by Colin Forbes
'But you'll protect me, won't you? If it came to a pinch I think even Bob would come to my aid. Who is the chap in the back? Haven't seen him before, have I?'
'Eve, I'm asking you to reverse the way we came. We'll come back for you.'
'Bet you will.' she said sarcastically. Tell Newman I'll be on his tail. I'm bloody stubborn.'
'You are,' snapped Philip.
'Now don't lose your temper.'
Philip shrugged, hurried back to Newman, climbed in beside him.
'She's not having any.' Newman remarked.
'I couldn't persuade her. How could you tell?'
'Her expression. Yours. Now what's she up to? She's running towards us. I suppose I'd better try and make her see sense.'
Eve poked her head in at Newman's window. She looked back at Marler.
'Hello, nice man. Who are you? Maybe you'd buy me a drink soon. My favourite tipple is vodka.'
'Go home.' said Newman.
Eve lit a fresh cigarette from the one she had been smoking. She blew out smoke, away from Newman's face. Her manner became serious.
'Bob, I could be useful. I have cat's eyes.'
'And cat's claws no doubt.'
'I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Are you calling at this place or just checking on it? If the latter, you see where the drive forks, one bit going up to the big terrace entrance, the other section curving round the back of this architectural masterpiece? That second fork would take you round the back and then away from Bleak House down a slope to the sea. Near the cliff's edge – and you'd better watch that – it curves round the end of a drystone wall on to Lyman's Tout.'
'How do you know that?'
She had Newman's attention now and he gazed straight at her, his curiosity aroused.
'Because when Philip took me up Lyman's Tout I noticed the drive coming round the house through a gap where the drystone wall had crumbled. I'm observant. Trust me…'
She ran back to her Porsche. Newman drove forward at a slow pace, studying the dark house, which was very big. All the shutters were closed but as they got closer he noticed they had been painted black recently. Black. Awful!
The dark hulk seemed to move towards them and Philip saw that at the end they would pass round were several large barns – very like the barn General Stern-dale's old Bentley had been partially parked inside. Here the great doors were all closed.
'Let's hope she knows what she's talking about.' Newman commented. 'She's on my tail – if she drops back I'm going to get suspicious.. .'
Ever since they had left Wareham the weather had been unpredictable. And there had been no more rain overnight. Philip was pondering these factors as they cruised past the barns.
'You might make it back along the track over the top of Lyman's Tout even in your Merc.' he remarked. 'I think the mud might have hardened. I don't promise anything.'
There was still no sign of anyone occupying Grenville Grange. Newman was not reassured as he rounded the end of the house and saw a pebbled track continuing towards the sea which petered out into ruts halfway down the slope towards the cliff edge. He turned off the engine and the car slid slowly down the slope and inside the ruts, which were hardened, probably due to the lack of rain and the severe frost.
'What do you think?' Marler asked.
'Something's not right. Those wide-open gates bother me.'
'Why?' asked Philip.
'They suggest someone is expected. So I'd expect there to be staff inside the house. Everyone shut up. We're close to the cliff edge.. .'
He switched on the engine for more control. The wind off the sea had hit them like a hammer blow as they came round the end of the house and started down the barren slope. The sea gleamed an intense blue and great white horses showed on mountainous waves thundering in.
Reaching the end of the drystone wall, Newman eased the car round the end, glancing to his left. The cliff edge was very close. Behind him Eve drove her Porsche slowly, a few feet from his tail. As he negotiated the turn inland onto Lyman's Tout he watched her in his rear-view mirror. She had the sense to ease her way round, following Newman's example. He parked the car close behind the drystone wall, which was higher than his roof. Eve parked behind him.
'What now?' Philip asked.
'We watch that place for awhile. You and Marler stay a distance behind me to guard my rear. Take Eve with you if you have to drag her.'
He lifted the large pair of 'birdwatcher' binoculars he had borrowed from Butler, got out, found the ground was hard, wandered back, and lay down on the ground at a point where he could see the house round the end of the wall.
He could feel the cold seeping through his clothes as he focused, waited. Marler, Philip and Eve had disappeared behind huge rocks some distance to his rear. Patiently, he waited. He heard nothing above the whine of the wind, the dull thud of the monstrous waves against the cliff base far below. Then something round and metallic pressed against his neck, the muzzle of a gun. He froze.
'I'm holding a loaded shotgun, chum,' a familiar voice said. 'Blow your head off. My head still aches from your catching me off guard in that bar. Now, what are you doing here on private property? Might as well talk before I pull the trigger
The voice of Craig, a more sophisticated voice now, and even more menacing.
Pete Nield, Harry Butler's partner, was a great contrast in appearance and manner to the man he worked closely with. Whereas Butler dressed in denims and a shabby windcheater, Nield, unlike the burly Butler, was slim and a snappy dresser.
Nield wore a check sports jacket and fawn slacks with a razor-edged crease. His white shirt was spotless, bisected by a smart grey tie. He had returned from watching the Priory for any sign of Buchanan to contact Tweed, to bring him up-to-date on Newman's trip to Grenville Grange.
'Pete.' Monica interrupted him, 'Tweed is away.'
'Where?'
'He didn't say.'
'Paula there?'
'No. Listen. I have instructions for you and Harry. I assume you're calling from a phone box.'
'Monica, you have the most amazing intuition.'
'Flattery will get you nowhere. I said listen…'
Nield kept quiet while she relayed Tweed's instructions. After the brief conversation he hurried back to the Black Bear in the hope that Harry Butler would call him from Poole.
Fat chance of that happening now I have to leave to watch the roundabout at Stoborough Green, he thought. Life was not like that. As he turned the key in the door to his room he heard the phone ringing. He rushed across to the instrument – knowing it would stop ringing as he picked it up. He grabbed it.
'Yes. Who is it?'
'You sound breathless. You're out of training.' Butler's heavy voice mocked him.
'Very funny…'
'Partridge is OK for tonight's meal? Partridge is OK.'
'My favourite dish.' Meld replied, playing along with Butler's cryptic message. 'You're still in Poole? Good. New instructions. An important client is possibly coming via the ferry at the exit to Poole Harbour…'
'Sandbanks this side, Shell Bay on your side. Go on…'
'He has to be treated like royalty. If he travels that route he'll probably be inside a limousine with tinted windows. You're his escort – a very discreet escort. He could just arrive within an hour, maybe longer.'
'Got it. I'd better get moving.'
'Me too.'
At Sandbanks Butler eased his sturdy bulk out of the phone booth, ran to his parked Ford Fiesta. Pete Meld would have grasped the gist of what he had reported: that he'd checked out Partridge.
Using the phone directory on arrival, he'd torn round in his car, calling at four different addresses where a Partridge lived. Apologizing at the first three of them, explaining he was looking for a friend, he hit gold dust at the fourth, a small detached house with a notice in a window. Room To Let. The landlady, a portly woman, was forthcoming.
'I'm sorry, but your friend has just moved to a cottage near Wareham. Ver
y quick it was. I'm sorry to lose him, he was a quiet tenant. Worked in his rooms – had a lot of funny equipment. Computers he called them. And a machine which chattered and spewed out typed sheets of messages.'
'Probably his fax machine,' Butler guessed.
'He was such a nice quiet man. No trouble at all. He wanted a quiet place in the country. Some people like that, you know. Wouldn't suit me. I like a bit of life…'
'Just to make sure I've got the right man, could you describe him,' Butler interjected to halt the flood of words. He waited. People were terrible at describing someone they even knew well.
'Small. Much smaller than you. Less well built, if you don't mind my saying so. I wondered if he was a foreigner. Mind you, he spoke perfect English, but his appearance. He had such smooth skin that I used to wonder if he ever had to shave…'
'Could you give me the actual address he's moved to?' asked Butler in desperation.
'Devastoke Cottage, near Stoborough. That's south of Wareham. You take the
'Many thanks.' Butler was backing away to escape the barrage. 'I know how to get there. I'll be on my way…'
He hurried to the phone booth he'd noticed, confident he'd get across to Nield that Partridge seemed genuine. Then he drove to the car ferry point.
Butler had already decided where he would wait. He had driven to Poole via the ferry from Shell Bay and had noticed a car park near the beach on the far side. A ferry, a large craft controlled by a chain from shore to shore, was just about to leave. The only other vehicle aboard on the films. Start counting up to ten. Who sent you? One… two… three…'
Huddled behind a huge boulder, Philip crouched shoulder to shoulder with Eve. Marler was behind another rock further back. He had his Armalite aimed at Craie's back, but Philip realized he dare not shoot. He'd was a local bus. The ramp was elevated as he parked behind it.
The crossing took only a few minutes and in the distance Butler could see the curving ridge of the Purbecks. He drove off, paused at the toll-booth to pay the fare, then horned left into the car park a few hundred yards away from the crossing point. His was the only car on the sunny but bleak bitter February day.
'Perfect.' Butler said to himself. 'Perfect – cars passing don't notice this park unless the drivers are very observant.' And coming from Sandbanks he would be invisible to any traffic from Bournemouth and beyond. He opened a flask of coffee, had a hot drink, settled down to wait. Butler had the patience of Job.
The muzzle of the shotgun pressed deeper into Newman's neck. He lay quite still as Craig taunted him.
'Boot's on the other foot now. My head still aches. Better than having it blown right off. Who sent you?'
'I sent myself.' Newman mumbled, his chin pressed into the ground. 'I'm a reporter, in case you've forgotten.'
'Don't get sassy with me, chuml I'll ask you just once more. Then my nervous finger will pull the trigger. Come to think of it, this is an ideal spot. Afterwards I can dump your body over the cliff. Tide's about to go out. Why the two cars parked by the wall?'
'Porsche is my girl friend's. Motor conked out. She's been gone awhile on foot for help.'
'And you're about to conk out. I'll do it like they do on the films. Start counting up to ten. Who sent you? One… two… three…'
Huddled behind a huge boulder, Philip crouched shoulder to shoulder with Eve. Marler was behind another rock further back. He had his Armalite aimed at Craig's back, but Philip realized he dare not shoot. He'd get Craig but the brute might press the shotgun trigger as a reflex action when the bullet hit him. Newman's neck would be blown to pieces.
'I'm going to try and creep up on Craig.' Philip said, gripping his Walther.
'I'll try and create a distraction.' Eve replied, her teeth chattering, with cold or fear: maybe with both.
'If you do think of something, for God's sake time it so I'm close enough to ram my gun into the bastard's back.'
'I'm not an idiot…'
Philip stood up, began walking forward, keeping to the soft arid turf which carpeted the Tout on either side of the track. His footsteps made no sound as he clenched his teeth and came closer to Craig. If the brute turned round the range of his weapon was still greater than that of his Walther. He narrowed the gap, wondering what on earth Eve had in mind.
Behind the boulder Eve searched quickly among a pile of stones, found a large round one. She took a firm grip on it, stood up while Marler, puzzled, watched her.
Philip was within a foot of Craig when Eve hurled the stone with all her force against the drystone wall. Its impact made a sharp crack.
Startled, Craig moved the shotgun away from Newman as he began to turn. Newman grabbed the barrel, thrust it well away from himself. At that moment Philip rammed his Walther into Craig's back.
'My bullet will smash your spine. Keep very bloody still. That's a good boy. Now let go of the gun slowly…'
As Craig released his grip on the weapon Newman, still gripping it by the barrel, hauled it well out of his attacker's reach. He stood up as Marler ran up to them.
'Are you all right?' Marler asked.
'Fine.' Newman flexed his right hand. 'But I do have a little unfinished business.'
He suddenly clenched his hand into a fist, hit Craig with a haymaker to the jaw. The big man collapsed. Newman checked his pulse.
'Out cold, but that's all. I guess he'll stay that way for half an hour.'
'We continue watching?' Marler asked.
'Of course.'
'Then I'd better tie up the parcel…'
He produced one of several handcuffs he carried, bent down, turned Craig over on his back, clasped both wrists behind him, handcuffed them together. He next took out two pieces of cloth from his capacious pocket. He tied the dark handkerchief round Craig's eyes, looked up.
'That will disorientate him when he comes to. This will keep him quiet as a babe.'
He twisted the white cloth into a makeshift gag and applied it across Craig's mouth. Then he dragged his 'parcel' across and shoved it against the drystone wall. Newman turned to Philip, who was slipping his Walther inside its holster.
'Thank you, Philip. You probably saved my life – and even I didn't hear your silent approach.'
'You should thank Eve,' Philip explained as she came up to them. 'She created the diversion that caused Craig to shift his weapon away from you.'
'Really?' Newman stared at Eve in surprise. 'Well…'
'Glad you approve.' Eve made a pantomime of studying her long shapely fingers. 'Maybe there'll come a time when you realize a woman can be useful.'
'That time has come.' Newman held out his hand, gripped hers. 'Thank you. You're something else again.' His tone became brisk. 'Now we resume watching Grenville Grange, knowing it's not as unoccupied as it looks. Incidentally, how did Craig come up behind me?'
'Because we weren't watching closely enough.' Eve said bluntly. 'Philip and I were whispering to each other.'
'And I was checking my Armalite.' Marler added. 'Out of the corner of my eye I did see Craig slip through that gap where the wall has crumbled. God, for a man that size, he moved quickly. It only seemed to take him an instant to come up behind you and jab his gun into your neck.'
'That's all right,' Newman replied. 'But I suggest from now on, Marler, you take up a position by that gap. Philip, you find a boulder close to Marler and back him up. Take Eve with you. Now I resume watching.'
He dropped to the ground at the end of the wall as though nothing had happened. Reaching for the binoculars he'd let go of he checked the focus on the house and began waiting. No point in telling the others, but he was pretty sure now something was going to happen.
7
Butler, seated behind the wheel of his Fiesta, jammed the top on his coffee flask, thrust it into the door pocket. Still waiting in the car park, he had the window open to hear anything coming from the ferry and the wind off the sea was raw. He could hear the crash of waves on the nearby beach, see a fleet of black clouds approachin
g the Purbecks.
What had alerted him was the arrival of another bus. Shortly afterwards he heard motorcyclists coming at a steady pace. Three men clad in black leather astride their machines headed towards the Purbecks. Butler started his engine, then paused.
A gleaming black stretch limousine with amber-tinted windows glided past. Behind it followed two more outriders.
'Jesus!' he said to himself. 'Nield did say royalty.'
He waited a short time, then drove out after the limo, keeping well back. No view through the rear window, which was also tinted. This stretch of road was lonely with a bleak stretch of swampland to his right. Reed islands protruded above the water. To his left a thorn hedge blotted out the sea.
'You should have waited a mite longer.' he told himself.
In his mirror he saw a single motorcyclist in black leather thundering up behind him. Like the earlier outriders he was astride a powerful machine, a Fireblade. As he drew up alongside him Butler saw the word Police painted on his jacket. The newcomer waved to him to pull over and stop. Butler obliged.
The motorcyclist shoved off his helmet, exposing a tough, hard-jawed face with eyes too close together. Butler said nothing as the cyclist shouted at him through his open window. His head was practically inside Butler's car.
'You following that limo?' the rider demanded.
'I'm going home. It's a free road.'
'That's an important personage.'
'What's the difference between a person and a personage?' Butler asked innocently.
'Police business. Turn round, drive back to the ferry.'
'Why should I?'
'Because I say so. Get that machine turned round now.'
Butler lit a cigarette. He leant his arm on the edge of his open window.
'Can I see some identification, please? That you really are police?'
The rider took off his right glove, he shoved his hand inside his jacket. As Butler saw the hand coming out gripping the butt of a large gun he leaned over, pressed his cigarette on the back of the man's bare hand.
There was a yelp of pain as Butler reached out, grabbed the gun. It was a 7.65mm Luger. Not a handgun the British police ever carried. He opened his car door and shoved with great force. It hit the motorcyclist. Everything toppled over sideways. Man and machine.
