This United state

'Earlier,' Tweed began after she had gone, 'I was going to say the body of Hank Whoever is likely to be washed up further down the Thames. Which is why we don't know anything about it. And how, Bob, did you know he was Diamond Waltz?'

'Two things. First from Paula's description of the thug. Also he happened to be in Goodfellows the night you were there with Paula and I was up at the bar with Basil and Rupert. Where to now?'

'Back to Park Crescent. It's going to be a long night…'

'I had sinister news when I talked to Buchanan on the phone,' Tweed told Newman and Marler when they were settled in his office. 'An American syndicate is bidding for control of two leading London daily newspapers. Plus bidding for one of the top TV stations and three key radio stations. They're offering so much money they're bound to succeed.'

'What's going on?' asked Monica, who had finished one phone call prior to making another.

'It's serious. The syndicate – when it gets control – will be in a position to start brainwashing the British public. There are shades of Dr Goebbels here.'

'Creepy, Monica replied.

'The size of this gigantic operation is growing by the hour,' Tweed warned.

'How do we counter this?' Newman wondered.

'We need more men as tough as – or tougher than – the opposition,' Marler interjected. 'As you know, I've spent quite a bit of time in the East End. Just in case we ever needed reinforcements I've trained a team of cockneys. They're known as Alf's Mob. They're gut fighters.'

'They will never be a match for men with guns,' Tweed objected.

'Really?' Marler's expression was sardonic. 'They are lethal with their fists. In addition, in a remote spot in the countryside, I've trained them to use grenades – stun, smoke, the deadly variety. They're now familiar with automatic rifles and handguns. They're masters of stealth – they can creep up on me and have their hands round my neck before I know anyone is near me.'

`I'm impressed.'

'Don't forget,' Marler reminded him, 'if you read the history of the Burma fighting in World War Two it was cockneys who out-fought the enemy. Cockneys! In jungle warfare.'

'So we have a reserve. We may well need it. I'm working on a plan to go on to the offensive. We're not going to let these thugs have it all their own way. More details later.'

'About time,' Marler drawled.

'Tweed.' Monica leaned over her desk. 'I ought to alert you. Howard is back from his overseas visit. So he could be up here any moment.'

'We'll all go home and leave you to it,' Newman suggested.

'Hear, hear,' agreed Marler.

Howard, the Director, was not popular A pompous man, he was always complaining that Tweed didn't keep him fully informed about what was going on. His complaint was not without foundation – Tweed had a habit of keeping progress to himself until he was certain he knew what was happening. The phone rang, Monica answered it, looked surprised, put her hand over the mouthpiece as she spoke to Tweed.

'There's a Denise Chatel on the phone. Says she's Sharon Mandeville's assistant. Asked if you were still here – she's speaking from a car phone. She could be here in five minutes.'

'At this hour? Oh, well, we need to find out all we can. What does she sound like?'

'She has a lovely voice. Enchanting.'

Tweed stared at Monica. He had never before heard her refer to a woman with such words. Nodding, he indicated that the woman calling could come to Park Crescent.

'Now,' he began as Monica put down her phone, 'before Paula returned from her ordeal in Eagle Street we were talking about the Ear. You were telling me what happened to him.'

'I still feel rotten,' Marler said, 'leaving him there propped up against the steps, then making an anonymous call to Buchanan, telling him where there was a body.'

'Don't feel guilty,' Tweed assured him. 'The last thing we can cope with is getting caught up in an involved police investigation. Are you sure those men with umbrellas didn't kill him? You said they had guns.'

'Handguns,' Marler corrected. 'I should know enough now to recognize when a rifle bullet has hit someone. It has to be the Phantom.'

'And,' Newman pointed out, 'Basil Windermere had disappeared inside his flat a few minutes earlier. Plus the fact that the last words Kurt Schwarz grasped out were Basil… Schwarz.'

'Funny that he used his own name. Incidentally, I told you that when I was inside the American Embassy I saw Jefferson Morgenstern, accompanied by guards, putting a file in a safe. I'd like to get hold of that file. I think it's a job for Pete and Harry. They'll need a diversion. Heaven knows how they can manage it.'

'Set fire to the ruddy building,' Monica burst out. 'You know, that could be a good idea.'

'I was only joking,' Monica protested.

'I wasn't.' He paused while Monica answered the phone. She told him their visitor from the Embassy had arrived. 'Ask her to come up,' Tweed told her.

***

George opened the door, stood back, closed it when Denise Chatel had entered and stood quite still. Newman stared, then stood up. Marler leant against a wall, straightened up. He gazed at their visitor. Tweed. was amused at their reaction.

Denise Chatel, thirty-something, was about five feet eight tall. She had a good figure, without being voluptuous. A brunette, her hair fell below her shoulders. She had a longish face, excellent features and the hint of a warm smile lingered on her mouth. Wearing a figure-hugging two-piece blue suit, she was enticing. Tweed stood up, held out his hand.

'Do sit down, Ms Chatel. I'm intrigued to know why you have called to see me in the middle of the night.'

She crossed her legs elegantly as she sat down. Neither Newman nor Marler could take their eyes off her.

'I'm an owl, like yourself, Mr Tweed. Which suits Miss Mandeville, who likes to work when most people have left the Embassy.'

'Would you like some coffee?' Newman suggested. 'I'll make it,' Monica said in a brittle tone.

'That would be most acceptable. And a glass of cold water – if that's not too much trouble.'

She had a cool American voice. Underneath it Tweed detected a very different accent.

'Denise Chatel,' he mused, scrutinizing her through his horn-rims. 'That sounds like a French name.'

'My father was French, my mother American. When I was almost thirty they moved to Washington – my father was offered a good job. I went with them.'

`Do you ever return to France?' Tweed persisted gently.

'Oh, frequently. My job takes me to the American Embassy in Paris. Sharon likes to keep herself well informed about what is going on in Europe.' She smiled. 'Are you interrogating me?'

'Just interested in your unusual international background. An American mother, a French father. What job does he have?'

'He was a diplomat.'

Tweed had not been looking at her as he talked. He was' doodling circles on a pad, intertwining one with another. Something in her change of voice made him look up.

'Was?'

'He died a year ago. So did my mother. They were killed-in a road crash outside Washington.'

He could have sworn there was a film of moisture in her eyes. She suddenly picked up her cup of coffee, drank some, put it down, stared round the room like someone hunted.

'My condolences. Not that words mean a thing when something like that happens. What happened to the other car – or cars? I hope you don't mind my asking.'

'Of course not.' She swallowed more coffee. 'The police said there had only been one other car involved so far as they could tell. It vanished. They never found the driver.'

'I say,' Marler interjected, 'would you care to join me for dinner tomorrow evening?'

'May I think it over?' She had twisted round in her chair to address him, to look at him more carefully. 'Thank you for the offer.' She turned back to Tweed, leaned forward and whispered, 'Can you trust the people with us here? I know the woman who brought me coffee doesn't like me.'