The Savage Gorge

by Forbes, Colin

  'No idea.'

  'Because at this hour His Lordship has decided he'd like me to make his favourite dish. A souffle.'

  'He's had a nasty shock today,' Paula said quietly.

  'Were you here when it happened?' Tweed demanded, seizing on the opening.

  'I suppose I must have been.' Mrs Shipton sat down in a wicker chair. 'He got up exceptionally early I gather for a pre-breakfast ride. Never known him up so early.'

  'Anyone else about at that hour?'

  'Only the hiker.'

  'What was he doing here? Can you describe him, please.'

  'About five feet eight tall. Very well dressed, with a pack on his back. Lean and agile. The odd thing was his complexion - very pale. Had a slightly crooked nose. Very polite. Needed a glass of water. I took him through into here, he drank all the water.'

  Paula turned her back on Mrs Shipton and mouthed 'Lepard' to Tweed. The description perfectly matched Harry's description of the villain.

  'Which route did he follow when he left?' Tweed asked.

  'Very considerate. Said he didn't want to risk leaving mud from his boots on our beautiful carpets. Was there a more direct way out of the kitchen? I pointed him through the back door along that footpath.'

  'Does that lead anywhere near the barn where Lord Bullerton mounted his horse before his accident?'

  'Yes, it does. Can't see it from here.'

  'Would this be a few minutes before Lord Bullerton went to the barn?'

  'I've no damned idea.' Her patience snapped as Tweed, with latex gloves on, opened a tall door, realized it was the broom cupboard with neatly stacked equipment hung by string from hooks on both side walls. 'Don't you go messing that up,' shrieked Mrs Shipton, 'I'm an organized woman and—'

  Tweed, shining a powerful torch and now deep inside, heard her switching her tirade on Paula, who was opening several wall cupboards containing expensive crockery. He passed a five-foot-tall metal drum, from the top of which protruded a collection of well-used brushes and mops. Reaching the back wall of white panels, he pressed the right-hand side hard. It swung inward on a central metal pivot. Inside was a cardboard roll, which he extracted.

  By the light of his torch he read the legal document quickly. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, refolded the document, slid it back inside the tube, replaced the protective cap and tucked it under his arm.

  On his way to the exit he noticed again the drum crammed with used brushes and mops. It was then he noticed a long green rod shoved between them. Its handle was rusted. Still wearing the gloves, he eased the whole handle out. At the working end were remnants of an ancient mop. His expression became grim.

  Walking back into the kitchen, he closed the door. Paula was just closing the last of the cupboards she

  had searched. She smiled at Tweed, then noticed his expression.

  'Find any treasures?' she asked quietly.

  'Have you a long enough evidence envelope for this handle?'

  'Might have. Let me look in my briefcase.'

  In no time she hauled out an envelope folded several times. Extending it, she held it out to Tweed, who slipped the green handle inside. She sealed the top, wrote the date and place on a card attached to the envelope's mouth.

  'What do you want that old thing for?' Mrs Shipton demanded. 'Where did you get it?'

  'I have never seen such a neat and well-organized kitchen,' Paula told Mrs Shipton when Tweed didn't reply. 'You are such a well-organized person. I know I'm repeating myself but I'm so impressed.'

  'Time we left,' Tweed said abruptly, heading for the door leading to the hall. 'Sorry to disturb you, Mrs Shipton.'

  Lance met them in the hall. As usual, his eyes roamed over Paula.

  'Two odd visitors have arrived to see Father,' he told them. 'Sable, the idiot, answered the door, took them straight to the study. She rushed past me to her room. I asked her who they were. "No idea," she snapped.'

  'Did you hear a word either of them said?'

  'I was on the landing. They never said a word. One was incredibly tall and thin. He—'

  Tweed walked fast across the hall, took hold of the

  study door, threw it open and entered. Paula was at his heels.

  Lord Bullerton was seated at his desk, looking very aggressive. Seated facing him on a couch were Neville Guile and Lepard.

  TWENTY TWO

  Lord Bullerton looked up. Tweed thought he detected relief in his expression. He raised a clenched fist, crashed it down on his desk.

  'Tweed, this man wants me to sell him Black Gorse Moor. I'm not going to do it for any price.'

  'A million pounds is a lot of money,' Guile sneered.

  'He has also,' Bullerton continued, 'threatened me if I refuse. Look at the thug he's brought with him.'

  'I'm a professional carpenter.'

  'Look,' Bullerton exploded, 'at his right leg! Just lift the trouser.'

  Tweed had already observed the large holster not exposed. In it was sheathed a huge wide-bladed knife. Paula, who had also seen it, had sidled round behind Lepard. In her hand she held the .32 Browning slipped out of her own leg holster.

  Close behind Lepard, she pressed the muzzle hard against the back of his neck. He stiffened. He knew what that meant.

  'It would be murder,' he said unconvincingly. 'You'd spend a bad twelve years in Holloway.'

  'Don't think so,' said Paula in a hard bitter tone. 'Not with two impeccable witnesses to confirm you were attacking Lord Bullerton.'

  'Take it easy,' Guile told Lepard.

  'I never do.'

  'That's an order I'm giving you,' Guile said in his cut-glass voice.

  He was disturbed by the hard tone of Paula's voice. Time to quieten down a dangerous situation.

  'Now,' began Paula, talking to Lepard, 'you will do exactly what I tell you. Any tricks and my trigger finger is itchy. Bend slowly forward, undo the straps on your holster. Don't touch that knife.'

  Lepard slowly bent down. As he did so Paula kept the Browning's muzzle pressed against his neck. He unfastened the straps, his face a picture of fury. To be humiliated by a woman. He held holster and knife well away from himself.

  'Now put it on that table by your side,' Paula ordered. 'I want you to use your elbow to push the whole thing way over that table. That's right. You can sit up straight now.' She looked at Tweed, spoke again to Lepard. 'Don't forget my gun will be inches from your head.'

  Tweed stepped forward, hands thrust deep inside his coat. He stared grimly at the billionaire.

  'Guile, I'm warning you not to visit Hobart House. Never again slip into the grounds of his property. If you do I'll arrest you at once. You'll be transported in a police car to the Yard, held there while I phone Chief Inspector Loriot of the DST in Paris, ask him to send for your immediate extradition to France. I gather he wishes to interrogate you about certain of your activities in Europe. Now, both of you, leave.'

  As he stood up Paula saw Guile stare at Tweed with a look of venom she'd never seen on another human being's face. Without a word he walked into the hall through the doorway Tweed had opened, followed by Lepard with Paula holding her gun close behind him.

  Margot, close to the front door, unlocked, opened it. They walked out, down the steps towards their parked Citroen.

  'I gather they're not wanted on the voyage,' Margot said wittily. She turned to a bank of switches, pressed two. The hall was plunged into darkness, but outside the terrace and beyond were illuminated with searchlight-like glares.

  'Just to make sure they leave,' Margot said with a smile. 'I must get back to my room and homework, if you'll excuse me . . .'

  She reached the top landing and bumped into Lance, who was on his way from his room. He squeezed her arm, ran down the staircase and across the hall to Tweed and Paula.

  'Who were those peculiar people?' he asked. 'They never said a word.'

  'Some businessmen who came to coax a loan from your father. He refused.'

  'He's always being peste
red by people who want money. Often over the phone.'

  'Excuse me,' Tweed said, 'I have a private call to make.'

  In a distant corner, dark despite the lights Margot had turned on again before she left, he pressed Harry's number.

  'That you, Harry? Good. Where are you?'

  'In a hole in a hedge, watching a Citroen approach from the mansion.'

  'Inside are Neville Guile and his henchman, Lepard. They should drive along the lane. I want to make sure they leave. Paula and I will soon be driving up that way. Will pick you up. At the end of the lane the Citroen will turn left for the London road.'

  'Got my car parked in a field. See you.'

  Tweed returned to where Lance and Paula were chatting amiably.

  'I really didn't like the look of the tall one with the cut-glass voice. Slithers when he walks.'

  'Good metaphor,' Tweed said with a smile. 'He's a snake.'

  'Hadn't we better get back and make sure Lord Bullerton is all right?' Paula suggested firmly.

  Lance ran back up the stairs, As Tweed passed a wall of bookcases he paused, felt behind the wide gap

  behind them, took out the cardboard roll he'd found at the back of the brush cupboard in the kitchen. Paula looked puzzled.

  'Why didn't we take that to Lord Bullerton earlier?'

  She'd been shown it on their way from kitchen to hall. A lightning-quick reader, she had memorised its contents.

  'Not in front of other people. Good job I didn't, considering who his visitors were.'

  Entering the study, they found Bullerton seated again behind his desk. He was drinking the last of a double Scotch and another glass was waiting for him on the desk. He waved his glass to them.

  'Cheers! And I can't thank you both so much for protecting me.'

  Tweed sat down close to him, hammered the roll on the desk.

  'What is all this about? You must tell me. It could be a link with my murder investigation.'

  'Thought you'd find it. Has Paula also read it? Good. It is a legal document drawn up by Fingle, local solicitor. On Neville Guile's instructions. He has signed it, I have not and won't.'

  'You'd be selling the whole of Black Gorse Moor and all the geological material beneath it for a million,' said Paula. 'A cool million pounds,' she repeated. 'What could be worth money like that?'

  'No idea,' Bullerton told her. 'But if a crook like Neville Guile offers that much whatever it is has to be worth ten or twenty times as much. Only Archie

  MacBlade could tell you. He wants to meet you for a late supper at the Nag's Head.'

  'But I thought Hartland Trent and now, presumably his heirs, had a seventy per cent holding in the moor,' Tweed insisted.

  'That was so. Emphasis on past tense. Guile moves fast when a fortune is at stake. I raised the Trent issue with him. He gave that awful giggle of his. He'd used Fingle first to rush through the transfer of Hartland's estate to his son, Barton. Then he offers the twenty-year-old Barton - not too bright - seven thousand pounds for the holding.'

  'The robber baron,' Paula exclaimed.

  'Young Barton tells Guile he needs ten thousand pounds. He has a pal with a car he's mad to buy. After haggling Guile, apparently reluctantly, agrees to pay ten thousand. Guile has the sale document with him and Barton signs with two neighbours as witnesses. Guile showed me the document.'

  'But without your signature on this document I brought in he has nothing.'

  'Nothing.'

  'If you don't mind,' Tweed said, standing up, 'I'm anxious to talk to Archie . . .'

  Minutes later Tweed, with Paula by his side, was driving the Audi, slowly along the hedge-lined lane. Harry appeared in his headlights, waving.

  'Neville Guile didn't take the left turn towards London,' he reported tersely. 'He took the right-hand turn heading for Gunners Gorge.'

  'Wait here,' Tweed ordered. 'Your job - guard Lord Bullerton.'

  'So we haven't seen the last of Mr Guile,' Paula mused.

  'Never mind. We're about to learn the secret of Black Gorse Moor.'

  TWENTY THREE

  Alighting from the Audi inside the garage they met Marler, just emerging from the hotel. He gave them both a mock salute.

  'I've been on the prowl, as Harry would say. Checking on the suspects,' he drawled. 'Falkirk, famous private detective, is in his room. On same floor as yours, Tweed. Archie AlacBlade is having a drink in the Silver Room. See you.'

  'The Silver Room?' queried Tweed. 'How many bars in this place?'

  'In order of low to high -' Paula counted on her fingers - 'a saloon bar, only really patronized in the evening. Public bar, more popular with local workmen. Top of the tree, the luxurious Silver Room with prices to match.'

  'I see. Let's get up to my suite. I need to think about

  what happened at Hobart House. May ask you to take notes . . .'

  He was on the landing, heading for his suite, when Falkirk walked towards them on his way out. He nodded to Paula. She had sensed that Tweed's normally exceptional energy had reached a ferocious pitch. He was in no mood to put up with nonsense from anyone. He stood in front of Falkirk, blocking his exit.

  'A word with you, Falkirk. In my suite.'

  'Not convenient, old boy. I am just—'

  'I mean now! '

  'Not convenient.'

  Tweed grabbed him tightly by the collar with one hand, with the other he handed Paula the key to his suite. She ran to open his door. He was pushing Falkirk backwards along the corridor, into his suite and across the room, where he threw him bodily into an armchair backed against the wall. Falkirk leapt up instantly, grabbed Tweed's throat and started to strangle him. Paula stood by. She knew Tweed would want to sort this out himself. With both hands he grasped Falkirk's arms above the elbows, pressed both hands against certain nerves. Pain appeared on Falkirk's face. He released his hands from Tweed's throat and was hurled back into the armchair. Again he leapt up, right legs raised to kick his opponent in the crotch. Tweed avoided the vicious kick, moved to one side, grasped Falkirk by the shoulders and threw him with some force against the wall. Paula heard his

  head contact the wall. Falkirk's eyes glazed over as he slid down.

  Tweed bent down. He checked the carotid artery, then his pulse. He spoke to Paula over his shoulder.

  'Conscious, just stunned. Could you get me a glass of water?'

  Paula ran to the fridge. From a carafe she poured a large glass, handed it to Tweed. By now he had hoisted Falkirk off the floor and dropped him back into the armchair. He handed the glass to Falkirk, who was sagged against the chair's back.

  'You sip this slowly,' Tweed ordered. 'After six sips you can drink a modest amount.'

  Falkirk smiled wanly after drinking most of the glass, gazing at Tweed.

  'They said you were tough. By George, they were right. What's now?' he asked in a normal voice.

  Tweed carried a hard-backed chair close to Falkirk. He turned it round, sat with both arms resting on the top in front of him, his voice harsh during the interrogation.

  'Who hired you?'

  'Lizbeth Mandeville, younger sister of the two murdered women.'

  'You were the first person she approached?'

  'No, she'd called the Yard.'

  'Where from?'

  'She's smart. From a public phone box.'

  'What did Lizbeth say to them?'

  'That there were two murdered mutilated women

  lying outside on the steps of a house at the end of Lynton Avenue.'

  'What was their reaction?'

  'Bloody terrible. The very rough policeman who answered asked for her name, address and where she was calling from.'

  She got Reedbeck, Paula said to herself.

  'She was furious, demanded when they were sending a patrol car. The rough-mannered policeman simply repeated his questions. She slammed the phone down on him. In the box she noticed a booklet someone had left listing private detectives. She took it home. For some weird reason she liked the n
ame of my firm, called me. I buzzed straight over to her, middle of the night.'

  'First you checked the corpses?'

  'I did not. Lizbeth sounded scared out of her wits. We had an arrangement - at her suggestion. I wore a red tie and had a folded newspaper under my left arm. Lizbeth is smart. Re. corpses, I did see the one on the steps of the next-door house. Horrible. Her face was destroyed. Must be a sadist. . .'

  'Or there could be another motive,' Tweed said. 'Go on. What happened next?'

  'Rolls-Royce turns up, hardly moving when it passes the corpse. Checked the plate number later. Private car owned by Neville Guile, the billionaire. Bit weird. He had the tinted window down, was peering out towards the corpse. Then he cruises off round the corner where later I found the other sister mangled.'

  'Then what?'

  'Two police cars turn up. One with the technicians, the other with Speedy Reedbeck - only two hours after Lizbeth's call.'