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swallowed it, hook, line and sinker.'
    'What about the mysterious men in Balaclavas carrying rifles? Sounded a load of codswallop to me.'
    'There you could be wrong. It's so bizarre I do believe it happened. I think we may have stumbled on to something big. We'll go back to the Yard, you pick up your own car, then we drive back to Suffolk. Separately, we scour the area, ask questions - especially about underwater exploration. Even with the two of us we'll have our hands full. It's a very large area ...'

    'Well, that went well,' Newman commented after their visitors had left.
    'You think so?' Tweed queried. 'Buchanan wasn't fooled. He'll be back. What we've gained is a breathing space so we can get to the bottom of what is happening - here and in France. Where were you yesterday, Bob?'
    'Marler and I went to Aldeburgh. We avoided the marshes where the police have cordoned off the killing ground. And someone is financing a new expedition to explore that sunken village of Dunwich. Ever heard of Lord Dane Dawlish?'
    Tweed ticked off items on his fingers. 'Self-made million aire. Has armament factories in Scotland, at Thetford in Norfolk, in Belgium, and at Annecy in southern France. Made his original fortune out of the property boom in the eighties. A tough ruthless character. I suppose he had to be to get where he has. That's it.'
    'I think I ought to try and get an interview with him.' Newman suggested.
    'I might do better at that,' Paula intervened. 'I hear he has a soft spot for girlfriends.'
    'How could you present yourself?'
    'I know the editor of Woman's Eye. I could go as a reporter to write an article on his achievements.'
    'Hold off, Bob.' Tweed advised. Tor the moment. I'll decide who goes when I get back from Geneva - and Paula is coming with me. One step at a time. I want to hear what is disturbing the Germans first.'
    The phone rang, Monica answered it, saying it was General & Cumbria Assurance. She listened for a short time, then put her hand over the receiver and looked at Paula.
    'Could you take this? It's a girl. Speaking in French.'
    Paula took the receiver, perched herself on the edge of Monica's desk. She spoke in French.
    'This is General & Cumbria. Who is this?'
    'My name is Isabelle Thomas.' There was a choking sound. 'I'm sorry about that. I'm upset. Do please excuse me. Did you know Henri Bayle?'
    Paula put her hand over the receiver. 'Henri Bayle?'
    'Francis Carey, the undercover man I sent to the south of France.' Tweed confirmed.
    'Sorry.' Paula continued, 'the line crackled. You did say Henri Bayle? Yes, I work with him. I know all about him. I'm the General Manager...'
    'Henri is dead ...' Isabelle's voice broke again. 'It was awful. He's been murdered ...'
    'Isabelle, where are you speaking from?' Paula enquired quickly.
    'From the main Post Office.'
    'That's all right. Sorry to interrupt. Do go on,' Paula said in a businesslike tone. 'This is appalling news. I need to know as much as you can tell me.'
    She listened while Isabelle, calmer under Paula's con trolled reaction, related her story, starting from the arrival of the DST men at the Bar Miami. Paula was scribbling in shorthand on a pad Monica had pushed in front of her. The room had gone quiet. Everyone sensed the tension in the conversation as Paula encouraged the French girl to go on. Eventually she started checking Isabelle's story.
    'You did say two DST men? Your Direction de la Surveil lance du Territoire ?'
    'Yes, it was them. I was close enough to Henri in the crowded bar to catch what they said. I don't understand why they would...' Another choking sound. 'I was in love with Henri.'
    'So you're very upset - as I would be.' A vital question: 'Have you informed the local police?'
    'No. Should I?'
    'Under no circumstances. Don't do that. Tell no one.'
    'I haven't even told my mother. I'm so confused.'
    'I can understand that. I may know what happened,' Paula lied. 'Whatever you do, tell no one.' she repeated. 'We will try and send