Precipice

Colin Forbes
Prologue

'This could be dangerous.' Philip Cardon said as he felt the wheels of the Land Rover sliding in the mud.

'If you're nervous give me the wheel. I like to be in the driver's seat.' suggested Eve.

There was a challenging note in her tone which jarred on Philip. He switched off the engine and Eve, sitting beside him, lit a fresh cigarette from the one she had just smoked. It was night and they were high up in the Purbeck Hills, approaching the cliffs which dropped into the sea.

Philip thought that Dorset in February was hellish. For days it had rained nonstop and the lowland fields they had long ago left behind were lakes, swamps. They were driving along the deep ruts of a track which led up the spine of a high ridge. It was bitterly cold and Eve was buttoning up the collar of her camel-hair coat round her neck.

At this point they were sheltered from the wind. Philip found the silence was eerie, as though issuing a warning. The sky was clear and the moon cast an unsettling glow over the vast landscape to their right. Only a few yards from the track the ridge dropped in a steep slope to a small valley hemmed in by another slope on the far side. They had their first sight of the sea, of the grim coast stretching westward. Jagged capes projected into the sea which was rough. Surf-tipped mountainous waves rolled in endlessly.

'That must be Sterndale Manor down there.' Philip remarked.

At the base of the valley – little more than a wide gorge – stood an Elizabethan house, its chimneys rearing up. As he watched, lights came on and Philip took a monocular glass from his windcheater pocket, focused it.

'General Sterndale must have arrived back from our hotel with his son. Someone is closing all the shutters…' He watched as lights came on, vanishing again as more shutters were closed. 'It's like life being extinguished.' he mused.

'Now you're being morbid.' Eve chided him as she jumped to the ground, nearly slipped in the mud, grabbed the side of the vehicle.

'Watch it. The ground's like a marsh.'

He resumed watching the manor. He couldn't rid himself of a premonition that a tragedy was imminent. Must be the weird atmosphere up here, he told himself.

'He certainly locks himself in at night.' he observed.

'Well, you remember in the bar back at the Priory Hotel he said he was so isolated he turned it into a fortress at night.' Eve reminded him. 'Just the two of them inside that great house and the servant. Marchat. Funny name. Wonder what nationality it is.' She flashed the smile which had first attracted him when they'd met by chance at the Priory. 'Move over so I can take the wheel.'

'Get back where you were. I'm driving and that's it.'

'Be stubborn, then. But don't take us down into that gorge.'

She sounded annoyed at not getting her own way. As she settled herself back in the passenger seat her buoyant mood seemed to return.

'Is this Lyman's Tout we're climbing? And what does Tout mean?'

'Cape. Lookout point. Local word. Over to our left is Houns Tout. Don't ask me what Houns means.'

Philip started up the engine and continued up the track. To his left stretched a large area of scrubby grass running up to a drystone wall. Earlier he had tried driving over the grass and found it sodden with water. Still disturbed, he glanced down at Sterndale Manor and drove higher and higher.

'They told us back at the hotel the wind would hit us when we cross the crest of that ridge – straight off the sea. Batten down the hatches.'

He had just spoken when they arrived at the highest point of the ridge. The wind hit them like a huge door slamming in their faces. Eve pulled up the hood of her coat, wrapped it round her head. Philip slowed down as the earth became a flat plateau of miserable grass. To his left the drystone wall bent away east, as though shrinking from the onslaught. The roar of the sea was a drumbeat. Philip stopped the vehicle, turned off the engine, leaned over so Eve would hear him.

'I'm going a bit further on foot. I think we're close to the edge.'

'This is close enough for me.'

'I wonder who that weird old pile belongs to?'

Way over to his left, well back from the sea, crouched a bleak mansion, two storeys high, its walls of granite. It had a deserted look and from it the ground sloped downwards steadily towards what he suspected was the cliff rim.

Bending against the force of the gale battering him he walked cautiously forward. He stopped abruptly. With nothing to indicate the danger he found himself at the brink and thanked God the wind was blowing against him.

The precipice sheered three hundred feet down past outcrops of rock to where the sea thundered against its base. Rocks like enormous teeth protruded above the sea. As a giant wave came in and burst like a bomb against the cliff the rocks vanished and Philip felt wet spray on his face. The sea receded briefly exposing the rocks, then again they were inundated as a fresh wave came hurtling in.

That was when he remembered once again his late wife, Jean, who had meant more than life to him. If I took just one step forward the edge would crumble, taking me with it, he thought. Then the loss of being without her would end. And he had a witness who would say it was an accident. Gritting his teeth, he forced the idea out of his mind. Jean would not have wanted him to give up, would have wanted him to go on to see what kind of a new future he could build. If any…

He blinked. Out at sea a light had flashed several times. From the corner of his eye he caught a flash inland. As he stared at the ominous-looking granite house he saw several answering flashes. Someone was exchanging signals with something out at sea. Then the hulk on land was just a black hulk. Had he imagined it? He went back to where Eve stood sheltered by the Land Rover, staring to the east. She pulled back her hood to hear him.

'Did you see a light flashing from that big dark house?' he asked.

'No, I didn't.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes. Did you reach the cliff edge?'

'It drops like a sheer wall. For a moment I felt dizzy.'

'Which is why you're seeing lights.' She jumped up into the driving seat before he could stop her. 'I think I'd better drive back. Come on. Get in.'

He swore under his breath. She did like to get her own way. An alarm signal triggered in his brain. She had the engine going when he climbed up into the passenger seat beside her. Then she turned the vehicle in a semicircle and began heading back down the ruts of the track.

Shaken by his experience at the cliff edge Philip kept quiet for a short time. He soon realized she was a first-rate driver, which was a relief. He gazed westward at the series of savage capes thrusting into the sea like giant spears. He thought it was one of the grimmest coasts he had ever seen. No trees anywhere. Just a series of ridges ending in those huge capes. Then he gripped Eve's arm gently to avoid startling her. They had just crossed the crest of the ridge, dropping behind it, so the gale was turned off as though someone had pulled a switch. The weird silence was back.

'Stop, for God's sake!' he shouted.

He could see Sterndale Manor in the distance way below them. The large house had flared up like a gigantic torch. The entire edifice was enveloped in flames from end to end. Eve had stopped the vehicle as Philip took out his monocular glass again, focused it. A ferocious red glare filled the lens. He scanned the grounds fenced in by a drystone wall. Half inside a large barn standing away from the burning house was an ancient Bentley with running-boards and huge headlamps. General Stern-dale's.

'We can't do anything about it,' Eve said, lighting a cigarette.

Recalling the remark later it struck Philip as cold-blooded, indifferent. But she was right. He couldn't reach the mansion by driving down the slope to their left – it was far too steep. He couldn't even scramble down it if they drove closer down the ridge – the wet muddy surface was so treacherous he'd lose his balance and plunge down a lethal distance.

'Pity we couldn't raise the alarm, call the fire brigade,' he worried.

'You haven't a mobile phone, then?'

'No.'

Tweed, his chief and Deputy Director of the SIS at Park Crescent in London, had banned his staff from using the instrument. It was so easy these days to intercept any phone calls and Tweed was wary of a hostile group listening in.

'I can't see how either Sterndale or his son could have escaped such a conflagration.' he remarked.

The flat gorge inside which the house stood ran straight from it to the sea. The gale was screaming down the natural funnel, fanning the flames, blowing them in crazy shapes. Reluctantly Philip put his monocular glass back into his pocket.

'Get moving,' he said. 'We'll report it as soon as we can. Those bloody shutters Sterndale told us he locked every night must have trapped them. Stop! Just a minute…'

He had seen movement beyond the doomed house. For the first time clouds crossed the moon, blotting out the landscape. Suddenly it was dark apart from the blazing mansion. He still tried focusing his monocular on the road beyond the mansion, leading to the village of Langton Matravers by a roundabout route. In the darkness he could see nothing.

'What are you looking for?' Eve asked, letting the engine idle. 'It's ruddy cold up here.'

'Thought I saw another four-wheel-drive heading away from the mansion with several men aboard.'

'Could it have been Sterndale and Co?' she asked in a bored tone as she lit another cigarette.

'No. He'd have used the Bentley – and that's still parked half inside a barn. He told me his only other transport, another vintage effort, was in for repairs.'

'You probably imagined it. Still dizzy from looking over that cliff. Can we get moving? It's freezing up here.'

'Yes…'

Again Eve could have been right. He had caught only a brief glimpse of a vehicle tearing away from the inferno. Eve handled the Land Rover with great skill, driving faster than he had, frequently slithering almost out of the ruts on to the spongelilce ground on either side, but managing to keep to the track.

I'm enjoying driving your jalopy. It's fun – a test of nerve under these conditions.'

'Is it?'

Again a danger signal flashed at the back of his mind. He dismissed it as they passed the mansion below, which was now assuming the appearance of a blackened funeral pyre in the moonlight, which had reappeared. The bleakness of the Dorset landscape returned – barren-looking ridges marching away to the west one behind the other. They were descending to the point where the track met a road when Philip heard the sirens of a fire engine below, saw it pass with blue lights flashing, then another.

Turn left for Kingston.' Philip said as they entered a lonely road with a decent tarred surface and left swampland behind.

'OK. But why?'

'Because – it's a long way round – but if we take another left later we'll eventually reach the road which leads to Sterndale Manor. We could report what we saw.'

'What you think you saw. Sheer waste of time. We know the fire brigade has arrived in force. Is there a pub in Kingston? I could do with a drink.'

'A good one. All right. We'll keep on for Kingston.'

Philip was puzzled. Even though his brain was muddled – still reeling under the grief of the sudden death of his wife over a year before and now experiencing for the first time a rapidly growing interest in another woman – one part of it was functioning normally. Why was Eve so reluctant to report the tragedy they had witnessed?

They had descended a tricky hairpin road to Kingston. Eve swerved several times to avoid water-splashes which were like lakes. The gradient was very steep and Philip had further proof she was a first-rate driver. I don't know a thing about her since that first meeting at dinner at the Priory, he was thinking – only that she's enormously attractive. I must ask a few questions while we're having a drink…

The Scott Arms, perched at one end of Kingston, was built of dark ancient stone like the rest of the small village, still high up in the Purbecks. Inside it was a labyrinth of different levels and secluded nooks, some with only a single table in front of a banquette.

'Be careful here,' Philip told her, taking her arm. 'It goes up and down and there are tricky steps everywhere.'

'I'll be all right.'

She took her arm away, again demonstrating her almost aggressive independence. Philip chose a table at the lowest level in a nook which faced a large window looking east. He ordered a glass of French dry white wine while Eve requested a large vodka.

'I'd better drive the rest of the way to the Priory,' he said with a smile.

'Why? You think one drink makes me incapable?' she demanded.

'Let's see how we feel later.'

'Philip, what do you do for a living?'

I'm in insurance. It's rather specialized, confidential. How about you?'

'I'm in security. And it's rather special too…' She paused. 'I've probably said too much already.'

As they sampled their drinks a burly youngster clad from neck to foot in black leather passed them, carrying a helmet. He never gave their table a glance. It seemed to Philip he very deliberately didn't look at them and Philip sensed something odd about him.

'How long are you staying at the Priory?' Eve asked casually.

'About a week. Unless the office calls me back. What about yourself?'

'I'm a free agent. Let's explore the Purbecks together. You need company after what you told me about Jean. Is this your first trip away since she died?'

He swallowed, had trouble controlling his emotions. It was the offhanded way – something in the past – she had recalled his wife's death that disturbed him. Get a hold on yourself, he thought.

'Nice idea,' he said eventually. 'Yes, we'll do that. I welcome the very desirable company.'

Eve Warner had taken off her coat and wore a trim navy-blue suit over a white blouse with a high collar. Her jet-black hair had been coiffured close to her head and her shapely neck. Her face was almost triangular with the apex a pointed chin below a wide mouth suggesting determination. Her nose was Roman but it was the eyes below dark brows which were so arresting. A dark brown, they watched him as though they could see inside his head. A striking woman, in her late thirties Philip guessed, with a forceful personality.

The pub was very quiet and no one else was near them as she flashed her engaging smile.

'Philip, what are you thinking of? You looked miles away.'

'That I could do with some female company.'

'There you are, then. We will explore Dorset together

His mind had gone back to how they had first met a few hours ago at dinner in the large cellar with high old stone walls where the meal was served. Philip had been sitting at a table by himself and nearby another single table had been laid. The only other occupants had been a middle-aged couple at a table at the far end of the room lit by wall lights.

Eve had appeared suddenly as she came down the curving stone steps leading into the cellar. At the foot of the steps she had paused before a waiter approached, scanning the strange room.

Philip had been attracted from the moment he set eyes on her. Bet she's got a boy friend with her, he told himself. No rings on her left hand.

'Is Madame waiting for someone?' the waiter had asked, hurrying towards her.

'No. I'd like that table there. Is it available?'

She had pointed to the table by the end wall next to where Philip was sitting. He waited until she was settled only a few feet away and alongside him. She was slim and about five feet six, wearing golden pumps. As she studied the menu Philip nerved himself to speak to her. He hadn't approached another woman since Jean had died, hadn't felt any inclination to do so. She felt his gaze on her, glanced sideways, gave a half-smile. He plunged in.

'Good evening. You wouldn't be on your own, would you? I am. I can recommend the sole. That is, if you like fish.'

She immediately sensed his awkwardness, gave a roguish smile to put him at his ease.

'Why don't you join me? Then I can complain to you if I think the sole is rotten…'

That was how it had started. No, Philip thought as he sat gazing back at her in the quiet of the Scott Arms at Kingston, it had started earlier in London at SIS Headquarters in Park Crescent. In his chief's large first-floor office overlooking Regent's Park in the distance.

Tweed had asked his faithful long-time assistant, Monica, to leave them alone for a few minutes.

'Philip, I think you should take a holiday.'

'I'd sooner not.'

'Philip, I'm ordering you to take a holiday. You have to. I've booked you a suite at an interesting hotel in Dorset. On the outskirts of Wareham. The Priory Hotel. The suite is booked for a week in your name. Oh, and while you're down there you might make a few discreet enquiries about a General Sterndale. He's over eighty and owns Sterndale's, the private bank which has been in the family since it was founded back in the early 1800s.'

'What do you want to find out about him?' Philip asked.

'I'm not sure…'

Tweed stood up from behind his desk, removed his spectacles, began cleaning them with his handkerchief as he paced round the office. Of medium height, with dark hair, middle-aged, when he wore the glasses he was the man you passed in the street without noticing him. Which was an advantage for the exceptionally shrewd Deputy Director of the SIS.

'One thing I'd like to know is has he still got all his marbles? He had when I met him at a club, but that was several years ago. He was celebrating his eightieth birthday then. He runs the bank personally with an iron hand. He operates secretively, so if you can contact him you'll have your work cut out to extract any data.'

'What sort of data?' Philip persisted, disliking the whole idea.

He suspected Tweed was anxious to get him out of the house he had occupied alone since Jean's death. But now he had been given a specific job to do it would be useless to argue the point.

'Another thing I'd like to find out – which will probably be impossible to extract if you do get close to him – is the names of his big clients. Take the case you always keep packed here for an emergency trip. And there's a Land Rover outside to get you there. Here are the keys. Philip, do try and relax in Dorset. Talk to people

'Finished dreaming?' Eve demanded as she started to put on her camel-hair coat inside the Scott Arms. 'I'm still here. Just in case you'd forgotten.'

She likes a lot of attention, Philip thought as he donned his duffel coat. No, that's not fair. I must have been silent for quite awhile. I'm out of practice at dealing with women.

He quickly slipped in front of her and mounted the first flight of flagstone steps. The floors were paved with the same material.

'I know the way out. You could be stuck in this maze for hours.' he joked over his shoulder.

'That was Corfe Castle we could see through that window in the moonlight,' she rapped back.

'I thought you said this was your first trip to Dorset,' he replied.

'Like other people I do study guide books – they have pictures in them, in case you didn't know,' she replied sarcastically.

Outside he hurried to the car park behind the pub and climbed up behind the wheel as she ran behind him. He kicked mud off his boots on the edge of the vehicle. She climbed into the passenger seat.

'Move over.' she demanded. 'I want to drive.'

'So do I. You've had a good run.'

'You think one vodka affects my ability to handle your chariot?'

'My turn.'

Leaving the car park he drove down another steep winding hill with more hairpin bends, hit a water-splash, and water showered over the vehicle and through an open window.

'My coat is soaked.' she said in an icy tone.

He glanced at her. The camel-hair coat had only the odd sprinkle of water. She was staring straight ahead, in a bad mood because he wouldn't let her drive. In the distance and well below them two ridges of a Purbeck range dipped, enclosing a gap which must have been a strategic pass in the time of Cromwell. Corfe Castle was perched on a high mound in the gap. Its naked rocks and ruined towers reminded Philip of a skeleton, which took him back to the great fire at Sterndale Manor.

Were General Sterndale and his son, Richard, now real skeletons consumed by what must have been incredibly high temperatures? A morbid thought, but earlier that evening he had met General Sterndale having a drink in the bar at the Priory. He had gathered the old boy made a nightly visit. It had been one of those long-shot coincidences you hope for but which rarely happen. At one stage the General had stared hard at Philip and, as they were alone, made a remark.

'I see pain in your eyes. You look like a man who has suffered.. .'

Philip had found himself telling him briefly of the tragedy of Jean's sudden death, something he rarely talked about to anyone. They had talked for a while so Philip had something to report to Tweed when he got back.

Reaching Corfe, a village of old stone cottages which stood on the level, they followed the road back to Wareham, turning in a semicircle below the mound with Corfe Castle rearing above them. It was then a straight run along a good traffic-free road. Eve relapsed into a brooding silence, never once looking at Philip or saying a word. Pique.

A great glaring eye filled his rear-view mirror. A motorcyclist in black leather, wearing a helmet, was perched on his tail. Philip waited for him to overtake as the macho boys always did. Black Leather remained glued to his tail. Philip recalled the burly youngster who had entered the Scott Arms.

'Pass me, damn you!' he said to himself.

The motorcyclist refused to oblige. Philip began to wish he had brought his Walther automatic. If the rider was armed and hostile.. .

Oddly enough Eve seemed unaware of their follower. She remained quite still, arms folded on her seat belt. Philip slowed down, crossed the bridge over the River Frome at the outskirts to Wareham, signalled, turned right into a small old square and down a short lane leading to the Priory.

He was parking close to a stone wall near the entrance to the hotel when he saw the motorcyclist stop on the far side of the square, switching off the blinding lamp.

'Well, we got back in one piece.' Eve remarked as she jumped down onto the cobbles.

'Nothing to it,' Philip responded, locking the vehicle.

Eve stroked the new red Porsche he had pulled up alongside.

'Now this I love. My chariot. Not bad, don't you agree?'

Philip froze where he stood. On the drive down from Park Crescent he'd had the feeling he was being followed by someone in a red Porsche. The flash car had always kept several vehicles behind him and he'd lost it while he was approaching Wareham. The driver had worn a helmet so he'd never decided whether it was a man or a woman behind the wheel. Then he reminded himself there were quite a few red Porsches floating round. He glanced back at the old square and the motorcyclist had gone. No sound of his engine starting up, so he must have wheeled it back to the square before firing the engine. Very odd. He walked round to admire the Porsche – Eve's normal radiant cheerfulness seemed to have returned.

'That's something else again. Must have cost you quite a packet.'

'Company car.'

She unlocked it and the courtesy light came on. Expensive clothes were thrown together on a seat as though they were rags. She rummaged through them, hauled out a pair of blue silk pyjamas. As she did so something beneath the pile of clothing slid out onto the floor. A crash helmet.

They entered the centuries-old building which was the Priory Hotel under a stone arch into an enclosed courtyard unevenly paved with cobbles. Thrusting ahead, Eve pushed open the heavy wooden door leading into reception. Behind a narrow counter the proprietor, a warm able-looking man, greeted Philip.

'Glad to see you back, sir. There was an urgent phone call for you from Monica. She asked you to call her the moment you returned. You can use this phone…'

Tactfully the proprietor disappeared as Philip grasped the phone. Behind him Eve enquired: 'And who is Monica?'

'My aunt.' Philip said quickly. 'She's looking after my house.' he continued, lying smoothly.

'I'm going down to my suite. See you in the bar…'

Philip would have preferred a less public phone but he was alone when he dialled Park Crescent. Monica, Tweed's assistant, spoke hurriedly.

'I'm putting my boss on the line…'

'Tweed here.' the familiar voice said. 'Are you calling from the hotel?'

'Yes…'

'Then get to a public phone damned fast and call me back.'

The line went dead.

Philip, still wearing his duffel coat, hurried back into the night which was now dry and still bitterly cold with a star-studded sky above him. Earlier, arriving at Ware-ham, he had noticed a phone box in South Street, no more than a five-minute walk away at the pace he moved. South Street was deserted as he entered the phone box, carrying a heavy torch he'd retrieved from his car. It had a powerful beam and was heavy, padded with rubber. A useful weapon if he happened to encounter Black Leather.

Tweed himself answered the phone, began speaking rapidly after checking where Philip was speaking from.

'All hell has broken loose down there. General Sterndale's house has gone up in flames. The fire brigade has recovered two bodies – the General's and that of his son, Richard, burnt to a cinder but just recognizable.'

'We saw the mansion burning from a distance…'

'We?'

'I'll explain later. I thought I saw a four-wheel-drive leaving with several men aboard…'

'Thought?'

'Yes, I couldn't be sure. It all happened so quickly.'

'In that case you saw nothing if you're questioned by the police. I'm referring to the phantom vehicle.'

'Why…?'

'Just listen. The fire brigade chief on the spot called the police chief at Dorchester. Because Sterndale was such a bigwig Dorchester contacted Scotland Yard. As luck -bad luck – would have it he talked to my old sparring partner, Chief Inspector Roy Buchanan. He may be on his way down there now by chopper. You could find yourself being grilled by him, so watch it.'

'But I don't understand. Buchanan is Homicide.'

'The fire chief reported the whole of the exterior of the mansion had been sprayed with petrol. This was no accident. It was arson. Cold-blooded murder.'

'Oh, my God…'

'I said listen. I've just phoned the General's niece – I know her slightly. She told me the bulk of the bank's capital was kept by the General in his study at the mansion. In the form of bearer bonds – negotiable anywhere and no questions asked. He left just enough cash in the branches to keep them turning over.'

'How much money are we talking about?'

'Three hundred million pounds. Plus. I must go now. You stay put down there. Mooch around a bit in the morning, but go carefully. And I've sent you help back-up.'

'Who?'

'He could be there now. You'll recognize him when you see him.. .'