The Cauldron (19 page)

'In one pub,' she began, 'I found your favourite brand of cigarettes. Catch.' She threw the pack and he caught it, thanking her. 'Now give,' she went on.

He sat down in a chair, noting she had turned on her radio and the taps in the bathroom to scramble their conversation. She listened intently, her eyes never leaving his face.

'So, that's it,' he concluded. 'I thought I'd found my target but now I'm not so sure.'

'If he is the controller of VB's spy network down here it's strange he told you he knew Adrian Penkastle.'

"That occurred to me. Unless he's very clever and thought I'd found out already - in which case it would be smart to admit it.'

'I suppose you could be right,' she said, dubiously. 'But from your description of him I'd guess he'd take a chance if that were the case - and not mention it.'

'I'm in a muddle about Grenville,' Newman confessed. 'On the other hand that cricket chap in the pub told me that Grenville spends his winters in Monterey.'

'Yes, that is odd. You didn't say anything to him about that?'

'Any more probing on my part would have appeared rude, if he's on the level. If he isn't it would have made him suspicious of me. Tweed is checking him out. Through a contact at the Ministry of Defence, I imagine.'

'Pity I hadn't been there. A woman's intuition tells her a lot about a man. I suppose you couldn't fix it so I meet him?'

'If he holds one of his parties at the Yacht Club before we leave I'll take you along.'

'That will make Vanity jealous.' she chaffed him.

'Don't see why,' he commented a trifle stiffly .

'Oh, come on. You two are getting on like a house on fire.'

'Maybe.'

'You need to relax, have some fun. She looks like fun to me.'

'And yet she tried to get to know you out in Monterey. You were suspicious of her then. Now she turns up here. Department of strange coincidence. I wasn't born yesterday.'

'I know you weren't. I was pulling your leg, Bob.' She turned serious. 'I think there's something very strange about her. Maybe by getting pally with her you can find out what she's up to - because she's up to something.'

'So at last you've caught on to what I'm doing. Time for me to get ready for dinner. Now you're in the picture...'

But am I? Paula wondered after he had left. Why do I feel that Vanity is fooling him?

In California Moloch got out of his chauffeur-driven stretch Lincoln Continental and paused. Anyone watching him would have assumed he was admiring the view over the blue Pacific from Highway One, south of Carmel. Waves curled in, broke against the rocks far below, threw up puffs of white surf. The coast stretched away in both directions with hills climbing steeply behind the highway.

Moloch was staring up at the new house near Big Sur Mrs Benyon had moved into recently. Perched alone on a ridge, overlooking the ocean, he thought it a crazy structure. The grey-tiled roof sloped down like a ski slope. Porthole windows had been inserted into the roof and the ground-floor windows were triangles of glass.

'More like Walt Disney.' he said to himself as he climbed a series of zigzag steps, also triangular in shape. 'So how does she get down here - when she's supposed to need a couple of sticks to waddle across a room?'

Granted there was a Alpine drive up to the house, but he knew she liked to walk down to the sea. Ethan's cream Cadillac was parked outside the house. Returning to Black Ridge he had been told Ethan had been summoned to see his mother.

In his hand he held a key to the front door. Over the phone from his jet he had ordered Martinez, the guard master, to make a copy of the key. Ethan always left his jacket hanging over a chair. It had been easy for Martinez to extract the key and take an impression while Ethan was hundreds of feet below in the tunnel beneath Black Ridge.

Reaching the house, he noticed the wide terrace was paved with stones carrying weird cabbalistic designs. The old dear had a liking for the occult. His thin lips curled as he looked at the front of the house. Even the heavy wooden front door was a huge triangle.

'Californian architecture,' he sneered to himself.

Inserting the key quietly, he turned it, opened it carefully, closed it once inside. He immediately heard a raised voice, guttural and thick. It came from a room to his right in the curving hall where the door was open.

'Ethan, you'll do as you're told or I'll beat the hell out of you.'

'But, Mother, I can't do that. VB would be furious ...'

He waited for a moment in the doorway where his grossly fat stepmother sat in a thronelike chair. Ethan stood before her like a frightened schoolboy, tall and thin, with bushy grey hair falling over his high forehead. Mrs Benyon raised one of two sticks she held in her hands, struck him with a savage blow on the arm. She was lifting the other stick to administer further punishment when Moloch walked into the circular room.

He moved quickly. Seizing the raised stick, he broke it in two across his knee. Casting the remnants into a blazing log fire, he grabbed the second stick, broke it, threw it on the fire.

'Vincent!' she screamed at him. 'Now I can't move. You bastard.'

Her heavy jowls were trembling with rage. She sat in the chair which was large, but only just contained her great ugly body. Her eyes, just visible above heavy pouched flesh, glared murderously at her stepson.

'Go back to Black Ridge immediately, Ethan.' Moloch said calmly. 'You are paid a very large salary and I expect you to earn it. If your mother summons you again while you are working, come straight to me.'

Ethan, his hands trembling, left them alone. Moloch waited until he heard the Cadillac drive away. Then he turned to Mrs Benyon, who sat still glaring.

'Please listen to me. You have an evil temper. You treat Ethan, who is over forty, like a child. He has a brilliant brain...'

'Which you are exploiting. Bastard!' she repeated venomously.

'Since I can't reason with you.' he went on quietly, 'I have to tell you. If there is another repetition of this uncivilized behaviour I shall withdraw all your stock from AMBECO. You know that I can.'

'I'll trip you up some way, Vincent. See if I don't.'

'Oh, that's another thing. You talked your way into Black Ridge past Martinez while I was away. You were poking around, trying to get into my office. Do that again and your stock goes down the drain. Don't think I won't.'

He moved away from her, bent down to warm his hands at the fire. At 4 p.m. or so in this part of California, however warm the day, the temperature dropped suddenly, became chilly. He was leaving the room when she called out to him.

'Vincent! You have left me a cripple without my sticks.' She pointed two open fingers at him, like the points of open scissors. 'I have put the evil eye on you. Get out of my house!'

He made a little bow, smiled, looking directly at her.

'It will be a pleasure to do so. You appear to have lost your British manners.'

Once out of sight in the curving hall, he opened the door, slammed it shut from the inside, pressed himself against the wall. He heard the creak as she left her chair. Tiptoeing back to the entrance to the room he saw her hurrying briskly to the front window to observe him leaving. No sign of any handicap or infirmity, as he had long suspected. He peered into the room.

'Some cripple ...'

On that remark he left the house before she could reply. Skipping nimbly down the idiotic steps, he never once looked back.

'How on earth did my late father marry such an ape?' he muttered aloud.

* * * *

At four in the afternoon in California it was midnight in Cornwall. After dinner Newman had received a phone call from Colonel Grenville.

'My dear chap, I've organized a party at short notice. At a yacht club in Port Navas. Not the one near the end of the creek, another one - at the beginning of the road on the other side of the creek. I am very much hoping you will join us. There will be music and a small dance floor.'

'Thank you. I accept your kind invitation. May I also bring two ladies?'

'You like one in reserve, do you?' Grenville joked. 'I would be most happy - I just hope they are attractive. If you know them they must be. Midnight suit you? Good. I like early morning parties ...'

Newman had been thinking of Vanity and Paula. When he told the latter she reacted at once.

'I'll phone up Maurice Prendergast and ask him? He had a bad time when we were last there.'

'Why not?' Newman grinned. 'And you had the nerve to pull my leg about Vanity.'

'Well, Maurice is rather handsome.' she replied. 'I hope Grenville won't mind.'

"The more the merrier is his motto, I suspect.'

He hurried into the lounge to tell Vanity. She rushed to her room to have plenty of time to fix herself up for the party.

At Park Crescent Tweed was working late. Monica, behind her desk, had often noticed that as the tempo of an activity began to accelerate one sign was that Tweed worked later and later into the night.

He phoned a contact at the MoD, apologized for the late call, then spoke rapidly.

'Arthur, I'm involved in an important investigation here and abroad. It would help me if you could tell me something about the career of a certain Colonel Arbuth-not Grenville, now retired presumably, living in Cornwall.'

'Can't tell you a lot about him.'

"Then tell me a bit.' Tweed urged.

'Left the Army ten years ago.'

'Why?'

'Can't really go into that. Sorry. I always try to help when I can.'

'The investigation I'm involved in is sanctioned by the PM. So I need you to tell me everything.'

'You know, Tweed, we can't give out confidential information...'

'You have before. I've helped you recently. You owe me,' he snapped.

'Sorry, I've gone as far as I can. Hope this isn't the end of our cooperation at times in the future.'

'Of course not. Goodbye ...'

Monica was careful not to look at Tweed, not to say one word. She knew his moods well, although he was rarely gloomy or lacking a buoyant attitude.

I'll phone Special Branch now,' he announced. 'See if they're more forthcoming. No. I'll get the number...'

'Freddie,' he said after reaching his contact, 'can you tell me the true role of an ex-officer of yours? A man called Maurice Prendergast, now living down in Cornwall?'

'Oh, that's easy,' Freddie replied glibly. 'He retired about two years ago.'

'Are you sure about that?' Tweed pressed.

'Yes,' Freddie replied - after a pause. 'What's your interest in him?'

'I'm not sure. Yet. I think you could be covering up something.'

'Prendergast retired a couple of years ago.' Freddie insisted.

'He had enough money to do that? At his age?'

'I believe he was left a legacy by an uncle. Not enough to see him through for the rest of his life, I'd have thought. Still, it was his decision.'

'Why did he retire?' Tweed probed.

'Found the pressure of his work was becoming intolerable.'

'That's strange. I met him several times. He has the stamina of an ox.'

"The most unexpected people crack.' Freddie replied. 'I'm sure you've experienced that.'

'Not with people like Maurice Prendergast.'

'Well, it did. That's all I have on him. Ancient history.'

'Thank you.' said Tweed. 'Thank you very much.'

He stood up after putting down the phone. He began pacing round the office, polishing his glasses on his handkerchief. Most people could not have guessed something was wrong, but Monica knew better. He put on his glasses, stood by the window, gazing out at the darkness. Both ceiling fans were turning but it was still warm. He swung round.

'I'm wondering if the PM is in such a dither he's asked us to investigate Moloch - but also put Special Branch and the MoD on his track on the quiet. No, that's just too unlikely.'

'What's going on, then?' Monica wondered.

'Darned if I know. PerhapsRIGHT SQUARE BRACKET'