Free The Touch of Death by John Creasey

be blown into little pieces. Now perhaps you’ll listen when I tell you that you shouldn’t play around in these jobs yourself, Sap. You’re crazy to. You go back to London.” The driver, a middle-aged man with a noticeable New Zealand accent, was red-faced with anger. “If they kill you we’ll really be in trouble. If a few of us are bumped off, it won’t make much difference.”
    â€œAgree with him, Neil?” Palfrey asked mildly.
    â€œI don’t know you well enough,” Banister said.
    â€œThus speaks an honest man!” Palfrey looked along the road, where another car was slowing down. “You can give me a lift back. Mike, you wait until I get in touch with you again, will you?”
    â€œOh, it’s like talking to a brick wall,” growled Mike.
    Palfrey and Banister went to Banister’s car. The chauffeur was standing by the door and talking to other motorists who had just arrived. More were coming along.
    â€œThe police will soon be here,” Palfrey said. “Let’s get off, and leave them to Mike.” He lit a cigarette as he settled back in the car, and they moved towards the town itself. “How are you feeling, Neil?”
    â€œI’m all right.”
    â€œDid you see her?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDora Smith was with her. They’re both staying with the Scotts.”
    The sharp edge of Banister’s shock was blunted, now; Rita had been suspect, now she was known to work with – “them”. Now he would have to fight her; it might be a life for a life, death for death.
    â€œWhat else have you found out about her?” he asked gruffly.
    â€œRita Morrell is the daughter of a Rhodesian tobacco farmer who left him three years ago, and has officially been studying in London, but as far as I can find out, hasn’t done much actual studying. She has travelled widely as secretary to a man named Menzies, who seems to have disappeared. She is known to have used at least three names and three false passports, but her real name is Rita Morrell.”
    â€œOh,” said Banister. He looked at the steam rising so strangely from the green land, but hardly noticed it.
    â€œI wish I knew why she was here,” Palfrey said.
    â€œYou said that she’d been here before.”
    â€œI thought I knew why, too – that she was going to try another attack on you. You’re the chief target left.”
    After a pause, Banister said: “Are you sure she threw a smoke bomb?”
    â€œOh, yes. Not at all lethal! It looks as if she is going to try new scare tactics. I think we’ll have to wait and see what they’re going to be. Of course—” Palfrey wound down his window and tossed his cigarette stub out, then closed the window again—”we could pick her up, but she’s taking an obvious risk, quite deliberately. I think we’d better try to find out why.”
    â€œIt suits me,” Banister said heavily.
    â€œWell, be careful.”
    â€œLook here!” Banister turned sharply to face the other; his voice was brusque, his manner one almost of resentment, “What are you driving at? Where have I let you down?”
    â€œMy dear chap – you’re magnificent! But Rita’s clever. She is also beautiful. She knows how you felt about her. This is simply a warning.”
    â€œWhat are you expecting – that she’s going to try to seduce me, or something like that?”
    â€œSomething like that,” said Palfrey. “Now . . .”
    Â 
    One report which came from Rotorua was about fish – trout – which appeared to die when they came into contact with other fish. Several reports had been received in London, Palfrey told Banister.
    Banister went out, with a Security driver, from the small hotel near the Blue Baths in the heart of the little town. He was used to Security men, was getting used to the smell of the sulphur and the steam that was