The Main chance

30

Tweed felt exhausted. He walked over to the drinks cabinet, took out a glass and the cognac bottle. He poured himself a modest drink. He had not slept well. The faces of the different inhabitants of the manor had kept appearing. Which one?

The door opened quietly and Paula came in, the sheaf of newspapers tucked under her arm. She paused as Tweed turned, sipped at his drink. She chuckled. `She road-blocked you, didn't she?' `The most unsatisfactory interrogation I've ever conducted. Yes, she road-blocked me every time,' he admitted as he sat at the table. `I thought she would,' Paula observed, sitting opposite him. 'She's the cleverest person living here. Shall I wait before I show you the papers?' `No. My head has cleared. Show me them now.' `Typically, Lavinia arranged the papers in date order, so the most recent comes last…'

Tweed took the pile of newspapers from Paula and began to skim through the front pages of each paper. The headlines were huge.

RICHEST BANKER IN WORLD HORRIFICALLY MURDERED MAIN CHANCE'S BELLA MAIN: THROAT BRUTALLY SLASHED LADY OF NIGHT MURDERED BY SAME METHOD AS BELLA MAIN

`Oh Lord,' Tweed muttered, 'and now we have Drew Franklin after us. How the devil did he find out so quickly about Mrs Carlyle? In three days he's blown the lid off the case. We can expect trouble from London.'

The phone rang. Tweed glanced at Paula, picked it up. It was Lavinia, calm as ever despite the news she had to impart. `Commander Buchanan is on the line. He does sound a bit worked up. I'll put you through then get off the line.' `Yes?' said Tweed. `What the devil's going on down there?' Buchanan shouted. 'Have you see the papers, the headlines? All hell is breaking loose up here. I've had a cabinet minister on the phone – he is probably a discreet depositor in the Main Chance. He urged me to take you off the case, to hand it over to Chief Inspector Hammer. I refused his request, explained you now knew more about the case than anyone. But have you a suspect? Can you break the case in the next twenty-four hours? The City are getting nervous. Somehow they have picked up a rumour that a fabulously rich foreigner is going to bid a fortune for the bank. That would put whoever it is in a position to use Main Chance to buy up some of the big British banks. This case is now becoming international. Tweed, are you still there?' `Yes,' Tweed replied calmly. 'Have you got the spleen out of your system? I've sent my Director, Howard, reports early in the mornings. You know he never gets to bed early. And he's good at soothing down politicians, so suggest he has a chat with this anonymous cabinet minister. I have no more to say. Thank you for the call.' "There's a lot of detail in the text,' Paula told Tweed. `Bob Newman, a top reporter, is a friend of Franklin's. Maybe he could get Drew to go easy.' `Not possible,' said Newman who had entered, had heard her suggestion. 'Drew is a friend of mine but basically he's a reporter. He won't soft-pedal a big story like this for anyone. He's a real professional.' `We're in a real mess then,' Paula commented. `No, we're not,' Tweed said decisively. 'The problem is still the same. Clearly Drew has an informant here, so who is it? Someone Drew offered a tempting sum of money to tell him when given a hint of the scope of the story.' `So what do we do?' `Nothing about the leak. For the moment. But I'm going to continue stirring everybody here up. Something is going to break…'

He stopped talking as Harry hurried into the library and began speaking quietly close to Tweed. `Something's happening. You know that arched entrance we found had been unblocked? Well, outside now there's a trail of dried blood leading along the path to that big chalk pit.' `Alert the whole team.' `I have done. They're all on their way there.' `So are we.'

Marler, holding his Armalite, and Newman were on the manor side of the arched gate when Tweed arrived with Paula. Harry pushed past them, peered out, Walther in his hand. He nodded. All clear. `The path leads direct to the big chalk pit. Abandoned long ago would be my guess.' `We'll follow it,' Tweed ordered. `Could be another trap,' Harry warned. `Good. Time we met the enemy face to face.'

Harry led the way, crouched over the trail, followed closely by Tweed and the rest of the team. The weather had changed drastically. The sun was gone. In its place a still white mist enshrouded The Forest. Trees were vague silhouettes. Tweed paused, bent down, ran his finger lightly over one of the occasional large dried splashes of blood. He sniffed it, cleaned his finger quickly with his handkerchief. `Funny sort of blood,' he told Paula and Marler who had now caught up with him. 'Not like human blood.'

Then he began running to catch up with Harry. Behind him Paula marvelled at the speed and agility Tweed was moving at. Not long ago they had attended a refresher course at the secret training mansion hidden away in Surrey – climbing ropes, crawling through large drainpipes and all the rest. They always called the chief trainer Sarge but the normal trainer had been on holiday. In his place was another tough Sarge who liked martial arts. Tweed disliked martial arts, regarding them as a waste of time. As the new Sarge was dancing about prior to attack Tweed had leapt straight at him fist clenched, hitting him a heavy blow on the jaw. The trainer collapsed, was taken to hospital with a broken jaw. End of course.

Paula recalled this as she saw Tweed catching up with Harry who was now moving fast. She didn't like the atmosphere as they continued along the snaking path. The mist made it difficult to see what was a tree or a man.

They had covered a long distance when Harry stopped, held up a hand. `We're very close to the huge chalk pit. The Forest stops suddenly and there's a clear ground, an open slope to the edge of the pit.' `It isn't just huge,' Marler drawled. 'I've seen it. More like an amphitheatre. There's a small hilltop over to the right. The perfect lookout point. I suggest we get up there first.'

Harry led the way up to the hilltop followed by the others. Tweed ignored the advice. He paused to glance round. Over to his left a remote stand of giant firs extended towards the edge, creating large black shadows. One especially dark shadow he assumed was a large boulder. Walther in his right hand, he began to descend the slope alone.

An amphitheatre? Marler had been right. The pit was vast and deep. On the far side were the remnants of a rusty crane. It had, years ago, obviously been used to haul up chalk and drop it into waiting trucks.

There was a sinister silence over the whole abandoned area. Tweed continued walking down the slope. He waited to check the interior of the pit. There could be men with rifles waiting down there. His boots crunched on chalk as he reached the edge, peered over. Lord, it was over a hundred feet down. At the base to his right and left were immense piles of powdered chalk. He heard something to his right.

On the hilltop Marler had restrained Paula from calling out. He had simply placed a hand over her mouth. `Do not distract him,' he warned. `But Harry has just said the cliff is unstable,' she whispered furiously from behind the hand.

At the edge, Tweed stared at the black shape he'd assumed was a boulder. Something large – a black cloak – was thrown to one side and a man with a face of crinkled skin was on him, a large wide-bladed knife in one hand, raised to strike. It happened very quickly. Calouste himself.

Tweed dropped his Walther. Calouste was too close to use it. His right hand whipped up, grasped his opponent's knife hand, slid instantly higher to the forearm, pressing a certain nerve. They were struggling on the edge of eternity, swaying back and forth. The brutal knife was still in the hand of the killer. Tweed was surprised at the killer's strength.

His left hand darted upward, two stiffened fingers extended, aimed at his opponent's eyes. His right hand tightened its grip on the nerve. His opponent grunted with pain and his fingers clasping the knife loosened their grip. He jerked his head back away from Tweed's pointed fingers.

Tweed jabbed them savagely forward, still aimed at the eyes. Both men were arched backwards over the precipitous drop. Tweed forced himself back. His opponent came with him. Tweed's right hand dug deeper into the nerve. The knife fell from the hand, slithered down into the chalk pit. Loss of his weapon seemed to take the strength out of the killer.

On the hilltop Paula suddenly started running down the slope in a desperate effort to save Tweed. No one had been able to shoot. The bodies of the two men struggling were too close together.

Marler took off, his long legs taking giant strides. Reaching Paula, he fell on her, pinning her to the ground. She yelled at Marler, `Bastard!' `You'll distract Tweed if he has to worry about saving you,' Marler told her.

Tweed raised one leg, scraped his boot down the killer's shin. A grunt of pain. Tweed's boot continued down the shin. He put all his force into crushing the killer's foot. A scream of agonizing pain. The killer's arms gripping Tweed's body released him. At that moment Tweed's left hand clawed at the killer's face, felt softness. The leather mask he had been wearing came away in Tweed's hand, exposing the face of a younger man.

The killer's back was now facing the edge. Tweed used both hands to shove hard against his chest. The killer's body sailed over the brink, legs twirling as he sank down and down. Tweed watched as the body reached the bottom, falling on a rock. The body, legs splayed, lay very still. He heard Harry shouting, both hands cupped round his mouth. `Get well back now! The cliff's unstable!'

Tweed turned round, took a mighty leap, his legs trembling as he landed on hard rock. Behind him he heard a rumbling sound. He glanced back. At least a foot of where he had been standing had disappeared. There was a deep thud from the base as tons of cliffs reached the bottom, engulfing the body of the killer forever.

Marler had released Paula. He was trying to help her up, but she brushed aside his helping hands. Instead she used her own to wipe remnants of chalk off her clothes. `Who the devil was that?' Tweed asked, still holding the pliable mask in his hands. 'I thought it was Professor Heathstone we met at Pike's Peak Hotel.' `Look at it,' said Harry.

A white cloud of powdered chalk was rising above the brink, the result of the enormous fall of the chalk cliff. Tweed nodded, his manner fresh and brisk. `Our next job is to kill the real Calouste. I'm sure he's still hidden away at Shooter's Lodge, awaiting the good news that I'm dead.'