Cell

She looked out of the window. The hills seemed higher, closer. Soon they would be mountains. Beaurain leaned across her, pointed.

'They're much too far away for you to see them, but beyond those hills are the Dolomites. I have skied on them. I read in the paper, after leaving our hotel, that there is heavy snow. It will be cold in Verona.'

The express slowed, stopped suddenly in the middle of nowhere. Time passed. They were still not moving. Beaurain glanced at his watch, tut-tutted. Paula suddenly felt sleepy. She closed her eyes and fell asleep. She was woken when the express started moving again. Outside the sunlight was fading.

'Sorry,' she said, 'I had a short nap.'

'You have had a long nap. A whole hour. That means it will be dark when we arrive in Verona. We shall have to be very careful.'

'We'll be late for meeting Petacci in the amphitheatre?'

'No. But I wanted to check out the place in daylight. It can't be helped.'

'But it will be more dangerous.' She prodded him. 'I'm a big girl now. Won't it?'

'Yes, it will be much more dangerous.'

16

Late the previous evening in London Tweed had been checking his speed-up on the investigation. Monica was helping him as he read out the list. She was making sure he had missed no one.

'Pete Nield is watching the Ministry. Target, Victor Warner. Harry is with him. Target, Peregrine Palfry. When either leave the building. No news yet?'

'Both will call in a coded message when something happens,' she reminded him.

'Marler is out there somewhere, tracking Eva Brand. Again, nothing from him yet?'

'Not a dickey bird…'

'Newman is chasing after Martin Hogarth, the sober brother from Carpford Bob saw approach this building, then walk away…'

'Again zilch…' She picked up the phone, listened, looked at Tweed. 'There's a surprise visitor from Carp-ford. An Agatha Gobble. Runs a shop in Carpford? Right?'

'Right. The last person on earth I expected. Must have driven all the way here. I left her my card when I saw her in that peculiar village. Get her up here…'

Mrs Gobble was wearing a fur coat which had seen better days. She still had the blue beads round her neck. She plumped her substantial figure into an armchair when Tweed welcomed her, introduced Monica. When she took off her gloves he saw her hands were shaking. She accepted Monica's offer of tea.

'Very late for you to drive here,' Tweed said, smiling.

'Thought it safer to come after dark. Maybe nobody would see me then. Funny goin's on up at the village.'

'Relax. Take your time. Tell me what has disturbed you.'

'Frightened the hell out of me more likely. A lot goin' on up at the village and none of it good if you asks me. You were the only person I felt would listen. Two motor-cyclists have started making night calls on someone. Don't know who. They comes separately. One just after dark, t'other late on. They drives slowly round Carp Lake, keep stoppin' so I don't know who they delivers to. Saw one – funny foreigner.'

'How did you come to see him, Mrs Gobble?' Tweed asked very quietly.

She thanked Monica for the tea. Tweed waited while she drank the contents. Large swallow. Pause. Large swallow. Her round fleshy face was redder now, more normal.

'Gives me the shock of me life,' Mrs Gobble continued. 'I went out to empty the rubbish and 'e comes round corner of lake on 'is bloody bike too fast. Keels over, sprawls on the ground, loses 'is helmet. Light from me 'ouse streamin' out and I sees 'im. Big black beard and fierce eyes. Gazes at me, then rams 'is helmet back on before 'e gets up, lifts 'is machine, gets back in 'is saddle and drives off towards Drew Franklin's place. I scuttled inside, closed the door, chained and locked it. Didn't sleep that night. 'Orrible face.'

'Very strange, I agree. This was the second motorcyclist?'

'Oh yes. We'd 'ad another earlier. Wish I'd never rented the shop.'

'How did that come about, Mrs Gobble? Your renting it.'

'Sees this ad in The Times. Single woman wanted to run small shop. Pleasant area in Surrey countryside. Rent reasonable. It gave a phone number. So I calls, goes to see this Mr Pecksniff.'

'What was the name?'

'Pecksniff. Like the Dickens character. I love Dickens. Can't say the same for the real Pecksniff. Here's his address. I gets there, 'e asks me a few questions, then says 'e's sure I'll do. Don't know why. Here's where he saw me. Mouldy place in the East End. Funny chap. I must go now.' She jumped up. 'Get back before dark.'

'It is dark now.' Tweed pointed out. 'We can find a decent place for you to sleep in London for the night.'

'I have a spare room at my flat,' Monica offered.

'I am going back to the village,' Mrs Gobble said firmly. 'I only sleep in one place – my own bed.'

'I'm going to my flat now,' Tweed said after their visitor had left. 'I may not be in tomorrow. I want to be quiet to think hard. Two motor-cyclists arriving at Carpford suggests the pace is hotting up. We may not have much time left. And so far we have a list of potential suspects and not one who stands out. I'm very worried. Don't phone me – except in case of an emergency.'

'Here are my biographies so far on the people you asked me to check out.'

She handed him a fat folder. He slipped it inside his briefcase, put on his coat, left the office.

Tweed was in his pyjamas, sitting up in bed. He was reading the last of the copious reports, a notebook by his side for him to scribble a thought. The phone rang. He checked the time. 6 a.m. and still dark outside.

'Monica here. So sorry to disturb you but you did say call in an emergency.'

'What's happened?'

'Superintendent Buchanan has just been here. Roy told me Mrs Gobble has disappeared. Her car was found abandoned on the road to Carpford.'

17

The Venezia express slid into Verona station, stopped, the automatic doors opened. Paula and Beaurain were already standing at the exit and descended on to the platform. The platform was deserted, it was night, the cold was raw and bitter.

'Wait a minute,' Beaurain said, and pretended to button up the top of his coat. He glanced to his left, to the far end of the express. Paula looked in the same direction. Two men in dark coats had alighted from the rear coach. Beaurain grunted.

'I said there would be more of them.' 'They could be businessmen returning home late.' 'Italian businessmen always carry a briefcase. They think it gives them an air of importance. Those two have no briefcases. We'll get out of here quickly, head straight for the amphitheatre.'

He was moving as he spoke, striding out with his long legs. Paula had to hurry to keep up. It was not long before she was gazing at the buildings of Verona in wonderment. Like travelling back into the Middle Ages. They were masterpieces of architecture, seen clearly by illumination from ancient street lights and moonlight. There were superb arches, elegant rows of pillars on the ground floors. The colour was white or a muted ochre. She forgot why they were there as more and more magnificent ancient buildings came into view.

'They're Palladian, aren't they?' she asked.

'Yes and no. Palladio, the genius of architecture, worked mostly in Vicenza, often using brick and stucco. Here is a lot of stone. In a minute you'll see the amphitheatre.'

'Like the Colosseum in Rome?'

'No. That's a wreck. Verona's amphitheatre is intact, as it was when built ages ago. They even hold opera performances inside it in summer. There it is.'

Paula gasped, stood still. The high curving amphitheatre was intact. She could see that already. Slim windows towards the top. A massive symbol of another civilization. Beaurain ran across to the huge double doors, checked the padlock with his torch, ran back to her.

'It's still locked.'

'We're early?'