'If this factor has a vital bearing on the case—'
He stopped speaking as something extraordinary happened. Sable, clad in riding kit, had stormed into the dining room, was heading for their table fast. She stood before them, hands on hips, shouting at the top of her voice.
'So she's got you, the master detective, hooked too! Did you know she's got every man hooked between her legs? She is nothing but an evil tart. . .' A string of obscenities was shrieked, her face distorted in a malicious sneer. 'Been to bed with her yet? Or is this dinner the flaming prelude?'
The whole restaurant was staring. Tweed was reluctant to get up, fearing a physical tussle with her. Two men came in, Harry and Marler. Harry was carrying a towel soaked in water.
They came swiftly up behind her. Marler grabbed her arms, Harry used his wet towel to wrap round her mouth, making sure she could breathe. They frogmarched her to the exit. Marler smiled at his audience as he drawled quickly at them, 'She gets like this every six months. She's seeing a doctor . . .' Then the three disappeared through the exit. Diners started eating again. Some had their heads together speculating on the dramatic scene they had witnessed.
'I think we'd better leave,' whispered Mrs Shipton.
'The last move to make. And I'm enjoying this super souffle. Don't you like the look of yours?'
'I suppose you're right.'
'I often am, Ms Montgomery Fisher-Mayne. Do you ever miss the atmosphere of Barham-Downstream?'
'What!' she screeched quietly. 'What the hell did you say?'
Tweed had chosen the right psychological moment. 'Mrs Shipton' was off balance, still reeling from Sable's embarrassing attack.
'I was being polite, addressing you by your real name. I also mentioned where you had come from. Why, after such a long time, did you come here - such a long time after Myra's murder?'
'What! She was murdered, then?'
'I doubt I'll ever prove it. Too long ago.'
'You're confusing me . . .'
'That was one of the best souffles I've ever tasted. Ms Fisher-Mayne, did you kill her? For leaving you to struggle with the general store alone? Hatred sometimes takes years to build up.'
'You're so insulting. No, I did not murder her. I came to see what sort of a life she had led. That horrible Sable has upset me. She drinks brandy. She was a walking barrel of it tonight. I saw the tables she passed smell it.'
'She was, of course, summoned here. Someone
phoned Hobart House. Two candidates for the crime, Falkirk and Lance. Unless you told her yourself to break up our interview.'
'You have the most devious mind . . .'
'I admit it.' Tweed called for the bill. Then he accompanied her safely to her Renault.
She said not a word. Slamming the door, she revved up the engine, drove out too fast without a glance in his direction. When he re-entered the hall, Newman had just returned with Paula from dinner. They were talking to Marler, who spoke to Tweed.
'Harry has returned to his watching post near Hobart House. I called him when I saw Sable staggering out of her car. I've a nose for trouble.'
'Thank you both,' Tweed said. 'It was beginning to look like a dog fight.'
'D-Day tomorrow,' Marler said cheerfully. 'Lepard has his thugs in position inside the caves on the other side of the Falls.'
'I see nothing to be cheerful about,' Paula commented.
TWENTY EIGHT
When Tweed climbed the stairs to get some sleep, Paula came up close behind him. She waited while he unlocked and opened his door.
'May I have a few words with you?' she asked.
'Of course.'
He thought she wanted a brief resume of his encounter with Mrs Shipton. Or she wanted to pass on information obtained during her dinner. She closed the door, stood with her arms folded.
'I'm coming with you in the Audi.'
'No! You are not.'
'We always do things together,' she insisted.
'Not this time. They expect to see only one person in the car with me.'
'So I'll huddle down out of sight in the back.'
'No, you won't, because you won't be there.'
'Snapping at me will get you nowhere,' she retorted.
Tm telling you, Paula, it's not on.'
'And I'm telling you it is on, so accept it.'
'I could give you a direct order.'
'Give it, then, if it'll make you feel better.'
'As Deputy Chief of the SIS I am giving you a direct order. You will obey it.'
'All right. Better get to bed. You won't get much sleep.'
Her stubborn mood seemed to have vanished. She kissed him on the cheek, went along to her room.
Once inside she phoned room service, ordered a large breakfast to be served in her room at 4 a.m, then requested a wake-up call for 3.30 a.m.
Before a quick shower she took from the wardrobe a dark jacket and trousers. She had never before worn them. They were so sombre they merged with the dark.
TWENTY NINE
The following morning at nine thirty the air was intolerably humid. The sky was a solid grey. Just north of the bridge beyond the Falls a vast storm moved slowly south.
In the garage, Marler was having a last word with Tweed, who sat behind the wheel of the Audi. As they talked a shadow moved in the darkness.
'They're in position in the caves,' Marler drawled. 'Lepard is with them as leader. So are we - in position on this side. With a bit of luck we'll have wiped them out before that king of a storm breaks. It's a monster. I'd better get into my position.'
Tweed started the engine, began to crawl out of the garage. A rear door was opened, shut. In his rear-view mirror Tweed saw Paula crouching down in the back.
He swore inwardly. There was nothing he could do. He had to keep moving to meet the delicate timetable. He said not one word. Neither did Paula.
She was checking the Browning she'd extracted from her shoulder holster. At the training mansion hidden in deepest Surrey they had been taught to do this in darkness.
As they proceeded along the High Street they passed noticeboards Marler had had erected in the middle of the night.
KEEP OFF STREETS, PAVEMENTS THIS MORNING. ABOUT TO BE TARRED. OK TO WALK ON AFTER 3 PM TODAY.
It was the only way to protect the inhabitants of the town when the bullets began to fly.
There was a sinister rumble of thunder. No rain drenching down yet. Paula opened the roadside window, looking out on the steep-stepped roads mounting the hill overlooking the High Street. No more thunder. It was ominously quiet.
On the far side of the Falls, Lepard was struggling with a special weapon. The bazooka was like a drainpipe. The sticky atmosphere was making his hands moist. It was not easy to manoeuvre the heavy unfamiliar weapon. In front of him, lying down below the low rampart
wall at the rim of the cave, three of his elite men perched the barrels of their rifles, aimed at the oncoming Audi. They found themselves exposed with shoulders and heads above the parapet. It was the only way they could see down at the oncoming target, the Audi crawling closer by the minute.
Below them at Level Two their compatriots faced the same problem. They were nervous about their exposure. It was a difficulty Lepard had not foreseen.
The men below them in the cave at Level Three were equally nervous. Lepard had told everyone the signal to open fire would be when he fired the rocket from his own weapon, the deadly bazooka. One hit from his weapon and Tweed would be eliminated in a burst of fire.
Marler, perched high up on the roof of a house, had also spotted the weapon, through the cross-hairs of his Armalite. Beside him Harry had his automatic aimed at the cave in Level Two.
'What do you think?' Harry asked.
'It's going to be tricky. At Level One, Lepard has a bazooka.'
'Lord help us . . .'
'One rocket hitting the target and it's all over. I'm happy to see Lepard is unfamiliar with the weapon. It keeps wobbling all over the place. When
I open fire so do the rest of our people.'
'Well, Pete Nield has arrived from the training mansion in Surrey, and he and Newman are covering that lot at Level Three . . .'
Lepard inserted his deadly rocket. It coincided with the storm breaking over the Falls with a tremendous thunderclap. An incredible cascade poured down from the sky, millions of gallons flooded down over the Falls.
Marler fired his first shot. The bullet took half Lepard's face away. Blood poured down. Marler's first bullet had hit as Lepard was about to press the trigger. He lost control. The barrel was aimed up at the roof of the rocky cave, brought it down.
Lepard was sliced in half at the waist as a huge knife-like rock caught him. Marler's bombardment was nonstop as his men sprayed the caves. The top half of Lepard's body, streaming with blood, fell into the surge of water, which was now a small Niagara. The rest of his body went over the edge, followed by his compatriots blasted by the shock-wave.
Inside the Audi, Paula stared in amazement. The immense surge of water was no longer white. It was blood-red as other enemies toppled out of the caves at Levels Two and Three. The Falls had taken on the look of a huge rainbow.
Paula stared down at the large pool at the base of the Falls. Enemy bodies floated on its crimson surface,
rushed on downriver as they were caught up in the swift surge of the central current, much enlarged. She averted her gaze.
The action was taking on the atmosphere of a pounding operatic drama - but one never seen in the theatre. Vast sheets of rain hammered the roof of the Audi. A deafening inferno swept Gunners Gorge. The foetid atmosphere was creating a mist creeping up over the Falls.
Marler, now clad in a green sou'wester, was searching the area. He was perched on a flat rock to evade the streams of water sluicing down the ridge.
'Harry,' he shouted, 'something's wrong. There were ten of them. I counted. No sign of the tenth man. Where is he?'
Inside the Audi, where Tweed was slowly turning the vehicle to face the Nag's Head, Paula caught motion out of the corner of her eye. The tenth man was clambering fast down a water-logged gulley. His target was the Audi.
In his right hand he held a grenade. Paula tensed. If he got closer he only had to remove the pin and roll it under the Audi's petrol tank. One flash, one explosion and they'd be roasted, liquidated.
She threw open the rear door, jumped out. Rain drenched her. Gripping her Browning in both hands,
she fired twice. Distorted red flower shapes appeared on the tunic covering his chest. He fell forward onto the grenade.
She froze, waiting for the detonation. Nothing happened. Later, when explosives expert Harry carefully lifted the body, he found the pin had not been withdrawn from the grenade.
Paula was about to jump back into the Audi when she glanced across at the river bank. Lord Bullerton, stomping through sheets of rain, stopped by his stone asking for Lizbeth's return. To destroy it now she was safely home?
No one had thought of telling him to remain at Hobart House. He stepped forward a few more paces. The rain had churned the river bank into a muddy swamp. He slipped, fell into the river, hands grabbing at sturdy shrubs.
Appalled, she ran across the marshy ground. He was struggling to get out, up to his broad chest in water, getting nowhere. She leant down, inserted a hand under each of his armpits. He was too heavy for her to haul him out.
Movement caught her attention nearer the Falls. She stared. Neville Guile's long legs were carrying him towards the bank on her side. Stripping off his white jacket and slip-on shoes, he dived into the river. She understood. He had felt compelled to see with his own eyes the killing of Tweed.
There was a brief near-comic element when she saw he was heading for the opposite bank. A Rolls-Royce
waited for him. By the side of the road opposite a uniformed chauffeur stood to attention.
Guile was a surprisingly strong swimmer, cleverly swimming at an angle into the main force of the current.
'Oh, my God!' she said aloud.
A massive tree trunk, caught up by a fresh storm which had burst recently well north of the bridge, creating a tidal surge of water, dropped the hundred and fifty feet into the pool below. It was swept out and carried downriver.
'Oh, no!' Paula called out in her terror.
The 'tree' was a full-grown crocodile, far from its normal hunting ground. The prehistoric monster headed towards Guile. Only the head was visible now, exposing its evil little eyes.
Guile only saw it coming when he was more than halfway across the river. He panicked, began to dog-paddle. The beast's enormous jaws were now fully open. It reached the swimming man. His whole body was sucked inside. It had stopped raining and was ominously quiet. She clearly heard the crunch of Guile's skull as the creature closed its jaws. She looked away.
Now she was confronted with a new terror. Blood from Bullerton's damaged knee was flowing into the current. Crocodiles have a deadly scent for the presence of blood. The creature, having had its main course, was now ready for dessert as it headed inshore for Bullerton. Paula was in despair. She knew that
bullets would simply bounce off its thick wrinkled hide, but she knew she couldn't heave out Bullerton's heavy body.
She heard swift feet running and slithering in the mud. Harry was tearing across towards her at astonishing speed. At school he had excelled as a cricketer, a brilliant bowler. In his right hand he held the largest grenade Paula had ever seen.
The beast was no more than fifty feet from the helpless Bullerton. Standing close to her, Harry watched as the awful jaws opened. He took a firm stand, removed the pin, lobbed the grenade. It landed deep inside the open jaws, was caught in the crocodile's throat.
The detonation was muffled. Paula stared as the monster was fragmented, small pieces flying across the river into the main current. They looked like pieces of bark from a big tree.
'I’ll take over,' Harry told her.
Bending down carefully, he exchanged hands with Paula, inserting them under Bullerton's armpits. One mighty heave and Bullerton was lying on firm ground. He stood up, seeming to be none the worse for his ordeal.
A gentle hand descended on Paula's shoulder. An equally gentle voice spoke. Tweed's.
'A snack lunch I think, Paula, then plenty of sleep. We have to go out this evening to confront the murderer of four people.'
'Four!' she exclaimed.
'Yes. Four."
THIRTY
It was an overcast, moonless night when Tweed, with Paula, drove his Audi down the slope to Hobart House beyond the hedge-lined lane. It was incredibly silent, which unsettled Paula.
Few lights glowed. A dim light illuminated the windows of the library. As Tweed parked, Paula thought she saw two vague shadows crossing the bowl. She looked again and there was nothing. Imagination.
Her uncertain observation vanished as the glare lights flooded the terrace and steps. She wondered who would open the door. It was a grim-looking Mrs Shipton, still fully dressed.
'At this hour?' she hissed venomously.
'Kindly let us in,' Tweed said calmly.
'If you've come to see me it's a waste of time. I've just taken a sedative. After all those horrors in Gunners Gorge . . .'
'So you were there, you witnessed what happened?'
'I've got to get to bed. I have to climb those stairs before the sedative starts working.'
She stood aside, closed the door after them, pointed a finger at the library and began to haul herself up the stairs. They waited to make sure she made it, unless she had lied.
Halfway up the stairs she turned, her arm extended as her long index finger pointed again at the library.
Paula took a firmer grip on the long evidence envelope with the ancient green mop handle inside. Tweed had asked her to be sure to bring it.
Opening the door of the dim-lit library, Tweed walked down the steps, followed by Paula. Seated in an imposing antique chair behind a heavy wooden table was Lance, wearing a smart dark
suit. On the table was spread out the chessboard with a game in progress. His face was very white in the poor lighting.
'Good evening, both of you,' he said with a pleasant smile. 'Please join me.'
He gestured towards a large couch pushed close to the side of the table facing him. Paula had difficulty squeezing in the narrow space between table and couch. Tweed experienced the same problem. He looked at Lance as Paula placed the old mop handle at the edge beyond the chessboard. Lance didn't even glance at it. Tweed's voice was grim when he spoke.
The Savage Gorge Page 18
