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we don't play it that way. Not after we've known each other for umpteen years,' Tweed replied, still placid. 'What is all this about? Relax for Heaven's sake.'
    Tweed's persuasive attitude had an effect on even the strong-minded Buchanan. He grabbed his cap out of his lap, dropped it on the floor as though he disliked the damned thing. He took a deep breath.
    'All right. There's been a horrific murder. A Miss Viola Vander-Browne. Saafeld estimates the time of death as roughly between eleven p.m. and one a.m. - probably closer to eleven. The poor woman has been cut to pieces. I had an anonymous tip-off on the phone early this morning that I should check where you were last night. Chief Inspector Hammer is in charge of the case. Back at the Yard he's nicknamed the Bulldozer. He was coming over but I stopped him, came myself. Sergeant Warden, my assistant, will be coming over tomorrow to take a statement from you. You know - knew - Miss Vander-Browne?'
    'I'm not making any statement at this stage,' Tweed responded. 'But I think I'll investigate the case myself.'
    'I wish you would. In your position you do have the authority. Hammer won't like it, but I don't like him. I hesitated to ask you - for certain reasons.' He stood up.
    'Thanks for those reports from your agents abroad. Things seem quiet at the moment. I'd better get back now.'
    'You're forgetting your cap,' Paula called out as he moved to the door.
    'Oh, thank you.' He came back, picked up the cap. 'Lose my head if this pressure keeps up.' He walked over to her, his hand extended. 'I'm sorry about my attitude earlier, Paula. I was on edge when I arrived.'
    She shook his hand, gave him a big smile. 'Aren't we all at times.'
    'Roy,' Tweed asked, 'what sort of voice was it, whoever gave you the tip-off?'
    'Unrecognizable. Hoarse. Coarse. Keep in touch.'
    It was Harry, still crosslegged on the floor, who exploded the moment Buchanan was gone.
    'It's that bloody uniform. What does he think he is these days? Admiral of the Fleet? The fleet we haven't got!'
    Fifteen minutes later Tweed was checking through reports when the phone rang again. Monica answered, then gazed at Tweed.
    'You won't believe this one either. Another visitor. Nelson Macomber, one of the notorious Cabal.'

    5

    'I think this gentleman would prefer to talk to me on our own,' Tweed said before asking Monica to invite Macomber up. 'Harry, put the recorder on - then you can all listen afterwards. No, Paula, don't go. I want you to stay. You're very good at getting an impression on a new player in this deadly game.'
    Monica left to go upstairs, followed by Nield and Butler. Only then did he lift the phone and tell George, the guard in the hall, to ask their visitor to come up.
    Macomber came into the office. He wore an Armani suit, and a tie Paula felt sure was Chanel. He moved easily and was smiling. He bowed his head towards Paula, still smiling. She rather liked the look of him.
    'Good morning, Mr Macomber,' Tweed greeted him quietly. 'Do please sit down.'
    'My apologies,' Macomber said softly, looking at Paula, 'but I will be speaking to you, Mr Tweed, in great confidence.'
    'If I was away or out of action Miss Paula Grey would take over from me,' Tweed explained.
    Macomber's reaction was swift. He stood up, and smiling pleasantly he walked over to Paula, held out his large hand to her.
    'Miss Grey, my profound apologies. I am not familiar with the ranking here. You are most welcome to hear all I have to say.'
    She clasped his hand which squeezed hers, but did not hold on too long. He returned to his chair. His movements were agile for a man she estimated was in his forties.
    'Now, Mr Tweed,' Macomber began in his soft voice, 'I have heard you are a man who does not beat about the bush. So am I. I have come to discuss with you the proposed merger of all the security forces under one command. That is the CID, MI5, the police, the coastguard, Special Branch - and the SIS, your own organization. This single