The Savage Gorge

SIXTEEN

Tm stunned,' said Paula.

'Why?' asked Tweed.

' I’d never have guessed that in a hundred years,' she exclaimed.

' Why?' demanded Tweed.

'Because,' MacBlade explained, 'I needed someone first-rate to check on Neville Guile, to find out every thing he could about the villain. I could hardly come to you, Tweed – not with you running your own show, as you always do. We've been discussing Guile's secret island, Noak. The mysterious Noak out on the Gulf Stream.'

'Could be idyllic,' Paula mused. 'Palm trees and coconuts.'

'Or something grimmer,' said Falkirk, with a warm smile.

It was the first time she'd seen Falkirk relax. She found she was beginning to like this tough lean-faced man.

'I need every bit of information you've dug up,' Tweed said very seriously.

There was another tapping on his door. Again he concealed his Walther behind his back before unlock ing the door. Marler was standing outside with a long cardboard roll tucked under his arm. Tweed lowered his voice.

'I have Archie MacBlade and Falkirk with me. Paula too. We are beginning to discuss Neville Guile's secret island, Noak.'

'Which is why I've come to see you. I now know a lot about how to get to the place. There are traps.'

'You'd better come in and join the party, then.'

Introductions were swiftly over. Marler laid the cardboard roll on the cleared table they were now gathered round.

He looked at Tweed for a signal.

'Do I reveal everything I've discovered?'

'Everything,' Tweed assured him.

'This map,' Marler began, 'I obtained from a mariner friend high up in his service. They know of the island's existence but do not know it belongs to Neville Guile. Here goes…'

From the cardboard roll he extracted a large map, spreading it to flatten it. Paula immediately recognized it as showing the western coast of Brittany, the Channel Islands, a vast stretch of the Atlantic with another island well to the west of the Channel Islands group. The island was circled in red.

Near the bottom of the large sheet was another map, a detailed outline of Noak. A drawing on this map showed steep cliffs and a section of dotted lines shaped like a triangle with the narrowed apex ending at a gulch. Marler pointed to the dotted lines projecting into the Atlantic.

'That's the trap,' he explained. 'Guile has sophisti cated radar which picks up any vessel approaching Noak.'

'Is there a gap covering a landing point invisible to this radar system, maybe caused by the high over hanging cliffs?'

'Clever girl,' Marler said with an admiring smile. 'That is where we land without Guile knowing we've arrived. Tricky, but I could manage it.' He looked round the table. 'Presumably the vessel available will be crewed by me and Falkirk?'

'No,' snapped Tweed. 'Has it ample capacity for more people?'

'Yes. It's very roomy. Has a small stateroom.'

'Then it will also be crewed, as you put it, by me, Paula and Harry. We need power in case we come up against guards.'

'True.' Marler stood up, the map rolled and back in its case. 'I've got things to arrange, consult someone about weapons.' Both Tweed and Paula knew he meant Harry, but was being typically cautious since MacBlade and Falkirk were present. He turned at the door.

'Timetable? I can be ready within two days, even by tomorrow.'

'In case of emergency think of tomorrow,' Tweed decided.

MacBlade and Falkirk left soon after him. Paula waited until they were alone before she voiced her doubts.

'Aren't we leaving Gunners Gorge before we've checked it out thoroughly?'

'Yes, we are,' Tweed agreed. 'But Neville Guile is one of a number of strong suspects. I need to find out what he's up to on this mysterious island of Noak. He's rushed off, and my instinct is that he's on his way there.'

'What's next today, then?'

'A visit by both of us to Hobart House. I want to interrogate Bullerton's two daughters, Sable and Margot. Girls can be very observant.' He smiled. 'They have been known to listen unseen at closed doors…'

'I don't like that knife Margot carried concealed in a sheath.'

'Also,' Tweed continued, 'I'd like to grill Mrs Shipton. Something's not right about her. I asked the landlord where she came from. He said out of the blue, no idea where. A year or two after Myra had her so-called accident and went over the falls.'

Inside the garage they found a livid Lord Bullerton pacing back and forth. He addressed Tweed abruptly.

'Would you believe it? My fool of a chauffeur has taken my car to the mechanic way north of the bridge beyond the Gorge. Didn't consult me – just left a note. I'll have his guts for garters!'

'Where were you going?' Tweed enquired.

'Just back to Hobart House. But it's one hell of a walk.'

'We're going there in my car,' Tweed told him. 'Give you a lift.'

'There are some gentlemen left in this mess of a world,' he growled. 'I accept your offer gratefully.'

Paula opened the front passenger door of the Audi, gestured with a smile. He quietened down, gave her a grateful warm smile, climbed aboard as she closed the door and parked herself in the back seat as Tweed took over behind the wheel.

As they were approaching the country road turn-off to Hobart House they saw Mrs Grout watering plant pots placed on either side of her red front door. Bullerton pointed at her and snorted contemptuously.

'Barmy old bag. Crocodiles! '