The Greek Key (33 page)

'He knew the moor, tried to pretend he didn't. That's what I want to talk about. The enemy could be closing in. Need to take more precautions.'

Barrymore sipped his cognac and Robson glanced at the balloon glass. 'Time I had one of those . . .'

Pete Nield, sitting with Harry Butler three tables away, adjusted his earpiece. A snappy dresser, he wore a navy blue business suit and a large jewelled tie-pin in his pale red tie. The tie-pin, shaped like a flower, was a directional microphone. The wire attached to it behind his striped shirt led to the miniaturized tape recorder in his jacket pocket. He spooned more fruit salad into his mouth as he listened.

Harry Butler, heavily built and clean-shaven, was dressed informally in a tweed sports jacket with leather elbow patches and a pair of grey slacks. He leaned over to whisper in Nield's 'good' ear.

'Reception OK?'

'Picking up every word,' Nield replied in an undertone and fingered his neat moustache.

The Engine Room wizards at Park Crescent had excelled themselves. Despite the presence of people at four other tables the directional mike was recording every word of the conversation at Barrymore's table. It had been easy for Nield to 'point' the microphone in the correct direction. A man fiddling with his tie-pin attracted no attention . . .

'You're not going to have a cognac on top of all you've had?' Barrymore enquired sardonically. 'You do have to drive home.'

'I'll get there.' Robson grinned again. 'I always do.' He signalled to the manager, pointing to the colonel's glass and then himself. The manager smiled, acknowledging the request. 'The other chappie,' Robson continued, 'the bigger one with the thin one you challenged . . .' His tone was mocking. 'Was he on the moor as well?'

'Never seen him before. As I was saying . . .'

'Had the thin one that hearing aid when you met him?' Robson persisted with the geniality of a man who has imbibed well.

Barrymore frowned, trying to recall the scene. 'Don't think he had. But he wouldn't need it, would he? Not out on the moor. Nov., for the third time. I think we should review our defences. Too many people poking around. There was that Tweed who barged in on us all.'

'Special Branch,' Reams remarked. T thought that rather strange. Despite the yarn he spun. Seemed to me he had an ulterior motive for calling on me. That man worried me.'

'Oh, just one of the horde of bureaucrats justifying his fat salary at the expense of the taxpayer.' Barrymore waved a languid hand. 'Wish I'd had him in the battalion. He'd have had to jump to it.'

'I suspect, sir,' Kearns persisted quietly, 'Tweed has had a spell in the Army. Something about his manner. And he'd done his homework. Knew about the raid on Siros. And the murder of that Greek chap, Ionides, at the Antikhana . . .'

'Hardly relevant.' Barrymore made a dismissive gesture.

'Are you certain, sir? Did anything strike you as weird about that body they brought down off the moor at Winsford?'

'Should it have?' The colonel was clipping the tip from a cigar. He lit it with a bookmatch as Kearns continued.

The savagery of the attack.' Kearns paused. 'He was slashed to pieces. Just like Ionides all those years ago.' He turned his attention to Robson. 'You examined the body inside the Land Rover. Surely I have a point?'

'Somebody had really done a job on the poor chap. A broad-bladed knife would be my guess. Mind you, it was a brief examination.' Robson's tone suddenly sounded sober, professional. 'Fail to see the connection with Ionides.' He drank more of his large cognac. 'Thought we were assembled here to enjoy ourselves.' He chuckled. 'But you Army types never slough off your skin.'

The fact remains,' Barrymore intervened irritably, 'we now have possible enemies on two fronts. The Greeks and this Special Branch lot. I just hope to God it isn't the Greek Key.'

'After all these years?' Robson scoffed and grinned. 'Come off it. Not like you to suffer an attack of nerves, Barrymore.'

'I never suffer an attack of nerves, as you put it,' the colonel replied coolly. 'I'm just saying we should look to our defences. Just in case.'

Tut up more barbed wire,' Robson joked. 'Lay a minefield round Quarme Manor.' He hiccuped. 'Call out the guard!'

'I'm serious,' Barrymore said coldly.

'I fear you are. As for me, business as usual. Carry on with my local practice. Did you know the local paper is doing an article on me?
The Only Doctor in the Country who Rides to See Patients
will be the headline. Rather good.'

'Jill has gone up to London,' Kearns said suddenly.

'Why?' Barrymore demanded.

'To pick up a few things from the shops she said.'

'You should have stopped her.' Barrymore sounded angry.

'Well, sir, that isn't the easiest thing in the world . . .'

'You made the mistake of marrying a younger woman,' the colonel told him brutally. 'Wives should be kept under heel. In the Army they knew their place . . .'

At his table Pete Nield finished his coffee, glanced round the dining room. A couple was just leaving. Which left only the trio at the end of the room and his table occupied. He leaned close to Butler.

Time to go, wouldn't you say? We're going to look conspicuous.'

'Agreed. Let's move the feet now.'

Nield waited until they were in the deserted hall and suggested a breath of fresh air. They wandered out under the ancient portal into a deserted High Street. Opposite the entrance the old Yarn Market with its many-sided roof was shrouded in shadow. A moon cast a pale glow over the silence. Barrymore's Daimler was parked across the road.

'How's the recording?' Butler enquired, thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets.

'Let's check. Inside the Yarn Market would be a good place . , .'

Taking the recorder out of his pocket, Nield turned the volume to low' as they stood under the roof. He pressed the button which reversed the tape. Then he switched on the sound and together they listened.

Another large Scotch . . . Of course, sir. Coming right sway , . . Pushing She boat out a bit, aren't we , . ,

Nield switched off. He gazed through one of the arched openings to the far end of the town. The eerie silhouette of the brooding castle loomed above the buildings. The sudden silence of night was uncanny.

'Perfect,' Butler commented. 'The voice tone is good. You can tell who is talking.'

'I think I ought to drive up to London tonight,' Nield suggested. 'Then Tweed can hear the tape in the morning. I can drive back here tomorrow if that's OK.'

'Do it,' Butler agreed. 'While you're away I think I'll keep an eye on the colonel.'

'Why choose him?'

'Sixth sense. As Tweed would say , . .'

24

Three people were seated round Tweed's desk as he listened to the tape for the third time. Monica sat crouched forward, her head turned to one side, her forehead crinkled with concentration.

Paula sat upright, notebook in her lap as she made notes. On the third replay she ignored the notebook, staring out of the window as she visualized the faces of the three men whose conversation was reeling out as they had talked over dinner at The Luttrell Arms.

Tweed was the most relaxed. He sat back in the swivel chair, his hands resting on the desk-top, no particular expression on his face. He glanced at Pete Nield, seated behind Paula's desk, who was smoking a cigarette while he watched the others. The recording ended, Tweed switched off the machine.

'Very interesting, most revealing. What they said. And the relationship between those three men.'

The reference to the Greek Key?' Paula suggested.

'That possibly, but something else. Pete, describe to me how they were seated. You came in with Harry to find them starting dinner?'

'No. We carefully did it the other way round - to avoid calling attention to ourselves. Harry asked one of the staff when they normally arrived for their weekly dinner. So we were at our table when they came in. Other tables were occupied with guests so we merged with the background.'

'And how were they seated in relationship to the two of you?' Tweed repeated.

Paula looked puzzled. She couldn't fathom the reason behind the question.

They came into the dining room about ten minutes later,' explained Nield. They walked past us. We had our backs towards them as they entered. You know the corner table where they sit?' Tweed nodded and Nield went on. 'Barrymore and Robson faced us. Kearns had his back to us the whole time. Which is why his voice comes across quieter.'

'I thought it was like that. Something said in their conversation could be very significant. I may have the lead I've been waiting for.'

'And you wouldn't care to tell us what that is?' Paula enquired.

'Not for the moment. In case I'm wrong.' Tweed smiled. 'Listen to the tape on your own a few times. You might get it.'

Paula glanced down at her notes, then clenched her fists with a gesture of frustration. 'You'll drive me crazy with your hints one of these days.'

Monica nodded sympathetically. 'I know just what you mean. He's been doing it with me for years.'

'If you agree,' Nield said. 'I plan to drive straight back to join Butler again on Exmoor, Have there been any developments at this end?'

'Bob Newman called from Athens . . .'Tweed gave him a concise account of their conversation, picking out the main elements of the data Newman had passed on. 'Does anyone spot something odd about what he told me? Bearing in mind the clear description he gave of the topography of where Andreas Gavalas was killed?'

Three blank faces stared back at him. Paula pursed her full lips and sighed. 'Here we go again - more mysterious hints. I give up.'

'I have two questions I'd dearly love answers to,' Tweed told them as he perched his elbows on the desk. 'The raid on Siros. The three-man commando team - with Andreas - land on a hostile coast. They make their way up a twisting gulch. That gulch is overlooked by a monastery perched on Mount Ida like the nest of an eagle. The Germans have established a permanently manned lookout post on top of that monastery looking straight down the gulch. Why, then, in heaven's name, did the raiding party choose that point to climb up the island? There must have been scores of other places safer for them to choose.'

'Does sound very strange,' Paula agreed. 'Plus the fact that the body went missing.'

'My second question,' Tweed went on, 'is what happened to the cache of diamonds Andreas was carrying to hand over to Greek Resistance fighters on Siros? In those days they were worth about one hundred thousand pounds - so Brigadier Willie Davies at the MOD told me.'

'Stolen by the man who murdered Andreas,' Paula said promptly. 'Maybe we're dealing with a case of simple robbery.'

'I don't think so,' Tweed objected. 'And I've been to see a leading diamond merchant in Hatton Garden I know. I asked him what a parcel of diamonds worth a hundred thousand back in 1944 would be worth today. I got a shock.' He paused, looked round. 'Any estimates? No? My contact could only make a rough guess. Something in the region of one million pounds sterling.'

There was a stunned silence in his office. Nield screwed up his eyes, thinking hard. Paula crossed her legs, tapped her pen against her teeth, then reacted.

'So we may be looking for something - or someone -showing signs of great wealth? What about Barrymore and Quarme Manor?'

Tweed shook his head. 'He bought it years ago. Probably for a song.'

'He has a Daimler,' Paula persisted.

'An old job,' Nield interjected. 'Looks glitzy but wouldn't fetch all that much. A cool million? The only thing I've seen in the area is that modern little estate of de luxe bungalows near Kearns' place . . .'

'We're looking for something pointing to one of those three men we've listened to on the tape,' Paula objected.

Tweed was hardly listening. 'That business of where they landed on Siros. And the missing body. The priest told Newman they had asked the commander of the German occupation troops about Andreas. None of his patrols knew a thing. And Geiger was convinced they were telling the truth. So who else on the island could have spirited away the body? There's only one answer.'

'Which is?' Paula asked.

'It had to be some of the Greek Resistance people. But which lot? And why on earth would they do that? Now our next job is to pay a visit to Guy Seton-Charles. You come with me, Paula.'