'My instinct, experience if you like, tells me all I need is to spot the motive. When I do I'll know who the killer is.'
FIFTEEN
The next morning a carefully dressed but nervous Paula tapped the agreed tattoo on Tweed's door. Wearing a sports jacket and grey slacks, he ushered her inside with a smile and a wave of his hand. He immediately noticed her unusually worried expression.
'Come in. Make yourself at home,' he greeted her cheerfully.
She sat down in a hard-backed chair, her feet together. She sat very erect, spoke softly.
'I have something to tell you I don't think you'll like.'
'A cup of steaming black coffee might help start the day.'
He poured her a cup and tactfully placed it on a small table next to her chair. He guessed she might have trouble not spilling it as she lifted the cup.
'I think we ought to have a full breakfast up here. I'll order it,' he said firmly, reaching for the phone.
'Won't the landlord think it funny I'm in your suite so early?' she ventured.
'Mr Bowling has been running this hotel for a long time, I'm sure. He'll be quite used to serving breakfasts to men who have spent the night with a lady friend. Par for the course.'
Over the phone he ordered a huge breakfast for two, to be served in twenty minutes. Tea, more coffee, toast - white and brown (which he knew Paula preferred), scrambled eggs for two, crispy bacon, toasted muffins . . .
'We'll both be fighting fit after that,' he said, refilling her cup. 'Now, I'll just listen.'
She told him of the events of the previous night, starting with her driving the Audi from the hotel and parking it inside the hedge overlooking Hobart House. She kept it brief and found herself talking more quickly as Tweed kept nodding his head to show her he was taking it all in. His expression was pleasant, that of the interested listener - until she came to the point where she quoted what Neville Guile had said to his henchman. Use her as a man likes to use a woman.
His lips tightened. He turned his head away so Paula would not see the cold fury in his eyes. From that moment on he couldn't wait until he met Neville Guile in a quiet place and slowly strangled him.
He lit a rare cigarette and when he turned to face
Paula again his expression of listening to every word she said had returned. She concluded with her walking away from the cottage with the crooked chimney back across the bowl to the parked car.
'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I should never have taken the risk . . .'
'Wrong!' he exploded. 'You were right. Haven't I always told every member of the team they must use their initiative? Which is exactly what you did. It may have been pretty grim for you, but you proved you can - and do - think for yourself.'
'Thank you,' she said quietly.
'The next problem is to get rid of the body of the fiend who attacked you.'
'It's already been done. On my way along the corridor to get here I met Harry. He said the thug's name was Ned Marsh - he found his passport on his body in the cottage. With the help of Archie MacBlade he carried the body back up to Black Gorse Moor, found the tunnel I'd been in and the vertical drop. They dumped the body down the tunnel - it went all the way down. MacBlade said Guile is always checking. When he phones Marsh on his mobile during the night and gets no reply he'll send another thug at once to drive the truck. Haifa ton of rubble will be emptied down the tunnel. The thug who tried to rape and kill me will never be found.'
'Solves one problem,' Tweed commented.
'I'm perplexed,' said Paula. 'Nothing links up. Mystery One - Harry tracks Falkirk up here. We
follow. Mystery Two - we find Hartland Trent murdered, his place ransacked. Mystery Three - how does Lord Bullerton fit in? Mystery Four - why is Neville Guile visiting this part of the world? Then, what is happening on Black Gorse Moor with that network of tunnels?'
'You left out one more,' Tweed remarked. 'Who really hired Falkirk, private detective?'
'And,' she added, 'I haven't seen Chief Inspector Roadblock for some time.'
Tweed chuckled. 'That's because I phoned Buchanan and asked him to recall the gentleman to London. His new task? To call at every residence in the Lynton Avenue area to ask if they saw anything. He gets no reply since they're on holiday. He has to persist until he meets them.'
'Which will take him forever. All those houses.'
'That's my idea. Can't have him up here messing up the whole case. But our main task remains the same -to identify the murderer.'
'Any suspects yet?' she coaxed.
'I think a large part of the motive is Black Gorse Moor.'
The pleasant maid had cleared the breakfast clutter, but Paula was still puzzled by Tweed's reply. Another factor entered her mind. She looked across to where Tweed was perched on the edge of his bed, studying his notebook.
'Noak Island. Could that be important? Somewhere remote out in the Atlantic?'
'All great minds think alike.' He smiled. 'I was just wondering about that myself.'
'And there's a strange item in the paper. Something about Asiatic pirates who grabbed a big oil tanker, fully laden, about seven months ago.'
'I spotted that too.'
Tweed stopped talking as someone rapped on the door.
He had his Walther behind his back as he unlocked the door. Outside Archie MacBlade stood with Falkirk. MacBlade smiled as he politely put the question.
'Any chance of our having a confidential chat now?'
'Perfect timing. I have Paula with me. Come in. Seat yourselves while I listen.'
MacBlade chose a large couch after hugging Paula, asking how she was, whether she had slept well.
'Very OK,' she said with a warm smile. 'Slept solidly the whole night through.'
Falkirk had joined MacBlade on the couch. MacBlade waved a hand at his companion.
'Think it was time I came clean. I was the one who hired our mutual ally, Falkirk.'
SIXTEEN
Tm stunned,' said Paula.
'Why?' asked Tweed.
'I’d never have guessed that in a hundred years,' she exclaimed.
'Why?' demanded Tweed.
'Because,' MacBlade explained, 'I needed someone first-rate to check on Neville Guile, to find out everything he could about the villain. I could hardly come to you, Tweed - not with you running your own show, as you always do. We've been discussing Guile's secret island, Noak. The mysterious Noak out on the Gulf Stream.'
'Could be idyllic,' Paula mused. 'Palm trees and coconuts.'
'Or something grimmer,' said Falkirk, with a warm smile.
It was the first time she'd seen Falkirk relax. She found she was beginning to like this tough lean-faced man.
'I need every bit of information you've dug up,' Tweed said very seriously.
There was another tapping on his door. Again he concealed his Walther behind his back before unlocking the door. Marler was standing outside with a long cardboard roll tucked under his arm. Tweed lowered his voice.
'I have Archie MacBlade and Falkirk with me. Paula too. We are beginning to discuss Neville Guile's secret island, Noak.'
'Which is why I've come to see you. I now know a lot about how to get to the place. There are traps.'
'You'd better come in and join the party, then.'
Introductions were swiftly over. Marler laid the cardboard roll on the cleared table they were now gathered round.
He looked at Tweed for a signal.
'Do I reveal everything I've discovered?'
'Everything,' Tweed assured him.
'This map,' Marler began, 'I obtained from a mariner friend high up in his service. They know of the island's existence but do not know it belongs to Neville Guile. Here goes . . .'
From the cardboard roll he extracted a large map, spreading it to flatten it. Paula immediately recognized it as showing the western coast of Brittany, the Channel Islands, a vast stretch of the Atlantic with
another island well to the west of the Channel Islands group
. The island was circled in red.
Near the bottom of the large sheet was another map, a detailed outline of Noak. A drawing on this map showed steep cliffs and a section of dotted lines shaped like a triangle with the narrowed apex ending at a gulch. Marler pointed to the dotted lines projecting into the Atlantic.
'That's the trap,' he explained. 'Guile has sophisticated radar which picks up any vessel approaching Noak.'
'Is there a gap covering a landing point invisible to this radar system, maybe caused by the high overhanging cliffs?'
'Clever girl,' Marler said with an admiring smile. 'That is where we land without Guile knowing we've arrived. Tricky, but I could manage it.' He looked round the table. 'Presumably the vessel available will be crewed by me and Falkirk?'
'No,' snapped Tweed. 'Has it ample capacity for more people?'
'Yes. It's very roomy. Has a small stateroom.'
'Then it will also be crewed, as you put it, by me, Paula and Harry. We need power in case we come up against guards.'
'True.' Marler stood up, the map rolled and back in its case. 'I've got things to arrange, consult someone about weapons.' Both Tweed and Paula knew he meant Harry, but was being typically cautious since MacBlade and Falkirk were present. He turned at the door.
'Timetable? I can be ready within two days, even by tomorrow.'
'In case of emergency think of tomorrow,' Tweed decided.
MacBlade and Falkirk left soon after him. Paula waited until they were alone before she voiced her doubts.
'Aren't we leaving Gunners Gorge before we've checked it out thoroughly?'
'Yes, we are,' Tweed agreed. 'But Neville Guile is one of a number of strong suspects. I need to find out what he's up to on this mysterious island of Noak. He's rushed off, and my instinct is that he's on his way there.'
'What's next today, then?'
'A visit by both of us to Hobart House. I want to interrogate Bullerton's two daughters, Sable and Margot. Girls can be very observant.' He smiled. 'They have been known to listen unseen at closed doors . . .'
'I don't like that knife Margot carried concealed in a sheath.'
'Also,' Tweed continued, 'I'd like to grill Mrs Shipton. Something's not right about her. I asked the landlord where she came from. He said out of the blue, no idea where. A year or two after Myra had her so-called accident and went over the falls.'
Inside the garage they found a livid Lord Bullerton
pacing back and forth. He addressed Tweed abruptly.
'Would you believe it? My fool of a chauffeur has taken my car to the mechanic way north of the bridge beyond the Gorge. Didn't consult me - just left a note. I'll have his guts for garters!'
'Where were you going?' Tweed enquired.
'Just back to Hobart House. But it's one hell of a walk.'
'We're going there in my car,' Tweed told him. 'Give you a lift.'
'There are some gentlemen left in this mess of a world,' he growled. 'I accept your offer gratefully.'
Paula opened the front passenger door of the Audi, gestured with a smile. He quietened down, gave her a grateful warm smile, climbed aboard as she closed the door and parked herself in the back seat as Tweed took over behind the wheel.
As they were approaching the country road turn-off to Hobart House they saw Mrs Grout watering plant pots placed on either side of her red front door. Bullerton pointed at her and snorted contemptuously.
'Barmy old bag. Crocodiles! '
SEVENTEEN
Margot opened the front door, Bullerton pushed past her, calling over his shoulder that he had a pile of work waiting in his study. Margot had to jump aside to avoid being knocked over.
'Good morning, Margot,' Tweed greeted her with a warm smile. 'I need to talk to just you and Sable.'
'Do we have to drag in Sable?'
'I do need to talk to the two of you together. No one else present.'
'OK. Sable's in the library. Not in the best of moods, so life is normal,' she concluded with a mischievous grin. As they reached the library door she paused. 'That was catty of me. I erase the remark . . .'
She was smartly turned out, wearing white roll-neck jumper, a checked pleated skirt, sensible flat-heeled shoes.
'Company, Sable,' she announced as they entered.
Scowling, Sable sat at a desk with papers spread untidily over its surface, her blonde head bent over them.
'Tell them to go to hell,' she rasped. Tm busy with university homework.' Then she looked up, saw who the visitors were. Her attitude was transformed. The scowl was replaced by a flashing welcoming smile. Jumping up, she ran to Tweed, threw both arms round him, hugged a little too passionately, watching Margot over his shoulder.
Releasing him she held out her hand to Paula, squeezed it warmly. Leading them both to a couch, she ignored Margot. She was taking control.
'Drinks?' she offered as they sat down. 'I'm on vodka - helps me plough through dull work. Vodka for both of you? Or coffee or tea?' She glared at Margot. 'What are you hanging around for? They've come to see me.'
'Actually,' Tweed said firmly, 'I need to talk to both of you together. And I'd like a small glass of Chardonnay, if that's possible.'
'For me too,' Paula said quickly.
'Coming up . . .'
Sable was more daringly dressed than her sister. As she bent to fetch a bottle, bending to a lower shelf, her short skirt rode up, exposing most of her excellent legs. Her blouse dipped, showing the tops of two well-shaped bosoms. She came back with two glasses on a silver tray.
'I think I'll have Chardonnay too,' Margot chipped in.
'Well, you know where the bottle is,' snapped Sable but Margot was already helping herself.
When she came back she sat next to Paula. She adjusted her skirt to cover her elegant knees. Sable was now seated in an imposing carver chair on the other side of the desk, elevated above them.
'Cheers!' said Margot, raising her glass. 'Now, how can we help you?'
'I have detected in this house an atmosphere of unease,' Tweed began. 'Have you any idea what causes it? One person? If so, who?'
'This is a house of hatred,' Sable burst out. 'We all have to fight our corner to survive,' she said viciously. 'Father is a problem. Sometimes moody - once said he wished we'd never been born . . .'
'That's a wild exaggeration,' Margot protested.
'At other times he's so generous with presents.' She touched the expensive diamond brooch attached to her blouse, gazed maliciously at Margot.
'I'd say,' Margot insisted, 'we're just an average family who have disagreements now and again.'
'Bollocks!' Sable burst out again.
'Our guests are accustomed to using decent language,' Margot said quietly.
'All right!' Sable shouted, then quietened down. 'I apologize for using the word.' She glared at Margot. 'It would be my older sister to pick me up on that.'
'I'm one year older than Sable,' Margot said, again quietly.
'What do you both think of your brother, Lance?' Tweed asked.
'He's a pain—' Sable began.
'He keeps to himself,' Margot explained. 'Understandable being so out-numbered by sisters.'
'Does he go to London frequently?' Tweed said, speaking rapidly, determined to get quick answers before either sister could think.
'Frequently,' replied Margot.
'When he's not fooling around with the local talent,' sneered her sister.
'I gather he's determined under no circumstances to be the next Lord Bullerton . . .'
'Inside this house,' Sable said. 'But he keeps quiet in the Village, in Gunners Gorge and round the countryside.'
'Why would he do that?' rapped out Tweed.
'Because,' Sable said with an unpleasant grin, 'it impresses the aristo girls he lures to his flat. The clots think it's great to spend a night or two with the future Lord Bullerton.'
'Aristo girls?' queried Tweed.
'Members of the aristocracy,' Sable explained. 'The horsey set. Quite
a few are my friends so I hear what's going on. Margot is never asked to their parties,' she concluded triumphantly.
'Don't know them,' Margot remarked coolly. 'Don't want to. I don't like horses. Don't ride. Bit of a bore.'
'Fact is,' Sable elaborated as she hitched her jumper higher, 'no one would dream of inviting her. Not their circle.'
'Where does Mrs Shipton come from?' Tweed asked suddenly.
He's using his tactic, Paula thought, of changing the subject without warning to throw people off balance.
The Savage Gorge Page 11
