you turn along the creek. And I was wrong saying it was on the Helford River. This is one of several creeks which run back from the Helford.'

Tweed swung the car round at a steep angle, found himself driving along a narrow road perched on the edge of the creek to their right. Again only space for one car. To their left at the edge of the road were pleasant two-storey old houses with whitewashed walls, each nearly touching its neighbour. Several boats were moored in the creek. Paula stopped him as he reached a larger building with an open space for parking cars.

'This is the Yacht Club.' she explained. "They'll think we're having dinner here. It's only a short walk back to Prendergast's place ...'

The Ark, with white rough-cast walls and a thatched roof, seemed to Tweed to be built into the side of a cliff. He and Paula mounted three stone steps to a heavy wooden door equipped with a spyhole. Tweed was lifting the heavy anchor-shaped knocker when the door opened.

'Saw you pass the house.' Prendergast told them in his cultured voice. 'Long time no see, as they say. Come in and relax.'

He greeted Tweed warmly, shaking his hand with a firm grip. Tweed followed Paula into a large long room with a low beamed ceiling and a big inglenook fireplace at one end. The furniture was Jacobean with a sturdy dining table. There was a small modern kitchen at the other end. He felt immediately at home as Prendergast pulled up an armchair for Paula close to the fireplace.

'Why The Ark?' Tweed enquired as he sat in another chair.

'Because some strange animals - of the human variety - have come here. You've come to Forth Navas, a refugee colony. What can I serve you both for drinks?'

After he had provided drinks Prendergast sat on a leather seat by the inglenook where he could see both of them. He raised his glass of whisky.

'Cheers! Thought you'd be arriving on my doorstep, Tweed.'

'What made you think so?'

'Sixth sense. And when Paula appears Tweed can't be far behind. If you're hunting you've come to the right place.'

'Why did you call Forth Navas a refugee colony?' Tweed enquired.

'Because so many down in this part of the world have fled from London, which they nickname the Inferno. They found the pressure of modern life too much. Really they're almost expatriates, the type you find abroad. Often they are - or have become - boaty types. Live for messing about in boats, having an evening get-together at the local pub.'

Tweed nodded. He had been studying their host. Maurice Prendergast was six feet tall, in his late thirties, had a strong, clean-shaven face with a long nose, a firm mouth and a rugged jaw. Fair-haired, his eyes were a deceptive sleepy-looking blue, his movements apparently slow and he appeared to be smiling all the time, a humorous smile. He was a handsome man, far too young to be buried in this faraway creek.

'You said if I was hunting I'd come to the right place.' Tweed remarked. 'Why did you say that?'

'Money. People take off from their normal lives, settle here and find they can't really afford to have retired, so to speak. Some are willing to take on any kind of dirty work if the payment is right.'

'What type of dirty work?' Paula asked.

'A very powerful man who has a big house beyond Stithians uses certain people round here as spies. They are paid large sums in cash - so no tax to the Inland Revenue. Their job is to report back to him any strangers appearing in the area. He'll know you are here.'

'How on earth will he know that?' Paula persisted.

'Because when you were driving slowly along the road past my house you were photographed from a boat in the creek.'

'How do you know that?' Paula was alarmed about Tweed, who could be the number one target.

'Because from a window I saw Adrian Penkastle aiming his camera at you. Not only has he photographed you but I'm sure he has now phoned your description to his paymaster. That's the system they use. Rather effective.'

'Tell us something about this Adrian Penkastle,' Tweed suggested.

'Oh, he was an executive in a big advertising agency in London. He got kicked out of his job for insulting a top client of the agency. He was drunk as a lord at the time. He knocks back brandies as though they are water.

In the late evening he floats back from the Yacht Club

along the road outside - floats on alcohol. Thinks he's a bit of a toff.' He jumped up from his seat.

'I saw him from this window ...' He paused. 'I don't believe it. Here he comes ...'

They all stood by the window, which was masked with heavy net curtains. They saw a portly man with a slow tread, a round head with grey hair and a red face. He carried himself with an air of self-importance and was looking at Prendergast's cottage as he continued along the road with a duck-like waddle.

Penkastle was clad in a white shirt and white flannels and had a nautical cap perched on the back of his head at a rakish angle. Paula, in an impish mood, ran to the front door, opened it, ran down the steps and clasped him with both hands on his fat shoulders. She was grinning as he stared at her, stopped by her sudden arrival.

'Adrian,' she gushed, 'thank you so much for taking my picture. You really are a scream. Don't forget the name of the house I came out of. He'll want to know that. It's called The Ark.'

"The A ... r ... k?' He was slurring his words. 'Why is it called that?'

'Adrian,' she went on, still clasping his shoulders. 'It is called that because so many animals - the human type - are wandering round here. Just like you're wandering. A bit unsteady, are we? Still, a few drinks never did any harm...'

'Don't know what ... you're talking about,' he mumbled.

'Surely you remember me?' she went on, grinning again. "That night at the pub when I danced on the table and you couldn't take your eyes off my legs. Oh, come on, Adrian - you must remember that.'

'S'pose I must. Which pub was that?'

'Oh, come on, Adrian.' She shook him. 'You know which pub. You do remember me dancing on the table. You loved it. So stop being so shy.'

'I do remember.' he mumbled again, slurring his words more than ever. 'You were great ... great ... great.' He leaned towards her, spoke confidentially. 'I've had a couple ...'

'Adrian, you've just drunk the Yacht Club dry. So stop trying to kid me. How many did you have?'

'Lost count...'

'Adrian, you've already taken my picture once. How about a close-up. I'll lift my skirt a bit for you. Let's do it now. You've got your camera ...'

Penkastle did have his camera, slung from a strap over his back where it hung out of sight. As he tried to get hold of it with shaky hands Paula moved. She grabbed hold of the camera, swinging the loop over his head.

"There.' she went on after a quick glance at it. 'You still have plenty of film. Take six shots and you'll get a good one of me ... Whoops!'

She had let the camera slide out of her hand. It plunged over the edge of the road down into the water of the creek. Penkastle stared down to where it had vanished with a doleful look on his fat face.

"That... was extensive...'

'Expensive? Oh, dear. Still, I'm sure you have plenty more at home. What fun we're having. We always have fun, don't we, Adrian?'

'Yes. Yes. Yes. We do...'

'Excuse me now. I've got to dash back for my drink -only my fifth this afternoon. Mind you don't fall into the creek.' She swivelled him round so he was facing the way he had come. 'Now, back to the Yacht Club - don't forget to have one on me. Lovely to see you again, Adrian...'

As she went back inside the house, closed the door, Maurice was saying something to Tweed.

'Wasn't that a bit dangerous?'

Tweed was laughing. He shook his head while Paula joined them.

'What a wonderful performance, Paula. No, Maurice, I want to rattle the man who is Adrian's employer. He'll wonder what our tactics are when Adrian sobers up and reports to him. And Paula lost the camera.'

'It did have the three shots in it,' Paula told them. 'I checked the number just before I let it slip into the drink.'

Talking about drink,' Tweed said, peering out of the window, 'Adrian is duck-waddling back to the Yacht Club for a refill. Duck-waddling. Quack! Quack!' he went on, joining in the fun with Paula to show how much he approved of her swift tactic. Then he looked thoughtful. 'Quack,' he repeated in a very different tone. 'I think I've got it.'

'Let's all sit down again.' Prendergast suggested. 'The man you're talking about is Vincent Bernard Moloch out at Mullion Towers beyond Stithians? I thought so. I can tell you quite a lot about him that isn't generally known.'

6

Moloch was eating a meagre meal in his office when the phone rang. He always ate frugally and this never seemed to affect his endless capacity for work.

'Hello,' he said.

'Penkastle here, Mr Carson. Adrian. You know ... Adrian.'

Moloch pursed his lips. His caller was obviously the worse for drink. He hadn't known Penkastle imbibed heavily when Brand recruited him as an informer. He had been given Moloch's ex-directory number and told to report to a Mr Carson.

'Yes,' Moloch said. 'You have news?'

'Paula Grey, the girl Joel gave me a pic. of, is visiting a man in Forth Navas. Ex-Special Branch type... Maurice Prender ... gast.'

He was having trouble pronouncing names. Now Prendergast came across clearly.

'Go on,' Moloch said patiently.

1 took photographs of her with another man when they were driving along the road by the creek to the Yacht Club

'Where are you now?'

'Yacht... Club.'

'Give me the address of this Prendergast.'

Tunny name. The Ark. Halfway down the road along the creek at Porth Navas ...'

'How do you know this Maurice Prendergast is ex-Special Branch?'

He was firing questions at Penkastle, who was slurring his words. Moloch needed the information while this drunk could still answer questions.

'Doesn't make any secret of the fact. Says he got fed up with the work and decided to get away from it all.'

'Did he now?' Moloch paused. 'You said you took pictures of two people in a car - Paula Grey and a man. Describe them as best you can...'

Penkastle managed a description of Paula, which satisfied Moloch he had identified her. The description of the man driving the car was vague, blurred. Moloch never gave a thought that this might be Tweed.

'Give the film with the photos to Joel. I'll arrange for him to call on you. Return to your house there.'

'Can't do that. You see ...'

Penkastle then described the scene outside The Ark when Paula had accosted him and, later, dropped his camera in the creek. Moloch listened with growing amazement and alarm. Paula Grey appeared to have had no worries about being recognized. He admired the way she had got rid of the camera.

'Is that all?' he asked eventually.

'Yes. The camera was expensive ...'

'I'm sure it was. Now go straight back to your house and wait for Joel to call on you with new instructions. You understand?'