The Savage Gorge

NINE

They were driving slowly along the hedge-lined lane leading to the Village when Paula glanced at the slim leather executive case Tweed had taken into Hobart

House but had never opened.

'That wouldn't contain those photos Hector gave you – the pics of the two murdered women looking normal?' 'It does.' 'I'm surprised you didn't show them to Lord

Bullerton.'

'Not when Sable and Margot were about.' 'What did you think of Margot? Bit of a wild cat.' 'Sisters often dislike, even hate each other. I thought that Sable was being provocative, the way she fingered her diamond brooch when she came into the drawing room.'

'I rather liked Sable.'

'Maybe,' he replied, 'but you know your own gender.'

'I also thought it odd when Falkirk turned up. Looking for a job? Could it be his host covered him by giving that as a reason? I'm wondering who has hired Falkirk.'

'A number of candidates. Lord Duller ton. Chief Inspector Reedbeck or Archie MacBlade, to name just some prospects… Look in front. I don't believe it.'

A battered grey Fiat had shot out from a gap in the hedge in front of them. Harry Butler, at the wheel, waved to them as he drove at their pace into the Village High Street, turning right towards Gunners Gorge.

'Now where has Harry been the past few hours?' Paula mused.

'I expect he'll tell us.' They had entered Gunners Gorge and Harry drove under the arch leading to the car park of the Nag's Head. 'He may have information from London…'

Parked in one corner was a new Maserati. Harry pointed to it as they stood next to their vehicles.

'That means Lance Mandeville is floating around somewhere – Bullerton's twenty-year-old athletic son. Polite, I gather he is popular in town. I've got something for you, Tweed. It came by courier. I persuaded him to give it to me by showing him my identity folder.'

Tweed broke the seal on the envelope Harry handed him. A brief note from Howard, then a large document on hand-made paper. He scanned it quickly, then passed it to Paula.

'Professor Saafeld's preliminary autopsy report. Now we know how those two women were slaugh tered.'

'Do we?' Paula asked after reading the document Tweed had handed to her. 'Chloroform?'

'Saafeld found traces of it in the nostrils and mouth of the woman murdered in the house next to Lisa Clancy's – but none on the other woman, who was murdered in the house round the corner. The killer had reconnoitred the area earlier. He'd seen the second victim took a lot of time making that lock on her door work. He attacks the other one first by pres sing a pad soaked with chloroform over her nose and mouth. He then cuts her throat, ruins her face. Darting round the corner, he finds his second target trying to get her key to work, comes up behind her, swiftly hauls back her long hair, uses his knife.'

'I must be thick. You're right…' Paula still had half her mind on the tunnel she'd discovered on Black Gorse Moor, something she still hadn't mentioned to Tweed.

'More news,' Harry reported tersely. 'I know who fired the bullet at you on your way to Hobart House. Lepard.'

'So a lot of money is changing hands among the killer thugs,' Tweed commented. 'Which means we're looking for someone with wealth. ..'

'And you are the target,' Harry warned. 'Lepard fired from behind a hedge. I was close behind in my car. I drove straight through a gap to get him. He was too quick – sped off aboard a Harley-Davidson.'

'How can you be sure it was Lepard?' Tweed demanded.

'He's half-French, half-British, as I explained. Bob Newman was an ace international reporter and he's still very good at description. Lepard is slim, clean shaven, with a sallow complexion. I know it was him because he turned to look at me before vanishing over a slope. News gets worse.'

'That's right, Harry,' Paula joked, 'cheer us up…'

'Newman has been back to check with his East End informant. All the killer thugs have been put on instant standby. My guess is they'll be up here any day – after Lepard failed to get you.'

'Then call Bob and tell him I want the whole team ready to come up here pretty damn fast.'

'Consider it done.'

Harry dived back into his car, drove slowly out under the arch.

'I was right,' said Tweed as they walked back into the hotel. 'And someone up here is reporting our every move. We have stumbled into something very big.'

The landlord, Bowling, was not behind his reception counter, which was unusual. Paula spotted a guest perched on a sofa, studying some kind of chart. He folded it quickly and stood up. Archie MacBlade.

'We're starting to bump into each other,' he said with a warm smile. 'For me that is a pleasure.'

'Do you often visit Gunners Gorge?' she asked casually.

'Occasionally. It is quiet and gets me away from the world.' He turned to Tweed with an unusual expression in his eyes. 'You have an enigmatic visitor waiting to see you in the lounge. A Lance Mandeville, son of Lord Bullerton.'

'Mandeville?'

'That's the family name.' He glanced round the reception area, checking that they were alone, then produced a business card, scribbled a name on the back, tucked it inside Tweed's top pocket. 'That's a tip you might like to follow up. Mr Hartland Trent. Has a sense of humour – lives at Twinkle Cottage, Primrose Steps. Turn right when you leave the hotel. The flights of steps instead of roads climb the hill. He's halfway up the third flight. Must go now.'

'One second,' Tweed said quickly. 'What does Trent do?'

'Landowner and astute businessman. The only trustworthy man in the Gorge. Really must fly…'

'I don't think he likes Lance,' Paula whispered. 'Did you see his expression when he stared directly at you?'

'Not a question of liking would be my interpretation of the odd expression.'

'Well, come on,' she urged, squeezing his arm. 'So what would be your interpretation?'

'More like a warning.'