I read the signs aright. They're choosin' targets for somethin' later. Here come six more of the tykes. Foreigners again. Walkin' separate as though they don't know each other.'
Selecting an apple from a stall, Lisa asked how much. The stallholder grinned, shook his head. He exchanged banter with Herb, who explained as they continued walk ing while she munched the apple.
'That was because you was with me. See that villainous lot that's just arrived? They're passin' Delgado as though he didn't exist. That's deliberate. Ever seen that brute before?'
'Yes. Once in a bar in Brussels. He caught me looking at him and I think he's a man who remembers people. Shouldn't you have some protection, with Delgado's mob casing the area?'
'Got a shotgun under the bar. Illegal. But not if Delgado ever comes in, waving that knife about. We'd better get back so I can help out Millie.'
'Did Bert make a list of the targets here and in the West End that Delgado was interested in?'
'He did.'
'Could I have a copy?'
'Course you can. I'll borrow it off Bert now. Can't think why you want it but you keeps yourself to yourself. Then, you're a smart lady . . .'
Customers were filling up the pub but Lisa was able to go to the end of the bar by herself. She copied Bert's list, then used the phone to call Tweed again. The same nice woman answered, regretted that Tweed was out again, asked if he could call her.
'I'll try again later, thank you . . .'
Tweed and Paula went inside Marlows, an obscure club located on Pall Mall alongside more prestigious establishments. Tweed was asking the porter if Mr Gavin Thunder had arrived when a small well-dressed man in a grey suit appeared in the hall. Well-built, he couldn't have been more than five feet four inches tall, Paula estimated, and he exuded physical energy as he held out a hand, smiling.
'Welcome, Tweed. Too long since we last met. And this must be the hyper-efficient Miss Paula Grey. And an attractive lady, if I may say so.'
'Thank you,' replied Paula as she shook his firm, mus cled hand. 'I don't know about hyper-efficient but I get by.'
'With flying colours, according to many who know you. Shall we adjourn to the library? Very quiet in there. I'll lead the way . . .'
He was just as she'd expected. In his forties, he had dark brown hair, a high forehead, a commanding nose, a strong mouth. He walked rapidly and had an aura of amiability that put people at their ease. His most striking feature were his eyes, intense blue eyes that looked straight at you.
They followed him into a room lined with bookcases from floor to ceiling. The room was deserted except for a waiter and Thunder sat them at a small table circled with comfortable arm chairs.
'Coffee for everyone?' he suggested and nodded to the waiter. He sat forward, hands clasped in his lap, looked from one guest to the other.
'Got your reports, Tweed, as I said on the phone. Read both of them.' He spoke rapidly, like a man with an agile brain. 'Doesn't seem to be any doubt about what happened to poor Jeremy Mordaunt. Murder.'
'I'm afraid it was,' agreed Tweed and fell silent.
'What worries me, frankly,' Thunder continued when he realized Tweed was not going to say any more, 'is the inquest. It will, of course, be held at Eastbourne. That might just keep most of the press away. The government can do without yet another scandal.'
He kept quiet as the waiter returned and served the coffee. He only resumed speaking when the door had closed . . .
'Incidentally, I'm Gavin. Have I your permission to call you Paula? Thank you. I get so fed up with being addressed as "Minister".' He smiled. 'I feel like looking round to make sure I'm not in church.'
Paula chuckled and Thunder waved both hands as much as to say what a world we live in. He stared at Tweed, his expression grave.
'May I ask you a personal question? If you don't want to reply I'll quite understand.' He leaned forward again. 'At the inquest will you be telling the coroner you are
Selecting an apple from a stall, Lisa asked how much. The stallholder grinned, shook his head. He exchanged banter with Herb, who explained as they continued walk ing while she munched the apple.
'That was because you was with me. See that villainous lot that's just arrived? They're passin' Delgado as though he didn't exist. That's deliberate. Ever seen that brute before?'
'Yes. Once in a bar in Brussels. He caught me looking at him and I think he's a man who remembers people. Shouldn't you have some protection, with Delgado's mob casing the area?'
'Got a shotgun under the bar. Illegal. But not if Delgado ever comes in, waving that knife about. We'd better get back so I can help out Millie.'
'Did Bert make a list of the targets here and in the West End that Delgado was interested in?'
'He did.'
'Could I have a copy?'
'Course you can. I'll borrow it off Bert now. Can't think why you want it but you keeps yourself to yourself. Then, you're a smart lady . . .'
Customers were filling up the pub but Lisa was able to go to the end of the bar by herself. She copied Bert's list, then used the phone to call Tweed again. The same nice woman answered, regretted that Tweed was out again, asked if he could call her.
'I'll try again later, thank you . . .'
Tweed and Paula went inside Marlows, an obscure club located on Pall Mall alongside more prestigious establishments. Tweed was asking the porter if Mr Gavin Thunder had arrived when a small well-dressed man in a grey suit appeared in the hall. Well-built, he couldn't have been more than five feet four inches tall, Paula estimated, and he exuded physical energy as he held out a hand, smiling.
'Welcome, Tweed. Too long since we last met. And this must be the hyper-efficient Miss Paula Grey. And an attractive lady, if I may say so.'
'Thank you,' replied Paula as she shook his firm, mus cled hand. 'I don't know about hyper-efficient but I get by.'
'With flying colours, according to many who know you. Shall we adjourn to the library? Very quiet in there. I'll lead the way . . .'
He was just as she'd expected. In his forties, he had dark brown hair, a high forehead, a commanding nose, a strong mouth. He walked rapidly and had an aura of amiability that put people at their ease. His most striking feature were his eyes, intense blue eyes that looked straight at you.
They followed him into a room lined with bookcases from floor to ceiling. The room was deserted except for a waiter and Thunder sat them at a small table circled with comfortable arm chairs.
'Coffee for everyone?' he suggested and nodded to the waiter. He sat forward, hands clasped in his lap, looked from one guest to the other.
'Got your reports, Tweed, as I said on the phone. Read both of them.' He spoke rapidly, like a man with an agile brain. 'Doesn't seem to be any doubt about what happened to poor Jeremy Mordaunt. Murder.'
'I'm afraid it was,' agreed Tweed and fell silent.
'What worries me, frankly,' Thunder continued when he realized Tweed was not going to say any more, 'is the inquest. It will, of course, be held at Eastbourne. That might just keep most of the press away. The government can do without yet another scandal.'
He kept quiet as the waiter returned and served the coffee. He only resumed speaking when the door had closed . . .
'Incidentally, I'm Gavin. Have I your permission to call you Paula? Thank you. I get so fed up with being addressed as "Minister".' He smiled. 'I feel like looking round to make sure I'm not in church.'
Paula chuckled and Thunder waved both hands as much as to say what a world we live in. He stared at Tweed, his expression grave.
'May I ask you a personal question? If you don't want to reply I'll quite understand.' He leaned forward again. 'At the inquest will you be telling the coroner you are
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