The Savage Gorge

TWENTY THREE

Alighting from the Audi inside the garage they met Marler, just emerging from the hotel. He gave them both a mock salute.

'I've been on the prowl, as Harry would say. Checking on the suspects,' he drawled. 'Falkirk, famous private detective, is in his room. On same floor as yours, Tweed. Archie AlacBlade is having a drink in the Silver Room. See you.'

'The Silver Room?' queried Tweed. 'How many bars in this place?'

'In order of low to high -' Paula counted on her fin gers – 'a saloon bar, only really patronized in the evening. Public bar, more popular with local work men. Top of the tree, the luxurious Silver Room with prices to match.'

'I see. Let's get up to my suite. I need to think about what happened at Hobart House. May ask you to take notes…'

He was on the landing, heading for his suite, when Falkirk walked towards them on his way out. He nodded to Paula. She had sensed that Tweed's normally exceptional energy had reached a ferocious pitch. He was in no mood to put up with nonsense from anyone. He stood in front of Falkirk, blocking his exit.

'A word with you, Falkirk. In my suite.'

'Not convenient, old boy. I am just -'

'I mean now! '

'Not convenient.'

Tweed grabbed him tightly by the collar with one hand, with the other he handed Paula the key to his suite. She ran to open his door. He was pushing Falkirk backwards along the corridor, into his suite and across the room, where he threw him bodily into an armchair backed against the wall. Falkirk leapt up instantly, grabbed Tweed's throat and started to strangle him. Paula stood by. She knew Tweed would want to sort this out himself. With both hands he grasped Falkirk's arms above the elbows, pressed both hands against certain nerves. Pain appeared on Falkirk's face. He released his hands from Tweed's throat and was hurled back into the armchair. Again he leapt up, right legs raised to kick his opponent in the crotch. Tweed avoided the vicious kick, moved to one side, grasped Falkirk by the shoulders and threw him with some force against the wall. Paula heard his head contact the wall. Falkirk's eyes glazed over as he slid down.

Tweed bent down. He checked the carotid artery, then his pulse. He spoke to Paula over his shoulder.

'Conscious, just stunned. Could you get me a glass of water?'

Paula ran to the fridge. From a carafe she poured a large glass, handed it to Tweed. By now he had hoisted Falkirk off the floor and dropped him back into the armchair. He handed the glass to Falkirk, who was sagged against the chair's back.

'You sip this slowly,' Tweed ordered. 'After six sips you can drink a modest amount.'

Falkirk smiled wanly after drinking most of the glass, gazing at Tweed.

'They said you were tough. By George, they were right. What's now?' he asked in a normal voice.

Tweed carried a hard-backed chair close to Falkirk. He turned it round, sat with both arms resting on the top in front of him, his voice harsh during the inter rogation.

'Who hired you?'

'Lizbeth Mandeville, younger sister of the two murdered women.'

'You were the first person she approached?'

'No, she'd called the Yard.'

'Where from?'

'She's smart. From a public phone box.'

'What did Lizbeth say to them?'

'That there were two murdered mutilated women lying outside on the steps of a house at the end of Lynton Avenue.'

'What was their reaction?'

'Bloody terrible. The very rough policeman who answered asked for her name, address and where she was calling from.'

She got Reedbeck, Paula said to herself.

'She was furious, demanded when they were sending a patrol car. The rough-mannered policeman simply repeated his questions. She slammed the phone down on him. In the box she noticed a booklet someone had left listing private detectives. She took it home. For some weird reason she liked the name of my firm, called me. I buzzed straight over to her, middle of the night.'

'First you checked the corpses?'

'I did not. Lizbeth sounded scared out of her wits. We had an arrangement – at her suggestion. I wore a red tie and had a folded newspaper under my left arm. Lizbeth is smart. Re. corpses, I did see the one on the steps of the next-door house. Horrible. Her face was destroyed. Must be a sadist…'

'Or there could be another motive,' Tweed said. 'Go on. What happened next?'

'Rolls-Royce turns up, hardly moving when it passes the corpse. Checked the plate number later. Private car owned by Neville Guile, the billionaire. Bit weird. He had the tinted window down, was peering out towards the corpse. Then he cruises off round the corner where later I found the other sister mangled.'

'Then what?'

'Two police cars turn up. One with the technicians, the other with Speedy Reedbeck – only two hours after Lizbeth's call.'

'After that?'

'You know. I was falsely arrested by Reedbeck.'

'What I don't yet know,' Tweed continued in the same aggressive manner, 'is how you knew about Hobartshire.'

'Lizbeth told me all about where she had been brought up. She refused point blank to go up here with me. The prospect made her tremble. She thinks the murderer lives there.'

'All your story -' Tweed stood up – 'can be checked out with Lizbeth, who is now travelling north to Hobartshire under armed guard.'

'Is that wise?' queried Falkirk prior to leaving.

Til decide what is wise. I may have to see you later.'

'Can't decide what I need first,' their visitor remarked as Paula opened the door. 'A good hot bath or a really strong Scotch.'

'The bath first,' Paula told him firmly. 'His story appeared to fit the facts precisely,' she remarked after relocking the door.

'I've decided we'll have our planned supper with Archie MacBlade in the dining room. It's claustro phobic up here.'

Paula phoned the dining room for a quiet table. Then she got through to Archie, who accepted with enthusiasm. As she put down the phone she noticed Tweed was staring into the distance.

'What is it?' she asked.

'Your remark about Falkirk. To my mind, his story fitted just a little too precisely. Almost as though he'd rehearsed it in advance.'