Vorpal Blade by Colin Forbes Read Free Book Online

worked there. The asylum was burnt to the ground a few hours after Hank Foley was murdered. Fortunately there were no patients left inside the building. It was the sort of place where very rich people parked an unwanted relative - unwanted because of a mental condition. It was run by a married couple, the Bryans. They have disappeared and no one seems to know where they have gone.'
    'Intriguing,' commented Tweed.
    'Now, sir, I have been open with you. So what did you discover last night when you travelled to Bray with Chief Superintendent Buchanan?'
    'You pick up some strange rumours, Mr Snyder.'
    The phone rang, Monica answered it, listened, gestured for Tweed to take it. He lifted the phone, pushed his chair nearer to the wall. Snyder stood up, ignored Newman, wandered over to the wall near Paula's desk to study a framed print on the wall. She had been staring at his clothes. He wore a rough jacket with trousers to match. At his throat a cravat was tied which had a design of foxes capering about. He was clad more like a countryman than a London reporter.
    'I like this very much. It's a Turner print. Did you choose it?' He smiled warmly, his manner now pleasant.
    'As a matter of fact, I did.'
    'You have excellent taste. It's Perugia, isn't it? Thought so. What an atmospheric genius Turner was. The fortress town perched up suggests massive strength. I congratu late you.'
    'Thank you.'
    Tweed had taken his brief call as Snyder returned to his armchair. He had been surprised when the throaty voice spoke. Roman Arbogast.
    'Tweed, I do hope you will attend Sophie's birthday party with your two friends. Other also distinguished people will be there.'
    'We will be glad to come . . .'
    The phone went dead. Roman was not a man to waste time on what he'd regard as pointless conversation.
    'What is your opinion of the horrific Holgate murder?' enquired Snyder.
    'I don't think I've formed one.'
    'You're as tough as granite,' Snyder observed in his nor mal arrogant manner. 'I think I'd better go. I've received an unusual invitation to a birthday party - for Sophie, the daughter of Roman Arbogast. Expect he wants a write-up.'
    Tweed fiddled with his pen. 'I've heard a rumour that one of the guests may be Russell Straub. Thought I'd warn you.'
    'The paper with my story won't be on the streets until tomorrow.'
    'The early editions will be available at midnight,' Tweed reminded him. 'Straub is the sort of man who likes a team of aides with him wherever he goes, I suspect. One of those aides may hear of your article and drive over to get a copy.'
    'Well, if Straub is going to be there so am I.' He paused. 'I suppose you know that when you arrived back here you had been followed? The men inside the car had Special Branch written all over them.'
    'Nice to be protected,' replied Tweed, concealing his surprise at this news.
    'Something very funny is going on.' Snyder stood up. 'When I was in Maine I noticed I had to pen etrate a blanket of silence. People were very nervous about talking. Keep well, all of you. I'll be in touch, Tweed
    And with that brief farewell Snyder said he could find his own way out and left. No one spoke for a few minutes. Paula broke the silence, glaring at Newman.
    'You never said a word to him,' she snapped.
    'Didn't have a word to say. Neither did he to me.'
    'He was our guest. A polite greeting would have done no harm. Where are your manners? The fact that you don't like him is irrelevant,' she went on, working herself up. 'And he was very nice with me during our brief exchange of conversation.'
    'Hope you enjoyed it,' Newman rapped back ironically.
    'You're impossible,' she retorted.
    The phone rang, Monica answered it, looked at Tweed. 'We've got Chief Superintendent Buchanan on the line for you.'
    'Hello, Roy,' Tweed opened. 'How is life with you?'
    'Pretty grim. I've been taken off the Holgate murder case, told that no one on my team is to go anywhere near it. And guess where the order comes from? The Commissioner