Precipice

9

In the lounge at the Priory Hotel Paula sat with Tweed as they waited for Franklin to join them. Coffee, cakes, and biscuits had been served for three people. There was no one else in the large comfortable room with French windows overlooking the spacious garden and the path leading to the Boathouse.

'Actually,' Paula whispered, 'I saw Bill Franklin in his car at the side turning where he spotted us. I didn't say anything to you because you were talking, explaining something to me.'

'Your eyes met?' Tweed queried.

'Very definitely.'

'Then maybe it was a genuine coincidence. Bill is fond of you,' he teased her.

'That's all there is to it,' she said sharply.

'I want to find out how he's spending his time nowadays since… '

He broke off as Franklin entered the room. He looked very handsome, wearing a heavyweight safari jacket and trousers. He smiled, sat next to Paula on the couch with Tweed beyond her.

'Sorry to keep you waiting. Coffee. Just what I need to wet my whistle.'

'What are you doing now, Bill?' Tweed asked immediately. 'Or are you ex-ex-Military Intelligence?'

'Now what, I wonder, does that cryptic remark imply?'

Franklin smiled, thanked Paula as she handed him a cup. He began munching a cake, leaning forward so he could see Tweed, who replied quickly.

'It means, Bill, have you gone back into Military Intelligence?'

'Now would I tell you if that were the case?' Franklin joked. 'Actually, I decided it was time I made a little money. You know how extravagant I am. Over a year ago I established a small chain of private detective agencies in Europe. They're thriving. I call the outfits by what I thought was rather an original name, Illuminations.'

'That's a very clever name,' commented Paula. 'I guess it means you find things out people are trying to conceal. You illuminate a situation.'

'Spot on.' Franklin told her. 'And with the contacts I established when I was Military Intelligence I'm doing rather well. Why don't you use me, Tweed, some time?'

'Where are you based?'

'Geneva, Paris, and Rome.'

'Must be an advantage,' Paula said between bites out of a cake, 'that you're fluent in French, German, and Italian.'

'It helps. Finding good staff was the problem.'

'What about London?' Tweed asked.

'I toyed with the idea, but there's a flock of outfits over here. I'm still thinking about it. Are you two taking a break?'

'We're down here investigating three weird murders my interest was triggered off by something odd which happened on the Continent.'

'Playing it close to the chest, as usual.' Franklin grinned at Paula. 'Getting blood out of a stone is a piece of cake compared with getting Tweed to open up.'

'You are muddling your metaphors,' Tweed pointed out.

He looked up as the proprietor appeared at the door and beckoned to him. Excusing himself, he joined the proprietor in the privacy of the hall. His host had a worried look, which was unusual.

'Sorry to interrupt your conversation, Mr Tweed, but a Chief Inspector Buchanan from Scotland Yard called here and asked me if Mr Robert Newman was staying with us. I had to say he was and this Buchanan wanted to know if he was in his room. I told him he'd gone out, that I didn't know where or for how long.'

The proprietor paused, clearly embarrassed. Tweed said nothing, gave no indication that he had heard of Newman.

'He then went on,' the proprietor continued, 'to ask me if a Mr Tweed was registered with us. I told him no -because at that moment you had not appeared. I saw no reason to tell him you had stayed with us before.'

'Thank you for telling me. We are just going out to keep an urgent appointment. And I have no idea when we'll be back.'

'I'm sorry to…'

'Think nothing of it.'

Tweed walked casually back into the lounge. Franklin was joking with Paula who looked very relaxed.

'I'm afraid we'll have to leave immediately,' Tweed told them. 'We may not be back until it's time for dinner.'

'Mind if I accompany you?' asked Franklin. 'But if it's hush-hush I'll steer clear.'

'You can come. You'll hear about what's been happening sooner or later. But I'd like us to move now…'

The wind seemed even more bitter as they crossed the cobbled yard outside and went to their cars. Franklin reached into his Jaguar, brought out a heavy fawn raincoat, which he donned. It had wide lapels and broad belt; Paula thought he looked very much a military type.

Tweed put on the new coat Paula had pushed him into buying but she felt quite comfortable in her windcheater.

'What is our destination?' Franklin called out.

'Just follow us.'

Tweed dived behind the wheel of his car, turned on the engine, and began backing at speed. He turned, headed for the small square which led into South Street.

'Where are we going, then?' Paula asked.

'Anywhere outside Wareham. Buchanan put in an appearance. Asked for Newman, then for me.'

'For you? That's strange.'

'He's very shrewd is our friend, Roy Buchanan. I think he was aiming a shot in the dark. Hang on, there's Bob coming back, with Philip in Eve Warner's Porsche on his tail. And Butler, dressed like a gangster, on a Fireblade behind them.'

Tweed pulled up in the Georgian square tucked away from South Street. Other cars were parked but no one else was about. Jumping out, Tweed ran over to Newman, who had braked.

'Don't ask any questions. Don't go near the Priory -just follow me. That's Bill Franklin in the Jaguar. He turned up unexpectedly and is coming with us. Wait a sec…'

He ran to the Porsche and Eve lowered her window. Tweed addressed Philip across her.

'Get out. Move. Then get into Bob's car.' He looked at Eve, studying Philip's new friend as Philip left to join Paula. She stared straight back at him. 'I assume you are Eve Warner,' he began, and she interrupted him.

'And how, may I ask, do you know about me? My name?'

'Newman mentioned you when he phoned me. I hope that you won't mind, but we are all going to a meeting.'

'Who are you to try and push me around?' she asked cockily.

'My name is Tweed.' he said reluctantly. She was going to find out anyway, staying at the Priory. 'I would appreciate it if you would wait at the Priory – Philip will be back later.'

'I don't feel like staying on my own.' she informed him. 'And we've had an adventure. You might like me to tell you what happened. ..'

'Later. Excuse me.'

Tweed, feeling like a grasshopper, ran across to Butler.

'Harry, follow us.'

'News to tell you. And Pete Nield is still probably at that roundabout you told us to send him to. Or Monica did…'

'We've got to get away from here.'

'OK. But Pete is wasting his time.'

'Then we'll drive there and you can tell him to drive back to watch the Priory again. He's to resume looking for Buchanan to arrive.'

Tweed tore back to his own car, jumped behind the wheel, took off, turned left into South Street, across the bridge over the Frome, and out into the country.

'You are fit.' Paula remarked. 'You weren't even puffing when you came back.'

'Probably my frequent walks from my flat in Radnor Walk and back again in the evening. This isn't good.' he said, glancing in his mirror.

'What isn't good?'

'We have a regular convoy – first me, then Bob, followed by Franklin. And would you believe it? The Warner girl is coming up behind him in her blasted Porsche. At least Butler is keeping well back. Imagine if we run into Buchanan driving in the opposite direction. He'll spot us, do a U-turn when he can, and come after us.'

'Then let's hope we don't see Buchanan.' Paula said calmly.

'Don't be too hard on Eve,' Philip called out from the back. 'She practically saved Bob's life, maybe my own, too.'

'Really? And I thought I told you to get into Newman's car.'

'You did. But I've a lot to tell you.'

'Tell me now. While the attractive Eve isn't bending an ear to our conversation…'

Philip, keeping his recital of events terse, began with their drive to Grenville Grange and what had happened afterwards. Tweed's expression didn't change when he came to the arrival of Leopold Brazil with his wolfhound, Igor.

'So Mr Brazil would like to meet me.' Tweed commented when Philip had concluded his description of their experience. 'Well, he will have to wait.'

'Why?' asked Paula.

'Because I need a lot more information about what he is up to.'

He slowed down, cruising. He had reached the roundabout south of Stoborough Green, had spotted Pete Nield parked in his Sierra, apparently reading a newspaper. Tweed continued cruising so Butler wouldn't lose them after instructing Nield.

Behind them Eve had been aware of the motorcyclist following the Jaguar behind her. The rider had kept his visor down so she couldn't see his face. She also missed seeing Pete Nield as she forced herself to drive like a snail behind Newman's car.

As soon as Butler caught them up Tweed increased speed. Reaching the junction below Corfe Castle and before entering the village he turned right onto a quiet country road signposted Church Knowle – Kimmeridge. He slowed down. At intervals along this road he knew there were isolated cottages and very little traffic. The sort of road where children ran out without looking.

'Where are we going now?' Paula asked.

'Didn't you see the signpost? Eventually it is a dead end if the firing range operated by the Army is being used for target practice. Mostly tanks. Kimmeridge is a tiny place near the edge of the sea. Buchanan certainly won't be using this road.'

He was almost crawling round sharp bends and then on into open country. To their right a range of the Purbecks climbed steeply in grassy slopes, hemming in the road, which was little more than a tree-lined lane.

Tweed was passing a house, back from the road with land in front of it, when he signalled, stopped the car.

'What is it?' Philip called out.

'Well, I'll be damned,' replied Tweed, who rarely swore even mildly. 'I'm sure that chap outside this house is Keith Kent, the money tracer. I'd no idea he had a place down here. Let's go and have a chat with him…'

Newman switched off his engine, got out, and stood, as Tweed went down the long path to meet him. He recognized Keith Kent too, despite the fact that previously he had only seen him immaculately garbed as a City gent. He frowned as he watched.

Kent, despite the cold, wore a check shirt rolled up to his elbows and a pair of old corduroy trousers. He was chopping wood, slicing up a tree trunk. His arms were sinewy and he swung a heavy axe high into the air without any apparent effort. The axe thundered down, split a huge log into two. He was lifting the axe again when he saw his visitor.

'Hello, Tweed.' He greeted him in an upper-crust accent which was entirely unaffected. 'Good to see you. I'd stay where you are for a moment. Wood chips can fly off at an angle and do you no good at all.'

The large axe was whipped up in a fresh arc, brought down with great speed, sliced straight through a huge log. Interesting, Newman was thinking to himself. Kent laid down the axe, turned to greet his visitors with a broad smile.

A slim man, of medium height, he was in his late thirties, early forties. Clean-shaven, he had thick dark hair, neatly trimmed, and shrewd grey eyes. He shook hands after wiping them on his trousers while Tweed made introductions. Suddenly aware that someone was standing close behind him, Tweed turned to find Eve waiting with a bleak look.

'Oh, and this is Eve Warner, a friend of Philip's. Keith Kent.'

Eve held out her hand after Kent had extended his own with an apology.

'Hope my mitts aren't sticky. Welcome to Bradfields. Excuse the attire. We ain't given to puttin' on nice duds down 'ere,' Kent explained with a grin as he mimicked a Cockney. 'Coffee, everyone? I could drink a litre. Come inside…'

The old house was built of brick covered with whitewash and with a thatched roof above the first floor. Inside Kent ushered them straight into a large living room with ancient leather armchairs scattered about, invited them all to sit down.

'I'll just make the coffee. How do you like it?'

'Black for me.' Eve chimed in quickly. 'No sugar.'

'I'll give you a hand,' Paula said, following Kent. She noticed Eve had sat down in a chair with her legs crossed, obviously with no intention of giving her host any aid. She heard Tweed say something which struck her as odd because she had seen him complete the task.

'Don't think I locked the car. Be back in a moment.'

With all the others inside he hurried down the path into the road. Butler was perched astride his machine just out of sight of the property. Tweed walked briskly up to him.

'I hoped you'd come out.' Butler said. 'I left my car hidden down a track near Studland. I'd like to go back there now and retrieve it.'

'Do that. Then go back to the Black Bear and I'll be in touch. Where did you get the Fireblade?'

Butler explained what had happened briefly when he had seen the escorted limo with tinted windows pass him after coming over via the ferry.

'You did well. Very well. Look after yourself…'

When he returned to the house he made for the kitchen. It struck him as odd that there was no sign with the name Bradfields. Paula was pouring coffee from a large jug into cups on a tray.

'Look,' she said, 'Wedgwood. Keith has some lovely chinaware.'

'Keith indulges himself when he can't afford to,' Kent said and grinned. 'If you can put some work my way it would be welcome.'

'Investigate where Leopold Brazil gets all his money from.' Tweed whispered. 'It's urgent.'

They went into the living room with Kent insisting on carrying the heavy tray. Paula served coffee, not looking at Eve as she filled her cup. Not that Eve noticed: she was too busy chatting up Bill Franklin. Philip didn't look too happy at her enthusiasm.

Tweed sat in an armchair, sipped his coffee, and let the others do the talking. He noticed Philip's annoyance but he also noticed that he was scanning the room, looking for clues to Kent's personality and interests. He was doing his job.

Newman appeared relaxed, glancing first at his host and then at Franklin and was unusually quiet. Along one wall were shelves crammed with books from floor to ceiling. He had just seen that a number dealt with the history of old British banks when the house shook. Thump! Thump! Thump…! Six times altogether.

'What on earth is that?' Eve cried out. 'It sounded like thunder but then again it didn't.'

'Not to worry.' their host assured her. 'It's the tank range at nearby Lulworth practising. Gunfire from the tanks. At Bovington Camp, to be precise.'

'I wouldn't like to live here.' she said tactlessly.

'Oh, you get used to it. Like living near a railway line.'

Tweed leaned across, laid a finger on Kent's arm to attract his attention. He kept his voice low while the others continued chattering away.

'Keith, could we go for a short walk? I'd like to stretch my legs and get your opinion on an insurance problem.'

The reference to insurance was for Eve's benefit. Already Tweed suspected she had the gift of listening to one conversation and eavesdropping on another. Kent asked her, as he stood up, had she got a good job in London.

'A very good job.' Her eyes gleamed. 'In security. I can't give you any details. I had to sign a piece of paper.'

The Official Secrets Act? Tweed wondered. He stood up as Kent prepared to leave, opening a cupboard and taking out an expensive suede jacket which looked as though it had not been worn before. He apologized as he slipped it on.

'Hope you don't mind my leaving you for a few minutes. I am the host, I know…'

'I'll look after everyone,' Paula said quickly.

'Then I'd like some more coffee,' Eve said casually.

As they walked down the path from the house Kent gestured towards the land on either side, scruffy grass which was waterlogged.

'Step off this path and you're into a quagmire. I hear it's been raining solidly for a week. Dorset is under water. Lucky I've got that stone patio near the house or I wouldn't have been chopping logs. Now, what is it you really want to talk to me about?'

'You've heard about Sterndale Manor going up like a torch?' Tweed asked.

'No, I only got down here from Heathrow soon after the crack of dawn. You were lucky to catch me.'

'Heathrow? Been on your travels again, Keith?'

'Just a short trip to Paris. Waste of time. My potential client wouldn't give me enough data to go on. I insisted he paid my expenses. Bloody nuisance. I came back on the first flight and hared down here to get away from it all. But you've something on your mind. Is it to do with my checking on Leopold Brazil?'

'Yes. Of course you know about bearer bonds?' Tweed enquired.

'Usually issued by the big international oil companies. Other large conglomerates, too. They're a way of moving – or storing – really large sums of money. A single bearer bond can be worth a huge amount of money. The weakness is you have to guard them like gold – they have nothing on them to show the owner. So they're totally negotiable anywhere in the world. One bond could be worth six figures in pounds. You know this. Why are they significant?'

'Because General Sterndale, who perished in the inferno along with his son, Richard, kept the bulk of the bank's capital in a large old safe in his house.'

'God! Does that mean Sterndale will go bust if the bonds have been reduced to ashes?'

'No. Apparently he kept enough funds at his different branches to keep them solvent.'

'How do you know this?'

'Someone I trust who was close to him told me. But I'm wondering if the bonds were no longer in that safe. A number of other private banks in Europe have had bearer bonds stolen, especially in France and Switzerland…'

That's true.'

'Check out what form their capital was in.'

'This is concerned with my checking out Leopold Brazil?'

'Yes. Where did he get all this money from is the big question. And watch your back.'

'Will do. I'd better warn you this is going to cost you.'

'Bill me.'

'When you leave you ought to drive on to Kimmeridge. An interesting chap lives in a tiny cottage called the Bird's Nest. Useful bloke. I bumped into him in Paris. He's called Archie…'