stopped going.'
'Was he a good shot?'
'You must be joking. He hit everything except the target. I scored the occasional bull. Pure fluke. Talk of the devil — look what the tide washed up.'
A man in his thirties with a sneering expression had sat on the stool next to Basil. He wore a very expensive dinner suit, a jacket with silk-covered lapels. The barman came and stared at him.
T11 have a double Scotch. At the double. While you're at it build me another as a reserve.'
The barman gave Rupert a look which was not friendly. Newman was trying to think of a way to get Basil out of Goodfellows. When they had come in Newman spotted Tweed and Paula at their window table. He was sure Basil, with the bar as his magnet, hadn't seen them. There had to be a ploy to persuade Basil to come with him elsewhere. Newman had also observed that Ed Osborne was occupying the far end of the bar. He wondered who the short, grim-looking individual with Osborne might be. He kept staring at Newman with his hard eyes. Newman thought it was a long time since he'd seen such a ruthless-looking man. His opportunity to shift Basil came unexpectedly.
'You shouldn't talk to the barman the way you do, Rupert,' Basil told him. 'He doesn't like it.'
'Who gives a frig for a barman?'
'Not the lord of the manor, the king of creation, God's gift to the casinos in Europe.'
'How would you like this drink poured over your crummy suit?' Rupert snarled.
'Time to go, find fresh fields,' Newman said firmly, gripping Basil's arm.
'I think you're right,' Basil agreed. He glanced at Rupert. 'You don't get the best type of person in here.'
Rupert was lifting his glass when Newman hauled Basil off the stool. Just in time. Rupert's double Scotch flooded the stool Basil had just vacated. Newman hustled Basil away from the bar, between tables and out of the entrance. The cold air hit Basil, who stumbled, swayed.
'Time to go home,' Newman insisted. 'We can have another drink there …'
An hour and a half later Tweed paid the bill and left the club with Paula. They had come by taxi and Tweed was looking for another cab. Of course, there was no sign of one.
'We'll find a cab and I'll see you safely home,' he said.
'That isn't necessary. It's out of your way. You can see me into a taxi and it will take me straight home.' 'Are you sure?'
'I'm certain.'
Tweed was in two minds. His instinct was to drop her off at her flat in the Fulham Road. On the other hand he wanted to go back to his office. He felt sure Monica would be working on her profiles into the early hours. He was impatient to see what she had come up with - and to add to her list the name of Jake Ronstadt. He had sensed something disturbing about the American's personality.
'That was odd,' Paula remarked, pulling her coat more tightly round her against the chilly night, 'Rupert, of all people, turning up at the bar.'
'He probably haunts places like that at night. Especially a new one like Goodfellows, only opened two months ago. On the lookout for new girl friends. You told me Mrs Belloc, down at Irongates, made a reference to his harem.'
'He's a typical rich man's son. An idler and a wastrel. He seemed to know Windermere.'
'Like attracting like. Both of them are worthless.'
'At one moment it looked like turning ugly,' Paula reflected. 'Bob certainly moved fast, getting Windermere out of the club.'
'Here's a cab.'
Tweed flagged it down. He opened the rear door and Paula dived inside, glad to get into some warmth. Tweed gave the driver a banknote to cover the fare and the tip.
'It's your job to see my friend gets back safely to the address I've given you.'
'With a tip like that, mate, I'd take her safely to Singapore,' the driver assured Tweed.
'I must be tired,' Paula called out to Tweed after she had lowered the window. 'I forgot to thank you for a marvellous dinner. I feel so relaxed.' She leaned out, kissed him on the cheek. 'Thank you again.' She looked down at the pavement. 'And don't get wet
'Was he a good shot?'
'You must be joking. He hit everything except the target. I scored the occasional bull. Pure fluke. Talk of the devil — look what the tide washed up.'
A man in his thirties with a sneering expression had sat on the stool next to Basil. He wore a very expensive dinner suit, a jacket with silk-covered lapels. The barman came and stared at him.
T11 have a double Scotch. At the double. While you're at it build me another as a reserve.'
The barman gave Rupert a look which was not friendly. Newman was trying to think of a way to get Basil out of Goodfellows. When they had come in Newman spotted Tweed and Paula at their window table. He was sure Basil, with the bar as his magnet, hadn't seen them. There had to be a ploy to persuade Basil to come with him elsewhere. Newman had also observed that Ed Osborne was occupying the far end of the bar. He wondered who the short, grim-looking individual with Osborne might be. He kept staring at Newman with his hard eyes. Newman thought it was a long time since he'd seen such a ruthless-looking man. His opportunity to shift Basil came unexpectedly.
'You shouldn't talk to the barman the way you do, Rupert,' Basil told him. 'He doesn't like it.'
'Who gives a frig for a barman?'
'Not the lord of the manor, the king of creation, God's gift to the casinos in Europe.'
'How would you like this drink poured over your crummy suit?' Rupert snarled.
'Time to go, find fresh fields,' Newman said firmly, gripping Basil's arm.
'I think you're right,' Basil agreed. He glanced at Rupert. 'You don't get the best type of person in here.'
Rupert was lifting his glass when Newman hauled Basil off the stool. Just in time. Rupert's double Scotch flooded the stool Basil had just vacated. Newman hustled Basil away from the bar, between tables and out of the entrance. The cold air hit Basil, who stumbled, swayed.
'Time to go home,' Newman insisted. 'We can have another drink there …'
An hour and a half later Tweed paid the bill and left the club with Paula. They had come by taxi and Tweed was looking for another cab. Of course, there was no sign of one.
'We'll find a cab and I'll see you safely home,' he said.
'That isn't necessary. It's out of your way. You can see me into a taxi and it will take me straight home.' 'Are you sure?'
'I'm certain.'
Tweed was in two minds. His instinct was to drop her off at her flat in the Fulham Road. On the other hand he wanted to go back to his office. He felt sure Monica would be working on her profiles into the early hours. He was impatient to see what she had come up with - and to add to her list the name of Jake Ronstadt. He had sensed something disturbing about the American's personality.
'That was odd,' Paula remarked, pulling her coat more tightly round her against the chilly night, 'Rupert, of all people, turning up at the bar.'
'He probably haunts places like that at night. Especially a new one like Goodfellows, only opened two months ago. On the lookout for new girl friends. You told me Mrs Belloc, down at Irongates, made a reference to his harem.'
'He's a typical rich man's son. An idler and a wastrel. He seemed to know Windermere.'
'Like attracting like. Both of them are worthless.'
'At one moment it looked like turning ugly,' Paula reflected. 'Bob certainly moved fast, getting Windermere out of the club.'
'Here's a cab.'
Tweed flagged it down. He opened the rear door and Paula dived inside, glad to get into some warmth. Tweed gave the driver a banknote to cover the fare and the tip.
'It's your job to see my friend gets back safely to the address I've given you.'
'With a tip like that, mate, I'd take her safely to Singapore,' the driver assured Tweed.
'I must be tired,' Paula called out to Tweed after she had lowered the window. 'I forgot to thank you for a marvellous dinner. I feel so relaxed.' She leaned out, kissed him on the cheek. 'Thank you again.' She looked down at the pavement. 'And don't get wet
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