by Colin Forbes
Then he stood up, still strumming his instrument, and began a little dance, jerking the guitar upright, then down. He appeared absorbed in what he was doing. `I would appreciate it,' Tweed said, 'if you'd sit down and play your guitar when we're gone.' `I'm eccentric. Everyone at Hengistbury thinks so.
What do I care? I was once grabbed and put in a clinic.'
As he spoke he stopped dancing. Throwing the guitar back on to the bed, he sat down again in the wicker chair. Crossing his legs he waggled one up and down. Can't keep still for a minute, Paula thought. He sat hands clasped together, his fingers interlaced. `Why were you put in a clinic?' Tweed enquired. `Thought I was potty. At least Marshal did. Took me to a place in a house the other side of Gladworth. Couple of trick-cyclists, as Churchill called them. Psychiatrists to you. One Mr Kahn, a negro. The other Mr Weatherby, white. I chattered a lot of rubbish to confuse them.' `Your father took you there?' `He did not! Marshal took me. My father was in America on business. When he got back and found out what had happened he blew his top at Marshal, punched him. Never known Dad hit anyone before. He got in the car, drove to the clinic, brought me home – after telling those two guys they were fakes. Soon afterwards the clinic closed. Weatherby and Kahn disappeared abroad into the wild blue yonder. The rumour was they were caught in a tax fiddle. Have you interviewed the others?' he asked suddenly. `Some of them,' Tweed replied cautiously. `So all you've heard is a pack of lies. They're all liars. Bet no one's told you about the back door left open on the night of Bella's murder.' `You tell me, please.' `Mrs Grandy, our delightful cook and housekeeper, has the responsibility of checking it last thing. On that night I couldn't sleep. I was thirsty, so I went down to make a pot of tea. Switched on the kitchen light and saw the back door was half open. At two in the morning. I closed and locked it, made my tea, brought it up here.' `Was anyone else about?' Paula asked. `No, honey, not a living soul. Although I thought I heard the door to the upstairs library being shut. It creaks. Decided it was my imagination.' `You have been very cooperative,' Tweed said as he stood up to leave.
A smirk appeared on Leo's face and quickly vanished. `The kitchen and Mrs Grandy next,' Tweed said grimly as they descended the stairs. 'Someone else I've missed.' `What did you think of Leo?' Paula wondered. 'I'm sure he's not potty. He seemed to be very articulate.' `I didn't like the smirk on his face at the end. It suggests "I got away with it".'
At the top of the staircase they met Lavinia. As always, she was smartly dressed. Today she was wearing a pleated blue skirt, a polo-neck sweater, gleaming shoes. Her swathe of black hair might have just been attended to by a Mayfair hair-dresser. `We've just heard disturbing news,' Tweed said. `How do we get to the kitchen?' `I'll show you.
Snape was hanging round in the hall and Lavinia said no more. She waited until they were walking along a narrow corridor, pointing out a narrow flight of steps the servants used. A young maid was passing. Lavinia stopped her, adjusted her cap, smiled and proceeded along the corridor.
Arriving at a heavy door, she pushed it open, led them into the kitchen, a vast oblong room. Here hygiene and hard work took the place of panelling. The walls were of stone, as was the spotless floor. The equipment was very modern, including two mammoth- sized refrigerators.
At the far end was a large wooden table where a well-built woman in her fifties was chopping meat. She ignored the intruders. Lavinia spoke in a clear voice tinged with authority. `Sorry to interrupt the work, Mrs Grandy, but this is the police. Deputy Assistant, that is Chief of the SIS and his assistant, Paula Grey.'
Mrs Grandy, a hard-faced disagreeable-looking woman with grey hair, tight mouth, aggressive curved nose and dark hostile eyes, turned round. She glared at Lavinia. She raised the meat cleaver, and Paula thought she was going to slice more meat. Instead she swung the cleaver down with a ferocious sweep and thudded it into the table. Other scars in the wood showed where she had performed this act before.
Standing with her arms akimbo, she glared contemptuously at Paula, transferred the gaze to Tweed and finally to Lavinia. `How in the name of the devil do you expect me to get my work done with these useless interruptions? I have already chased a rude chief inspector out of here with my meat cleaver.' `You could have been arrested,' snapped Paula. `Rested, you say? He ran out like a scared rabbit.' `Mrs Grandy,' Tweed said firmly, `I'm here to find out who murdered Mrs Bella Main. You will answer all the questions I put to you. For example, where were you on the night of the murder between the hours of 7 p.m. and 10 p.m.?' `You accusing me of murder?' she growled. 'Get my lawyer on you. That I will.' `Just answer the question. Unless for some reason you're feeling in need of a lawyer.' `Mrs Grandy,' Lavinia intervened quietly, 'everyone in this house has had to answer these questions, including Mr Marshal and Mr Warner.'
Not Warner yet, Tweed thought, but kept quiet. `Between the hours of 7 p.m. and 10 p.m., please?' he repeated. `All right.' Mrs Grandy drew herself up to her full height. 'I served dinner in the library that night at 6 p.m. They prefer it to the dining room – Lord knows why. The rest of that evening I was in here, eating my own meal, then preparing for the next day.' `Anyone come in here while you were preparing?' `They know better.' Mrs Grandy glared. 'Better than to come in while I'm working.' `Absolutely no one came in here that evening?' he persisted. `Just told you that, didn't I?' `Mrs Grandy, I gather one of your duties is to make sure the back door over there is secured for the night. Did you do so on the night Mrs Bella Main was murdered?' `Course I did.' `Actually I normally check too,' Lavinia said. 'That night Mrs Grandy was having trouble with a souffle so I left her to check the door.' `A souffle?' Paula frowned. 'Surely that has to be made not long before serving?' `Oho! We have a cooking expert!' Mrs Grandy sneered. 'I eats the same as my employers. Warner sees to that. So I'm hungry and feels just like a souffle. First time it flops, so I start all over again. It was half-past eleven before I felt better after eating the second one. A bit tired by then, I was.' `A member of the household told me when they came down here at 2 a.m. that door was open.'
No one asked Tweed which member of the household had told him, though it was a question he had expected. With Paula he walked over to the now partly open door. There was an ordinary lock and the door itself was made of ordinary wood. He had found the loophole in Hengistbury's security.
He opened it wide, walked out with Paula and Lavinia at his heels. There was a narrow path through grass backed up by the menacing walls of The Forest. Tweed asked where the path led to. `To Snape's cottage,' Lavinia told him. Tut I'd better come with you. It's easy to lose your way.' `Thank you, but not now. We have to visit the police in Gladworth to keep them quiet. So you didn't have any opportunity to check this door was locked on the night of the murder?' `No. I'd been wading through a mass of accounts and I was very tired. When I heard Mrs Grandy was still in the kitchen I didn't want a row. A lapse on my part.' `You can't be responsible for everything,' Tweed said with a smile. Now we really must get into Gladworth before that Inspector turns up here…'
At the bottom of the stairs Tweed and Paula met Sergeant Warden. He gestured to them to follow him onto the terrace. `Thought I should tell you, sir, that soon after the two of you entered Leo's room I saw someone was listening outside the door. Looked as though they might have been there for some time.' `Man or woman?' asked Tweed. `Difficult to be sure. I think it was a man. I only saw a shadow. Then Chief Inspector called to me to help with the search. I'd been leaning over the banister on the upper floor. Not a good viewing point.' `Who do you think it could have been?' Paula asked when Warden had left them, disappearing into the library. `I haven't a clue. Place is crawling with people.'
They were nearly knocked down by Snape at the exit as he came rushing in from the terrace. He looked nervous as he apologized. `So sorry. So much work to do and I'm behind schedule. I don't want Mr Marshal on my back.' He spoke over his shoulder as he hurried to the staircase.
They walked quickly down the steps and jumped into Newman's parked Mercede
s. Their Audi was presumably round at the back of the house. Tweed inserted the key into the ignition – he had been handed it before Newman set off to explore the walls with Marler. He tightened his grip to turn the key.
16
Calouste had driven only a few miles down the road to the West Country when he pulled into a lay-by. Jacques stared at him. `Something wrong?' `Think like the enemy.' `I don't understand.' `You wouldn't,' Calouste sneered and turned to look at Jacques. This was something Jacques always disliked, was nervous about. Two large dark lenses gazed at him, eyeless. 'I have just changed my mind.' `So what do we do now?' Jacques asked, mystified. `If Tweed with his team, whom I've been informed left the manor, heading for Gladworth, has located Heather Cottage, he'll find no one there. So, his logical decision is to return to Hengistbury.'
What if he does?' `You have used explosives. What did you put in the boot of this car?' `A carrier of food and a flask of coffee. The bomb is in the leather hold-all I put on the floor behind us.' `What!' Calouste screamed. We have been driving with a bomb barely a foot from us?You are stark raving mad!' `Calm down,' Jacques replied. 'The bomb is not active. You could drive over a large ramp and nothing would happen. So put away that knife before I get annoyed.'
In his fury Calouste had produced a stiletto with a needle-like blade. It disappeared and Calouste was again in a good humour. He patted Jacques's substantial knee. `Tell me, please, is this the kind of bomb you attach to a car?' `It's exactly that.' `I'm driving back to that roundabout which has many escape routes. You take the bomb with you. Tweed likes travelling in the Mercedes. You walk from the roundabout to Heather Cottage. Check to see if there are signs Tweed has been there. Pierre will have hidden, knowing him. Look at the map. See if the countryside opposite the cottage is level enough for you to borrow Pierre's motorcycle to take you across the fields to Hengistbury. I think you may find the Mercedes parked in front of the manor. Attach the bomb to it. You may have trouble crossing open ground.' `No trouble. I have some overalls I'll wear. People at this time of day are rarely peering out of windows. So, if they are, they'll see a man like a mechanic in overalls. A mechanic.'
He was getting out of the car when they'd reached the roundabout. Calouste called out to him. `How are you going to get over that high wall with-' `You do your job, I'll do my friggin' job. You talk too much.'
Jacques was the only member of Calouste's large team of henchmen who, when provoked, would tell his boss to go to hell.
Jacques had approached Heather Cottage cautiously. He chose the same route Marler had taken earlier, moving behind the side hedge. There were no cars in the road. He found Pierre's body, concealed under the hedge. He was not sorry: in his opinion Pierre had been useless. But he was relieved when he saw Pierre's motorcycle still leaning against the wall.
He wasted no time. The leather hold-all containing the bomb, several wires to be fixed later, a long piece of rope with a hook at one end, were all carefully added to the pannier with the bomb. Finally a neatly folded white coat. He started the machine, headed across the road through a gap in the hedge.
The ground was perfect, rolling green hills covered with fresh grass. From the crest of an unusually high slope he saw the tops of the manor's Elizabethan chimneys, just in view over the 'barricade' of The Forest. He headed for them.
Leaving the motorcycle concealed in undergrowth, he pushed his way along the track where Harry Butler had waited for a signal from Tweed's lighter. Emerging, hold-all slung over his shoulder, he checked the windows of the manor with a compact pair of binoculars. No sign of anyone.
Carrying the long coil of rope, he walked quickly to where The Forest surrounding the manor masked him. Putting on his white coat, he slung the rope to the top of the wall. Its hook anchored in no time. Climbing the rope he took out a pair of clippers, cut a hole in the barbed wire.
Perched on top of the wall, he hauled up the rope, reversed the hook, dropped the rope down the inner side. He'd get out the same way he'd come in. Descending the rope, he walked confidently across the open space to the foot of the terrace. He was pleased earlier to have seen the empty Mercedes parked below the terrace.
A tarmacadam drive would have helped. On the side of the car facing away from the terrace he dropped to the drive coated with pebbles. His legs sprawled widely behind him as he eased under the car. The wires had already been attached. He heard the magnetic pad click as they clamped to the car. He turned a switch. The bomb was active. As soon as the ignition was turned on, the car and occupants would be blown to smithereens.
He had trouble easing his back from under the car, scattering a wide area of pebbles. He returned the way he had come. Settling himself in undergrowth in the track he waited. Jacques liked to see the results of his careful work.
Tweed and Paula walked down the steps, jumped into Newman's parked Mercedes. `Stop! Don't start that car, for God's sake! Get out of the bloody thing now!'
Harry Butler's warning shout came loud and clear through Paula's open window. She stared at Tweed. `Do exactly as Harry says,' Tweed ordered her. `Should we take the key out of the ignition?' `No! Touch nothing. Just get the hell out of the car.' They met Harry, who had run down the steps carry- ing his tool bag. Paula, confused, asked, 'Why? What's wrong?' `That's wrong.'
Harry pointed to the considerable disturbance of the pebbles on the far side of the car. She could almost imagine the shape of a man in the way they were scattered. `Someone's been under the Merc,' Harry said. 'I noticed the pebbles all over the place from a first-floor window, saw you both about to get into the car, grabbed my bag and tore down the stairs…' He paused, breathless.
What now?' Tweed asked. `You both go inside, to the very back of the hall. You stop anyone coming out onto the terrace while I check under the car. You don't come out until I've come back in. Something is terribly wrong. Go on into the house and stay there.' `Be careful, Harry,' Paula said as they started up the steps. `Careful is my second name,' he told her with a grin.
The last they saw of Harry as they looked back before entering the hall was of him sprawled flat, torch in one hand, pair of clippers in the other as he eased his plump body under the car.
They were waiting at the back of the hall when Lavinia appeared, a bundle of papers under her arm. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling. `Marshal always wants everything done yesterday. I'm off to the dining room for some peace and quiet.'
She disappeared down a narrow corridor towards the kitchen. Tweed, worried, checked his watch, wondering how long Harry would take, whether he was in danger.
Fifteen minutes later Harry appeared at the entrance. He was carrying a metal box which must have been inside his hold-all. He beckoned to them. `OK now,' he said cheerfully. 'You can drive to Singapore if the mood takes you.'
Was there something?' Tweed asked. `Only this,' he said after glancing round the terrace, which was empty.
Tweed and Paula peered inside the metal box. It contained a slim black box with a spray of cut wires. Paula guessed immediately. `It's a bomb.' `Give the lady the money! Very sophisticated version. You turn the ignition key – or extract it once inserted – and the Merc explodes, becomes scrap metal. It's totally deactivated now I'll dismantle it.' `How on earth could someone get in to plant that?' Paula wondered. `Sheer cheek and nerve,' Harry replied. `So much for security at Hengistbury. Enjoy your trip,' he concluded cheerfully.
17
Jacques, crouched in the brambles by the side of the track, was confused. He had been looking forward to seeing the Mercedes blown to smithereens. Perhaps even elevated a few feet before it crashed to earth, a fireball consuming the occupants.
Instead, his vision blurred, he saw activity. Reaching in his pocket for his binoculars, he dropped them. He could not find them in the tangle of brambles. He swore. What was happening?
A patient man, he waited for what seemed a long time. Then, to his astonishment, he saw the gates open. The Mercedes was proceeding down the drive. At the gateway it turned to h
is right, towards London.
Jacques was shattered. Was the bomb defective? No, that was impossible. He was an explosives expert. Carefully he began his retreat along the track. Getting into the saddle of the motorcycle he drove at high speed, bouncing over hill crests.
He would tell Calouste the truth. It was safer. He knew Max used to lie to conceal a failure. Now, he was sure, the durable, but too human, Max was dead. Arriving at the roundabout he found Calouste waiting in his car. Jacques eased the motorcycle in the boot, climbed into the front passenger seat beside him. Calouste again took the turning to the West Country. `Tweed is dead,' Calouste hissed.
It was a statement, an expectation. `No, he isn't,' Jacques said firmly. Tor some reason the bomb I placed under the car did not detonate. It was not a defective bomb-' `What!' Calouste screamed. 'He must be. I want him dead, so you are wrong.' `I'm afraid not. I caught a glimpse of him driving away to London. I-' `It cannot be,' Calouste screamed again as he drove into the lay-by they had parked in earlier. He threw his door open, his stiletto in his hand. Jacques grasped the handle of his wide-bladed knife. Calouste jumped out, began circling the car with his ambling walk. `Tweed must be dead!' he screeched. 'It was Tweed who told Bella not to sell the bank to me.' `I thought Bella was murdered before Tweed went to Hengistbury,' Jacques unwisely replied through the half-open window. `Tweed has a weak spot,' Calouste raved on. He was using his stiletto to stab at the air, at imaginary forms of Tweed. 'That tart he is always with, the one who did not come to meet Max in Mayfair.' He paused. 'At least that is what Max said.' He began dancing round again, stabbing at nothing with the stiletto. 'So,' he raved on, 'we kidnap her…' `Then what do we do?' Jacques muttered, knowing Calouste was not listening to a word he was saying. `We take her fingerprints on ten different cards,' Calouste screamed from the field of yellow rape he had dashed into, using his razor-sharp stiletto to cut the heads off the flowers.
