By Stealth

40

`Paula Grey was at Blankenese this morning with Tweed,' reported Starmberg. 'One of my men watching the Four Seasons confirmed they returned to the hotel.'

`I would much appreciate it, Jules, if you could guarantee this second attempt to obtain the company of Miss Grey will be successful.'

Dr Wand sat in the large study of his villa at Othmarschen, the district which adjoined Nienstedten where Hugo Westendorf lived. As at Waterloo, even though it was daytime, all the curtains were closed. The same applied to every other room in the villa, both downstairs and upstairs. The furniture was swathed in dust sheets. There were six of Starmberg's men in the villa but from the outside it appeared unoccupied.

`This new plan is so original it will succeed,' Starmberg assured his chief. He ran a hand over his thick well-groomed hair. 'It is organized for execution some time this evening. Well before midnight Miss Grey will be our guest in Denmark.'

`I would hope so.' Wand peered at Starmberg over his pince-nez. The Luxemburger stirred uneasily under the piercing stare. 'And,' Wand went on, 'I have finally decided I will let Tweed enjoy three sleepless nights.'

`And then?' Starmberg checked.

`Then? Why, Mr Tweed will receive a part of Miss Grey as a keepsake. Prior to that you will tell him he must resign his position immediately if he ever wishes to see Grey alive again. Our contacts in London will tell us if he has obeyed our demand.'

`So, we will scoop up Miss Grey within a matter of hours.'

`And I will call Dr Hyde. He will have preparations to make for the treatment.'

Near the bleak stretch of coast in southern Jutland Dr Hyde was returning from a short walk by himself. He had not enjoyed it – the area was deserted and the monotonous scrubland stretching to the beach and the sea beyond depressed him. Even more depressing was the eternal wind blowing off the sea, causing wispy sand to fly in the air. He might be on the moon, he thought – except for the house.

An ancient gabled two-storey structure built of wood, it stood on its own and at one time must have looked picturesque. But it had remained empty for a long time before Dr Wand had bought it through a holding company.

The once bright red paint of the main facade and the white trim round the windows was peeling away, eroded by the salt air. It still had a derelict, unoccupied look. With his long neck poked out of his stiff collar Dr Hyde resembled some vile bird. He cast one look back before inserting the key: a mournful desert where nothing grew except tussocks of stubby grass amid the powdered sand.

He heard the phone ringing as he closed the door, hurried to the back room. The caller could only be one person and Hyde knew he would be rebuked.

`If I may be so bold as to enquire, where have you been? It seems unlikely you would find any feminine company in that part of the world,' Wand commented sarcastically.

'I have been for a brief walk. I have to keep fit for my work,' Hyde responded waspishly.

`How very commendable of you. I should apologize for what always appears to be my ill-timed calls.'

`I am at your service,' Hyde replied in an oily tone, regretting his outburst.

`Excellent! You will not be idle for long. A patient, a lady, will arrive soon. I foresee that treatment will be required within three days. Not before, you understand. Now, this is what I suggest, subject to your own diagnosis…'

Wand put down the phone as soon as he had completed his instructions. They had been phrased carefully in words Hyde understood but so their sinister significance would mean nothing if an operator had listened in. Starmberg, who had left the study, returned at the moment the call had ended.

`Eight more of my men have arrived,' he reported. 'The whole team is ready to carry out this evening's operation.'

`I trust there was no chance that the vehicles were seen entering the grounds?'

`None at all. The same method was used as when we came in. A vehicle parks near the entrance, waits until no other traffic is about, the gates are opened, the vehicle races down the drive, the gates are closed behind it. I was wondering – what do we do now about Westendorf?'

`Nothing. And you really must, if I may suggest it, rid yourself of this habit of wondering. As you have raised the matter I will explain briefly. Westendorf was not a complete success and for some months he will undoubtedly be heavily guarded. After some time has passed we may eliminate him.' Wand leaned forward into the light thrown by his desk lamp, the sole illumination. His expression was unpleasant but he spoke in his normal detached tone.

`Concentrate your mind now, Jules, on Miss Grey. I will not tolerate another fiasco. She must be in Denmark before midnight – I repeat, before midnight.'

Before leaving Blankenese Tweed had given Marler orders via Newman to drive immediately with his team across the Danish frontier. That left him only Paula, Newman, and Cardon to accompany him to Copenhagen. He felt sure it would be more than enough.

He had a stroke of luck when they arrived back at the Four Seasons. Saying goodbye to Westendorf, who drove off in his limo, he climbed the steps and the first person he saw was Willie Fanshawe.

`Leave me alone with him,' he whispered to Paula and Newman.

`I say! Am I glad to see you,' Willie began. 'Hate being on my own. Look, we're only three paces from the Sambri bar. Be a good chap. Join me in a glass of champers. Bit early for a sundowner, but what the hell. Oh, your friends have gone off. They'd have been more than welcome…'

`They had an appointment,' Tweed said, edging his way into the flood of words which went on.

`Well, we can have just a man-to-man conversation. I love the ladies, God bless 'em, but sometimes it makes a change to have a nice chat on our own. Champers, of course!'

Tweed reluctantly agreed. They were already inside the empty bar under Wilie's enthusiastic impetus. He ordered two glasses from the barman and they sat down on the banquette furthest from the door.

`What's happened to Brigadier Burgoyne?' Tweed asked casually as he raised his glass, took a sip., put down the glass.

`Oh, the Brig.'s off haggling over some little deal, I'm sure. He loves it. Always on parade, is his motto. What he doesn't love is the present state of England.'

`Indeed? What's wrong with it?'

`Everything…' Willie became emphatic. 'According to the Brig. No self-discipline any more. Morale has collapsed. The welfare state has undermined the strong fibre we were once noted for. Everyone's holding their hands out for a freebie. They have a slight headache and rush to the doctor because it's supposed to be something for nothing. According to the Brig., that is. Half the country wants to be nannied. The young, instead of struggling to make a career on their own, want it all handed to them on a plate. And now the cranks want to break up the old UK into separate bits. A good dose of iron government is what is needed – so the Brig. thinks. Shock treatment is the only answer, he keeps saying.'

`I suppose it's his military background,' Tweed suggested.

`That's another thing! Conscription should be introduced again. That would instil some discipline into these louts who bang old ladies over the head to grab a few pounds. And often for what? To finance their beastly drug habit. Very hot on that, is the Brig.'

`And what do you think?' Tweed enquired.

Willie beamed. 'Have another glass. I'm going to…'

`I haven't finished my present drink, thank you.'

Tweed felt sure this was Willie's second visit to the Sambri bar this morning. His face was even more flushed than usual as he ordered a fresh glass for himself.

'My view?' Willie pursed his wide mouth. 'The Brig. does rather go over the top. Up Guards and at 'em. But he was a brilliant soldier, so I just listen. Not much choice once he gets going. A real martinet. But there's never a dull moment when he's around.'

`He's staying on in Hamburg for a while?'

`Never can tell with him. He's like the proverbial grasshopper. We could be off to Vienna at the drop of a hat. The Brig.'s hat.' Willie chuckled, drank some more champagne. 'What about you?'

'My programme is vague. Depends on how events unfold. I hope you'll excuse me. I also have an appointment…'

It was a very thoughtful Tweed who went up to his room.

`There's your chance, Bob,' Paula said after they had left Tweed and wandered into the lobby. 'Tweed said get next to Helen – and there she is. Looking this way and practically sending out a siren call to you. I'm going to get a bath. Have fun…'

Helen Claybourne, seated on a couch, was writing in a notebook with her large elegant fountain-pen. She tucked the cap over the nib and gave Newman her cool smile as he sat beside her.

'Unless you're busy,' he suggested.

'Very glad not to be.' She'd closed her notebook with a snap. 'Willie has the wildest schemes for making money. I spend half my time persuading him not to invest in some hare-brained scheme. He's a sucker for con-men – unlike Maurice. You wouldn't get a penny out of the Brigadier until he'd interrogated you into the ground.'

Helen looked smart as paint, as always. She wore a grey pleated skirt which ended just above her shapely knees. A well-cut grey jacket hugged her figure and underneath she was clad in a white blouse with a high- necked collar.

Perched in a corner of the couch, she tucked her legs under her like a cat and turned to face Newman. She flicked a speck of cigarette ash off his lapel and stared straight at him with appraising eyes as she asked the question.

`Just what are you up to, Mr Newman? You seem to be on the go most of the time. I saw you leave earlier about nine with Paula and Tweed. Are you after a juicy story? Or shouldn't I ask?' she teased him.

`We've been exploring Hamburg, taking in one business call. You're staying on here?'

`God knows. Maurice is talking of moving on to Copenhagen. Do you know a decent hotel there?'

`The d'Angleterre,' Newman said promptly.

`Maybe we could have lunch?' she suggested, her eyes still holding his. 'I suppose you do know nowadays it's not thought too forward for the woman to chase the man?'

`We might do that – have lunch. If we can avoid Willie and the Brigadier.'

`Talk of the devil, here comes Maurice. Save me from a fate worse than death.'

Burgoyne, spruce in a check sports jacket, navy blue trousers, hand-made brogues, and with a crimson cravat at his neck, pulled up a chair. Sitting in it very erect he tugged at his moustache and gazed at both of them.

`Hope I'm not intruding – or are you beginning to start an affair?'

`I live in hope,' Newman replied in a neutral tone.

Helen's reaction was savage. She straightened up, leaned forward. Her grey eyes blazed and her tone was venomous.

`That's an outrageous suggestion. You'd do well to watch your tongue. You're not in the Army now. Bad manners in the officers' mess don't go down well in these surroundings.'

Did I drop a great big boulder in the pond?' Burgoyne asked ironically. 'It was a joke. You do know the word, Helen? Spelt j-o-k-e.'

'In the worst possible taste,' Helen fumed.

'Anyone for coffee?' Burgoyne enquired, quite unperturbed.

'I thought you were going to say anyone for tennis,' Helen continued her onslaught. 'You do realize that half the time you talk like old China hands back in Hong Kong – language thirty years out of date?'

Newman noticed a flash of fury in Burgoyne's eyes at the phrase 'old China hands'. It lasted only for a second. Burgoyne continued to be anything but conciliatory.

`I suspect I touched a raw nerve with my use of the word affair. You really must learn to conduct these things more circumspectly.'

`And you,' Helen told him, 'might learn not to butt in where you're not wanted. Half the time, back in the New Forest, you're dragging Willie and I off somewhere we don't want to go. Or hadn't you caught on?'

`Willie,' Burgoyne observed, 'will tag on to go anywhere – provided someone else is paying for the drinks, food, and accommodation.'

`For a pseudo-Brigadier you have a crude way of expressing yourself,' Helen rapped back. She looked at Newman. 'I'm feeling peckish, Bob.'

`Then let's try the Grill Room.'

As they stood up Helen threw one more verbal javelin, glaring at Burgoyne.

`If you're having lunch here too, I can recommend the Haerlin restaurant…'

Tweed and Paula stepped out of the elevator and immediately Paula spotted Burgoyne, who was still sitting with a cup of coffee in front of him. She nudged Tweed.

`I've seen him. Let's go and have a little chat with our eminent soldier.'

To her surprise the Brigadier smiled as though he welcomed their company. She was even more surprised when he jumped up, offered her a chair.

`Miss Grey, you are looking positively radiant. I like your suit. Very chic.'

`Thank you.' She sat down slightly dazed at the absence of Burgoyne's normal brusque manner. Tweed chose a seat placing him between them. 'They've left you on your own?' Paula suggested.

`I'm afraid so,' he replied, sitting down next to her. 'I don't appear to be very popular. Would you do me the honour of joining me in an aperitif?'

Paula stared, taken aback by the politeness. 'A glass of dry French white would go down nicely.' Burgoyne glanced at Tweed, who chose mineral water.

Burgoyne raised a hand, beckoned with his index finger to a waiter. Oh dear, Paula thought, reverting to type – dealing with the peasants. She had a further surprise.

`Could you be good enough to fetch us a glass of French wine, mineral water, and I'd be grateful for a double Scotch?'

`I hope we're not spoiling a few minutes on your own while you ruminated on a business problem,' Tweed remarked.

`On the contrary, it's a change to enjoy pleasant company. I've just had a vicious duel of words with Helen Claybourne. She's gone to lunch with your Robert Newman. She banned me from taking my own lunch in the Grill Room.'

`Doesn't sound like the Helen I've met,' Paula commented. 'I wonder what was wrong?'

`Ah! You don't know the real Helen. That outward coolness fools everybody. Underneath she's a ruthless tigress.'

`That's interesting,' Tweed interjected. 'It sounds very much as though she's taken a dislike to you. If so, why on earth does she travel with you?'

`Willie…' He paid the waiter, added a generous tip, and sighed. 'Willie,' he repeated. 'She appears to feel her job involves looking after him. Which is amusing. Master Willie is only too capable of looking after Number One.'

`He seems so indecisive,' Paula said.

`That is the impression he creates, I agree. In business, as well as earlier in the Army…' He paused and looked at Tweed. 'I learned never to take people at face value. You can come badly unstuck if you do. But I'm sure the insurance game has taught you that…'

They chatted for a while and then Tweed said he was taking Paula out for a breath of fresh air. They put on their coats they had propped over chairs, thanked Burgoyne for his hospitality. Again it was a thoughtful Tweed who left the hotel with Paula at his side.

`He seemed to be making a show of pointing the finger at Willie,' Paula observed as they crossed the road towards the lakeside walk.

And very adroitly done,' Tweed agreed.

The white Volvo pulled up behind them with a screech of burning rubber. Tweed grabbed Paula round the waist, ready to shove her ahead of him and tell her to run.

`No need to call the police,' a familiar voice growled.

They swung round and Kuhlmann was stepping out of the front passenger seat, leaving his driver behind the wheel. He removed the unlit cigar from his mouth and jiggled it up and down like a conductor's baton to emphasize what he was saying.

`A fresh development. Didn't think it wise to talk over the phone when you're so close to Berliner Tor.'

`What's happened?' Tweed asked.

`Thirty minutes ago Dr Wand took off in his Lear jet from Hamburg bound for Kastrup Airport, Copenhagen.'

`That's very satisfactory. Thank you, Otto. Things seem to be working out as I foresaw. By the way, did Wand take Jules Starmberg with him?'

`No, definitely not. I dug out old photos of that villainous Luxemburger from the time when his wife was murdered. Gave them to the men watching the Lear.'

No alarm bells rang for Tweed at this information. He was too absorbed in racing over in his mind the precautions he had taken.

`And your present plan?' Kuhlmann asked.

`We are flying to Copenhagen ourselves this evening, and your co-operation has been invaluable. I've had two intriguing conversations recently.'

`Which you won't tell me about. Play it your own way. You always do.'

`Something's just struck me – I must contact Nielsen at Copenhagen police headquarters…'

`I've already done it.' Kuhlmann grinned. 'By now he will have plain-clothes men waiting at Kastrup for the Lear to land. They'll follow Wand, find out where he holes up. I'd say that wraps it up for now.'

`You think of everything. Thank you again…'

Tweed and Paula resumed their walk along the footpath by the Binnen Alster lake. They were walking through a parkland of green grassy slopes and trees. The sound of the traffic was muffled. For Paula it was dreamlike after her experience at Blankenese harbour. No one else was about as they wandered on in the chill air and the sunlight.

`It's a beautiful city,' Paula enthused. 'I love the green roofs of those magnificent old buildings across the lake. I suppose the roofs were once copper and have turned that colour with exposure to the elements.'

`I imagine so,' agreed Tweed.

`It's such a green city. And I love those mansard rooftops – they're so elegant. We hardly ever see them back home.'

The path curved, following the lake, and they walked under a small bridge arch. Ahead of them was a marina and an even vaster stretch of water. As Paula slipped her arm in his Tweed nodded towards the new lake.

`This is the Aussen Alster, the larger of the two lakes. You can walk for miles but I think we'd better turn back.'

`Lord, I'm revelling in the peace,' she said as they returned along the silent footpath while a breeze trawled shoals of water towards the bank.

Newman, Tweed, and Paula had an incredibly early one- course dinner in the Grill Room. Newman was always insistent on allowing plenty of time to catch a flight. Tweed would have left it to the last minute – to avoid hanging about Hamburg Airport waiting for the Copenhagen flight.

Even at that early hour they had company at a nearby table. Burgoyne and Lee, Willie and Helen, were eating a leisurely meal. Burgoyne sent over a bottle of Laurent Perrier with his compliments.

`Nice of him,' Paula commented. 'Can't think what's got into him – he's become so human.'

`Camouflage,' Newman decided. 'Incidentally, I had a chat with Helen in the lounge area before I took her here to lunch…'

He described the scene between Helen and Burgoyne. Tweed, drinking mineral water, listened with interest. Newman and Paula demolished the bottle of champagne together. It was near the end of their meal when Lee, wearing another of her off-the-shoulder dresses, wandered towards them, holding a glass of red wine.

`I'd say physically Lee was very strong,' Paula remarked.

`And she's as high as a kite,' Newman added.

`Dear Mr Tweed' – Lee leant over him, her bare arm round his shoulders – 'I need some stimulating company. Take me out for a drink later? Please!'

`I'm sorry, but we're-' Tweed began.

That was when Lee tilted her glass and a cascade of red wine poured over his suit jacket. Lee was appalled. She grabbed a napkin and began dabbing at the cloth as she babbled on.

`I'm so dreadfully sorry. Red wine is the worst…'

`It's all right,' Tweed said standing up, 'but I'd better go to my room and change.' He looked at Newman. 'If you could handle paying all our bills? Good. And we do have loads of time…'

Newman called for the bill as Paula stood up. She felt a little woozy. Too much champagne after a long day. `I'll go up and pack my sponge bag,' she told him. She walked out of the Grill Room into the lobby.