by Colin Forbes
'Come down, Bob.'
Her cry was faint but he heard the words clearly. He waved to acknowledge he had heard her. Had Celia thrown herself over? Seemed most unlikely. Newman stood where he was for a moment, looked round. Just behind him was a patch of grey sand. Clearly imprinted in it was the outline of a large fresh footprint. Much larger than Celia's small feet. And, he recalled, she had worn flat-heeled walking shoes. The imprint showed small indentations inside the outline. Studded climbing boots. Celia had been brutally murdered – shoved over the precipice.
The view from the summit of High Tor was panoramic and he could see over the moor for miles in every direction. Newman took a small pair of field-glasses out of his coat pocket, removed his dark glasses, began to scan the moor. He must have missed the murderer by minutes.
Through the lenses he saw how rough the country below was. Deep gullies where a horseman could ride unseen. Stretches of dense gorse which could mask sunken paths. Avoiding the footprint, he walked to the four points of the compass to look down the slopes. No sign of anyone, but there were boulders the size of houses. He decided he must hurry back to join Paula.
9
'I really hated leaving her like that,' Paula said. 'And I wish I'd closed her eyes.'
'Don't worry about it,' Newman said. 'You did the right thing.'
They had hurried back to the car from High Tor and were now driving back towards Padstow along the A30. Cardon stirred in the back.
'I make the body count ten now,' he observed. 'Eight wiped out in the massacre at Tresillian Manor. The postman at Five Lanes. Now this Celia Yeo is number ten.'
'All right,' Paula said edgily. 'Now we know you can add up.' She returned to the previous subject, which was gnawing at her nerves. 'We can't just leave Celia lying out there. Supposing it rains tonight? I know that must sound silly…
'Not at all.' For a moment Newman drove with one hand and put an arm round her, gave her an affectionate squeeze. 'I had two reasons for not touching her. They have an advanced fingerprint technique these days which can sometimes take a print off flesh. You'd have had to touch her eyes to close them. But my main reason is we should leave everything for the police without disturbing anything.'
'When they eventually find her,' she snapped.
'Oh, they're going to find her today. When we get back to Padstow my first job is to call Buchanan from that phone box outside the Old Custom House. I'll disguise my voice. That's another reason for handling it this way – if Buchanan knows we were there when it happened Lord knows how much more time would be wasted while he questions us. Maybe several days. And I suspect time is something Tweed is short of.'
'You've made me feel better,' she said. 'But why are we visiting Tresillian Manor?'
'Can't you guess? I think it might be significant to find out whether Gaunt and Jennie Blade are at the manor. Bearing in mind what happened at High Tor.'
***
Spiky hedges lined the section of the side road leading to the manor. At one point where the fake diversion had been set up Paula pointed to an open gate leading on to the moor.
'We told you last night about the ambush, Bob. I think they hid their vehicles inside that gateway.'
Tweed took a chance crashing through,' Newman commented.
'What would you have done, then?' Paula challenged him.
'Exactly what Tweed did…'
No one was about as they entered the drive to the manor. As it came into view and they drove closer Paula noticed the curtains were closed over the dining-room windows. Again they left Cardon to mind the car while Newman and Paula climbed the steps to the terrace, walked into the large square porch. Paula pressed the bell and quickly the door was opened on a heavy chain. Cook peered out. Behind her loomed a shadowy figure.
'Well, what do you want?'
'It's me.' Paula swiftly took off her glasses, whipped off her scarf. 'We talked yesterday.'
'Lordy me, never recognized you.' She released the chain, opened the door wide. 'Cousin Jem is here with his shotgun. Come in and have a good strong cup of tea.'
That's kind of you. This is my friend, Robert,' she introduced Newman. 'I was hoping Squire Gaunt was here.'
'Been gawn 'ours. Both of 'em. One took the Land-Rover, the other a horse. Not sure which took which. I was out back in kitchen. There's a proper upset 'ere. Two girls never came for work – don't expect as we'll ever see them again, considerin' what 'appened yesterday. I 'as to serve meals in the Great Hall for the master and Miss Blade. The police said they 'ad to seal the dinin' room…' It was all pouring out in a torrent as though Cook was glad to talk to someone she could trust. 'But Wendy's turned up – worth the other two of 'em, she is. Police said they'd be comin' back later.'
Thank you, Cook. I wonder if you'd mind not mentioning our visit? It's a surprise for the Squire. And I don't think we have time for that cup of tea, but thank you.'
'We've been told not to say a word to a soul. I hope Celia's keepin' her mouth shut. She'll be back tomorrow. Don't worry, dear. I won't say a word to anyone about your visit.' Her ruddy face creased into a grin. 'Me, I likes secrets
Newman said nothing until they were heading back along the drive. The reference to the police returning had alarmed him. He made his remark when they were driving back to the A30.
'That was interesting. Both Gaunt and his girl friend could have been on the moor near High Tor.'
'But not the one in the Land-Rover,' Paula pointed out. 'We'd have heard it. Pity we don't know which one was on horseback…'
Newman swung out on to the A30. He was just about to drop out of sight down a steep slope when he saw a car a long way off in his rear-view mirror. A patrol car turning off down the road to Tresillian Manor.
That was a damn near run thing,' he commented, 'which Wellington remarked after Waterloo. Now, Padstow, here we come, so I can make my phone call to Buchanan. And Cook little knows that poor Celia is keeping her mouth shut,' he said grimly. Tor ever…'
Paula waited with Cardon in the Mercedes in the car park opposite the Old Custom House. It was the most impressive building in Padstow, a solid block of an edifice, three storeys high. From the roof projecting up was a large dormer with two closed wooden doors. Paula pointed to it.
'At one time, ages ago, they must have hauled cargo up there from the street.'
'It's ancient history,' Cardon agreed. 'I wonder how Bob is getting on…'
Inside the phone box Newman had dialled New Scotland Yard. When the operator answered he spoke quickly through a silk handkerchief stuffed into the mouthpiece.
'Get me Chief Inspector Buchanan and 'urry it up. I'm callin' about a new murder on Bodmin Moor. Don't interrupt me. Just get 'im. I'll call back in five minutes and expect to be put straight through or I'll ring off again.'
He replaced the receiver. It was the only way to ensure Buchanan had no time to do what Newman was certain he'd try to do – trace the call. He looked at his watch and dialled the number again in exactly five minutes.
'I called a few minutes back. Put me on to Buchanan. Now! Or forget it.'
'Chief Inspector Buchanan speaking,' the detached voice answered after a moment. 'Who is this?'
'No names, no sorrow. Just listen and take this down. There's a fresh corpse at the western base of 'Igh Tor outside Five Lanes. Servant girl who worked at the manor. Thrown down from the top. And you'll find a big footprint on summit. I s'pose you likes clues.'
Thank you. Now if you'll just give me your name…'
'You're the detective…
Newman put down the receiver. No time to trace that call – even with the sophisticated equipment they had now which could often pinpoint a location in three minutes. Stuffing the silk handkerchief into his pocket he stared across the car park at his Mercedes. Paula and Cardon had company. Drawn up alongside was a Land-Rover: the occupants Jennie Blade and Gaunt.
***
'A hearty welcome to Ye Olde Port of Padstow,' Gaunt had called out jovially a
s he stopped the vehicle.
'Hello again, Philip,' Jennie greeted Cardon with a fetching smile. 'We must have a drink together sometime. Oh, Paula, I'm ignoring you,' she went on saucily.
'But then I'm not a man,' Paula shot back.
As they climbed out she noted they were both dressed in sheepskins and jodhpurs. So who had been riding the horse? She got out of the car, stretched, glanced in at the back of the Land-Rover. It was crammed with cool bags, coils of rope and a ship's compass. She was wondering whether there was a pair of studded climbing boots hidden under the heap.
Both new arrivals wore gleaming leather riding boots. Gaunt leaned over into the back, grasped hold of a whip. He straightened up, saw Newman coming.
'I'll take the crop. And who have we here? The famous foreign correspondent. Read your book, Newman. Can even remember the title. Kruger: The Computer Which Failed. Rattling good stuff. And an international bestseller. Must have made you a mint.'
'It did reasonably well,' Newman said.
He didn't mention that he'd made a fortune out of the book – enough to make him financially independent for life. Jennie grabbed Gaunt by the arm.
'Don't forget the parking ticket. They check the cars here regularly.'
'What are you waiting for, then?' Gaunt asked in his most imperious manner. 'You know where the machine is.'
I'll come with you,' Paula said.
She hadn't taken to Jennie up to that moment, but Gaunt's treatment of his girl friend aroused her ire. She asked the question as Jennie fed the machine with coins.
'Why do you put up with him?'
'Oh, he's utterly impossible,' Jennie replied. 'Then he turns on the charm and is utterly irresistible. You must have found out,' she continued as they walked back to the Land-Rover, 'that men are not perfect, to say the least.'
'He's pretty damned imperfect, I'd have said.' Paula looked at Jennie as she went on: 'Incidentally, have you two been taking the fresh air this morning – roving round on the moor?'
Was it her imagination or had Jennie's expression frozen for several seconds? Were these two putting on a big act? Jennie lifted her hand to push back a wave of golden hair from her face and glanced sideways at Paula. She made a throwaway gesture with both hands.
'Floating round the back streets of Padstow. His lordship is trying to kid me he'll buy me a flat here. I don't believe a word of it. What's he on about now?'
'Come on!' Gaunt barked. 'I've just invited our friends to a drink. The Old Custom House. Best bar in town.'
'I can't wait,' Jennie said savagely as she attached the ticket. 'Now you can drink all day.'
'Makes me sound like a real boozer,' Gaunt roared. 'One of the great leg-pullers, my Jennie.'
'Your Jennie,' she said sweetly, 'would like to pull a leg off you. And this time you can buy the drinks for a change.'
'She's a joker, a real joker.' Gaunt slapped her on the rump. 'Likes to make out I'm mean and God knows what else. I like a woman I can cross swords with.'
'If I had a sword I'd stick it in you…'
Gaunt had gone, waving his arm in a dramatic gesture for everyone to follow him. Cardon joined him inside the entrance on the South Quay side. Newman paused until Paula and Jennie had entered. Beyond the doorway Jennie waited for Newman, looped her arm round his.
'Let's get to know each other better.' She gave him a wicked smile. 'I think you and I would make a wonderful team.'
'If you say so,' Newman replied neutrally.
She doesn't waste any bloody time, Paula thought, reverting to her original opinion of Jennie. Paula examined the bar with interest. An inviting place, it had an oak-beamed ceiling, a long bar to her right, and the main area in front of the counter had plenty of tables with comfortable chairs. To her left there was an elevated split-level section behind a wooden railing. Two steps led up to the entrance to the upper level.
The walls were cream-washed stone and the spacious room was illuminated by wall sconces with milky glass shades shaped like bells. A number of customers were already drinking and the atmosphere was warm and welcoming.
'What are you drinking, Paula?' boomed Gaunt. 'And you, Philip,' he said, turning to Cardon. 'And our distinguished foreign correspondent,' he went on booming. 'I suppose you'd like something too, Jennie,' he added as an afterthought. 'This is my round.'
'A gin and tonic,' Jennie snapped. 'If it won't break the bank.'
Her expression suggested she was amazed – that this was the first time Gaunt had stood a round of drinks. Newman frowned at the fair-haired girl behind the counter. He knew she was about to say, 'Your usual, sir?' He did not want Gaunt to know he was staying at the Old Custom House. Quick-witted, the girl kept silent.
'I'll have a Scotch. No water,' Newman decided.
'Make that a double!' Gaunt ordered.
'Very good, Squire…'
That was the first hint Paula had that Gaunt was a well-known customer. She had to admit he cut an impressive figure. Doffing his deerstalker, he turned, spun it across the rail where it landed in a green button-backed armchair in front of a blazing log fire.
He swept off the sheepskin coat he had been wearing and underneath was clad in a check hacking jacket. Very much the country gentleman, Paula thought. He handed her the gin and tonic she had ordered and Paula passed it to Jennie. He frowned, shrugged his broad shoulders, collected another one, handed the second glass to Paula.
'Thanks,' Jennie whispered to Paula. 'He's in one of his roguish moods. I'd have been left to the last. Cheers!'
'Now, this way, ladies,' Gaunt commanded when they all had their drinks. He grinned impishly at Newman. 'You chaps come too – if you must. But I assure you I can cope with two exceedingly attractive females by myself…'
Before Newman could reply Gaunt had marched up the steps, bellowed out cheerful greetings to people at several tables, stood by the armchair where his hat rested and pointed.
'Jennie, you take that chair. Paula, my dear, come and sit by me…
The instructions continued but Jennie outmanoeuvred him. Grabbing Newman by the arm again she led him to one of the green leather couches for two. Gaunt clapped his hand to his high forehead in mock frustration.
'Can't get people organized. I had it all planned so you'd enjoy yourselves. I'm pretty good at assessing who will get on with who.'
'The cool bags are still in the Land-Rover,' Jennie reminded him. 'Shouldn't they be put aboard? And I'm not carting them.'
Gaunt's expression changed. He looked furious. 'Haven't you realized it's like the Arctic out there? They'll be all right for the moment.'
'Aboard?' Paula chipped in. 'You mean aboard your super cabin cruiser, Mayflower III?. Going somewhere in her?'
Gaunt looked ready to explode. 'Who told you that?' he barked at her. 'About my vessel?'
'One of the locals.' Paula gazed steadily back at him. 'I couldn't even identify him now.'
'That's the trouble with a place like Padstow.' Gaunt had lowered his voice. 'So parochial, so incestuous – they know all your business. I couldn't afford to own a vessel like that,' he went on more breezily. 'I just lease her for short trips. Down to Plymouth or up to Watchet.'
Paula nodded, not believing him. She stared at a shelf above the front of the bar. It was crammed with old suitcases, attache cases and several ancient trunks. All pre-Second World War. She glanced towards the door.
Tweed was standing there. He gestured for her to join him.
'Excuse me,' said Paula. 'Back in a minute…'
'I'm going to phone Howard again,' Tweed told Paula as she joined him outside in the bitter cold. 'I'd like you to hear how he reacts. And there's someone else I want to try and contact afterwards… Later, tell me how you got on at Five Lanes. Too much happening at the moment…'
Squeezed up against Tweed inside the phone box Paula waited while he dialled the Surrey mansion. She had one ear close to the receiver. The operator put Tweed straight through to Howard. His first words were not rea
ssuring.
Tweed, I've never known a situation like this. I just don't know what the hell is going on.'
Tell me why you say that,' Tweed suggested quietly.
'I've been trying to get through to the PM ever since we last talked. No dice. Always before he's taken my calls immediately – even in the middle of a Cabinet meeting.'
'Exactly what happens when you call Downing Street?'
'I get that bloody private secretary. Excuse my swearing, but this is crazy. The secretary always says he's busy, in the House or away. Anywhere except at
Downing Street. He said I should cease all operations until I do hear from the PM. Ruddy sauce!'
'And have you – ceased all operations with our people abroad?'
'I damned well have done nothing of the sort. Tweed, I feel like a prisoner, shut up here in this mansion.'
'You are a prisoner – but a safe one so long as you do not venture out,' Tweed warned.
'Have you any leads?' Howard asked desperately. 'You and your team are the only ones on the outside.'
^! I might have. Just leave everything to me. Soon I'll be very active. Stay calm
Tweed stared at Paula after he'd put down the receiver. 'What do you think?'
'Scared. Who has the power to manipulate the PM to this extent?'
'I'm going to make that other call. To Jim Corcoran, our friendly Chief of Security at London Airport. That is, if he is still friendly. I have his private number at the airport.'
He dialled a number and it rang and rang. When it was answered the speaker sounded irritable.
'Corcoran. Who is it?'
'Hello, Jim, this is Tweed. I need your help.'
'That could be difficult. Under the circumstances.' He sounded cautious. 'What is it?'
'What circumstances? Come on, you owe me more than a few.'
True, Tweed, true.' Corcoran sounded warmer. He paused. 'What can I do for you?'
'Three days ago someone called Joel Dyson – I'll spell out that name.., may have flown to Zurich. I need confirmation if he did. You could find out by checking the passenger manifests. I can be-'
