Colin Forbes - The Greek Key

He continued to move the light over the solid wooden gates. On the roadside was a grille covering each slab of wood. Reaching over to the rear seat, he grasped a heavy wooden walking stick he had purchased in Dunster. He was never sure afterwards what had made him do this.

'Let's investigate,' he said, switched off the engine and extracted the ignition key.

He locked the car before walking round it to join Paula who stood staring at the gates. Carrying the stick in his right hand, the light in his left, he swivelled the beam to the side of the right-hand gate and saw a bell-push. He pressed firmly with his thumb and they waited.

In the distance beyond the wall there was the sound of a door being opened, a door which creaked loudly in the heavy silence of the mist-bound night. Footsteps approached with a brisk tread across what sounded like a cobbled yard. Suddenly a ferocious snarl murdered the night, followed by barking.

'My God, what's that?' Paula asked.

'Guard dog.'

'Sounds as though it's short of food – and thinks we'd make a good dinner.'

'Who is it?'

A cultured voice. Terse. Commanding. Talking at them through a small window flap opened in the right-hand gate.

'My name is Tweed. Are you Mr Kearns?'

'Yes. What do you want?'

'Special Branch. I want a talk with you. Now.'

'You have identification?'

'Of course. Wait a minute.' The unseen animal was growling, its claws pawing at the inside of the gate. It couldn't wait to get out. Paula shivered. Tweed produced his card, held it up to the spyhole, shone his torch on it.

'Stand quite still when I open the gate. Move and you'll be torn to pieces.'

'Charming,' Paula mumbled under her breath.

The flap slammed shut. A sound of bolts being withdrawn, the turn of a key and the right-hand gate swung inward. They were still faced with the heavy iron grille. Tactfully, Tweed switched off his light. Also, he wanted to regain his night vision. He felt Paula tense beside him.

The tall figure of a man stood inserting a key into the grille with his left hand. His right gripped a chain holding a huge dog. The creature became excited again, baying and snarling, lunging forward.

'Quiet, Wolf,' the crisp voice commanded. 'Come in. He's harmless …'

'You could have fooled me,' Tweed rapped back.

'And who is this girl? Not also Special Branch? She can wait in the car.'

'She can come in with me, for God's sake. She's not waiting by herself out here in the middle of nowhere. And she is Special Branch. My assistant, Paula Grey…'

As this exchange took place Kearns was closing the grille and the gate, relocking everything. Tweed wandered up the slope paved with stone flags towards the house. Over a hundred years old if it was a day. Paula kept pace, anxious to distance herself from Wolf, which she had now identified as an Alsatian.

'Wait here,' Tweed said as they reached the steps up to the front door. 'Back in a moment.'

He walked swiftly in his rubber-soled shoes round the left side of the stone hulk. At the entrance to a wide passage a horse had recently relieved itself on the stones. Rounding the corner, he was confronted with a stable door, the upper flap open. A horse's head regarded him, poked itself further over the flap and whinnied softly. Tweed held out a hand, stroked its neck. Its smooth hair was wet. It had been ridden hard. And not long ago.

'Leave him alone. What are you poking round here for?'

Kearns' voice was harsh, demanding. He moved as quietly as Tweed. Turning, Tweed smiled apologetically, made a dismissive gesture.

'I'm fond of horses,' he lied. 'That's a very fine animal…'

'Come back to the proper entrance.' The Alsatian, snarling like a mad dog, lunged for Tweed, who instinctively raised his walking stick. Held by an expanding lead, it almost reached Tweed and Kearns hauled him back. 'Prowl round here and Wolf will have your guts for garters.' Kearns made the statement in a calm tone.

Tweed followed Kearns at a distance. He switched on the flashlight as though picking his way. To the side of the paved area rough uncut grass and weeds cluttered the earth up to the base of the wall. His beam reflected off something metallic. Pausing, he prodded carefully with the stick. There was a grinding clash of metal. Two sabre-like blades, saw-toothed, sliced across the lower end'of his stick. Kearns swung round.

'What the hell do you think you're playing at?'

'You tell me.'

'You just released a trap. We keep chickens and we're plagued with vermin – foxes and such like off the moor. That could have amputated your leg.'

'Let's go inside then. As you suggested…'

Inside, a bleak square hall was dimly lit with a forty-watt bulb. The woodblock floor was highly polished, doors led off the hall and a wide oak staircase climbed to a landing before turning to the next flight. From a door at the rear a blonde woman in her thirties appeared smoking a cigarette in an ivory holder.

She had a good figure, wore a powder-blue blouse with a high neck and a classic pleated cream skirt. She watched Tweed with a speculative eye, ignoring Paula. Kearns' mouth tightened.

'My wife, Jill. We have gatecrashers.'

'Would you like some refreshment?' she enquired, still eyeing Tweed. 'Coffee? Maybe something to drink…'

Her voice was soft, husky, but Kearns answered for her.

'Not necessary. They won't be staying long. Better come into the mess,' he told Tweed.

'He means the dining room,' Jill explained. She stroked her shoulder-length hair with one hand.

'In here,' Kearns went on. 'Sit down. Both of you.'

The rectangular-shaped dining room was oak-panelled, had an oak dining table and was illuminated by another forty-watt bulb inside an old-fashioned shade suspended high above the table. An atmosphere of spartan gloom pervaded the room. Tweed and Paula sat on chairs at the table while Kearns took up a standing position.

'First, I'd like to see your identification again,' he demanded.

Tweed handed him the card and studied their host while he examined the document. Kearns was over six feet tall, a lean and rangy man with a clean-shaven face and strong bone structure. He stood very erect in front of the fireplace which was laid with logs but unlit. Paula suppressed a shiver. It was chilly.

Kearns was in his sixties but he had worn well. His hair was still dark, his complexion was deeply tanned. He carried himself with an air of complete self-assurance and his eyes were like two brown marbles. Never off parade, Tweed thought drily.

He was clad in a pair of dark slacks, sharply creased, and a navy blue polo-necked cashmere sweater. There were traces of dried mud on his dark brown shoes, the only flaw in his otherwise impeccable appearance. He dropped the card on to the table so Tweed had to reach forward to retrieve it.

'Get to the point,' Kearns said.

'I'm investigating an unsolved murder which took place over forty years ago in the Middle East.'

'Oh, that macabre Ionides killing in Cairo. Can't help you. Why bring that up now?'

'Because it may be linked with the recent murder of one of our people. In Greece. At Cape Sounion. Know it?'

'No.'

Kearns stood with his feet slightly apart, hands clasped behind his erect back. He glanced at Paula who was taking notes in her book on the table. She had kept her expression blank during Kearns' reply. This was the first reference to Ionides.

'There, are two of you,' Kearns decided. 'Bad tactics to be outnumbered. I also need a witness…' He walked quickly to the closed door, opened it, called out. 'Jill, come and join us. Just sit and listen with that remarkable memory of yours. Sit there.' He made brief introductions.

As he returned to his position in front of the fireplace Jill Kearns, still smoking, carrying a porcelain ash tray, sat at the head of the table. She studied Paula, who stared straight back. Hackles rising, Tweed noted.