The Savage Gorge

THIRTY

It was an overcast, moonless night when Tweed, with Paula, drove his Audi down the slope to Hobart House beyond the hedge-lined lane. It was incredibly silent, which unsettled Paula.

Few lights glowed. A dim light illuminated the windows of the library. As Tweed parked, Paula thought she saw two vague shadows crossing the bowl. She looked again and there was nothing. Imagination.

Her uncertain observation vanished as the glare lights flooded the terrace and steps. She wondered who would open the door. It was a grim-looking Mrs Shipton, still fully dressed.

'At this hour?' she hissed venomously.

'Kindly let us in,' Tweed said calmly.

'If you've come to see me it's a waste of time. I've just taken a sedative. After all those horrors in Gunners Gorge…'

'So you were there, you witnessed what happened?'

'I've got to get to bed. I have to climb those stairs before the sedative starts working.'

She stood aside, closed the door after them, pointed a finger at the library and began to haul herself up the stairs. They waited to make sure she made it, unless she had lied.

Halfway up the stairs she turned, her arm extended as her long index finger pointed again at the library.

Paula took a firmer grip on the long evidence envelope with the ancient green mop handle inside. Tweed had asked her to be sure to bring it.

Opening the door of the dim-lit library, Tweed walked down the steps, followed by Paula. Seated in an imposing antique chair behind a heavy wooden table was Lance, wearing a smart dark suit. On the table was spread out the chessboard with a game in progress. His face was very white in the poor lighting.

'Good evening, both of you,' he said with a pleasant smile. 'Please join me.'

He gestured towards a large couch pushed close to the side of the table facing him. Paula had difficulty squeezing in the narrow space between table and couch. Tweed experienced the same problem. He looked at Lance as Paula placed the old mop handle at the edge beyond the chessboard. Lance didn't even glance at it. Tweed's voice was grim when he spoke.

'Lance Mandeville, I have come to arrest you for quadruple murder. Anything you say -'

'Oh, I know the old rigmarole,' Lance said amiably. 'But quadruple is four.'

'You started on your career of murder early. You pushed Lady Bullerton into the Falls. Concealed behind Aaron's Rock, you shoved the working end of that mop into her back.'

'Fascinating. I didn't think this was a social call.' He slipped his hand inside his jacket, produced a silver cigarette case. 'Smoke?'

When they both shook their heads he returned the case to his jacket. Tweed continued to speak in his grim tone.

'Your next excursion into murder was locating your missing sisters. You checked their night-time move ments, waited, cut their throats and mutilated their faces so no newspaper pictures would appear appeal ing for identification. Your method was horrible.' Tweed picked up the chess Queen, used both hands to unscrew it round the waist, revealing a long corkscrew. 'Undoubtedly it was made by that brilliant woodworker in the High Street. You probably told him some story about wanting to surprise a party – by unscrewing the Queen and using the corkscrew to open a bottle of wine.'

'Sounds an interesting chap.' Lance smirked. 'Where is his shop?'

'You know. You visited him. He keeps a register of clients. In the High Court the judge can compel him to open the register. That alone will be damning evidence.'

'You clever old thing.' Lance smirked again.

'You killed the two oldest sisters in London because your father teased you about a daughter inheriting the title. You took him seriously so the sisters had to go.'

'Really? They'd have been lousy at the job.'

Paula sat appalled, speechless at the incredible callousness he was displaying.

'You knew about the huge oil field. You are the informant who kept Neville Guile in touch with my activities.'

'He paid well for my information, you know.' Lance's manner towards Tweed became condescend ing.

'Then your final murder victim was Hartland Trent. No point in letting him get a slice of such a gigantic pie. What put me on to you were two things. In this house you struck an attitude that you'd no interest at all in eventually becoming the next Lord Bullerton. Yet in the town, among your host of girl friends, you assured them you would inherit the title. You made a bad mistake a few minutes ago. You referred to the woodworker's shop. I never mentioned that he had one. We have enough evidence to send you down for three life sentences with no option ever for parole.'

'You really are a clever old thing.' He gave a ghastly smile.

Lance had been drinking when they arrived. From the odour drifting across the table Paula thought it was gin. The strange glass he had been using was more like a tankard with a very thick base. He now used it to emphasize what he was saying, hammering it on the table.

'I am a good organizer.' He slid his hand inside his jacket and they expected the silver cigarette case to appear again. Instead, his hand reappeared holding a Walther, which he aimed point-blank at Paula.

'I… am… a… good… organizer,' he began, hammering down the glass.

Paula heard the faint sound of tinkling glass. She looked at the base of the tankard. It was intact.

'Everything is prepared,' he continued, no longer punctuating his words with the glass. 'I expected you to come. I have left a long wide gardener's barrow at the end of the terrace. I'll lay your bodies alongside each other. I have the strength to push its well-oiled wheels up to Black Gorse Moor. There the bodies will be tipped into one of the deep tunnels, then covered with rocks and pebbles.

'Don't make a move, Mr Tweed,' he warned. 'Otherwise the first bullet will ruin Miss Grey's head. Then I shall have ample time to shoot you…'

The explosive bullet removed his whole jaw. Synchronized, two rifle bullets hit him in the chest. Tweed never forgot the macabre scene. In slumping down across the chessboard, Lance's right hand fell on the bisected waist of the Queen.

Paula jerked her head towards the closed red velvet curtains. Window panes smashed. Harry reached in to turn the handle, rifle tucked under his arm, entering the library followed by Marler gripping the Armalite which had fired the explosive bullet.

'I thought it best to take precautions,' Tweed remarked.

'You might have told me,' she protested.

'Then you might not have acted naturally.'

Police sirens howled in the distance. Coming closer to the town from the south.

'That's reinforcements to wipe all the blood from the caves,' Marler said. 'An advance unit arrived earlier. Buchanan is coming himself.'

'I can see him in London,' Tweed said, taking Paula by the arm. 'We'll have a quick snack dinner at the hotel. Set your alarm clock for 6 a.m. I want to be back before dusk.'