Colin Forbes - The Savage Gorge

'Could have been swept miles downstream. Time flies. Checked my diary. I told you it was over six years ago when Lady Bullerton went down the gorge. It was nineteen years ago. A year after the birth of Lance. Sorry about that.'

'Forget it. Doesn't matter.'

'There's a path across the grass opposite this hotel. Leads to a stone His Lordship personally had erected. Chose the wording himself. Mustn't hold you up like this.'

'What do you think of all that?' Tweed asked as he drove the Audi back the way they had come in.

'My head's in a whirl. All that information surging in. And Mrs Grout said Lady Bullerton had gone down the falls six years ago. Now Bowling, having said the same thing, corrects it to nineteen years ago.'

'Mrs Grout has most of her marbles but at that age memory can play tricks…'

'Funny that Bowling also said six years ago to start with.'

They had entered the Village and Tweed turned left down a lane bordered by high impenetrable hedges. No sign of Hobart House. There was a sudden loud report and the glass of the window next to Tweed was starred – but the glass remained intact.

'That was a bullet,' Paula hissed. 'Aimed at you.'

Tweed accelerated, risking that there was nothing round the next bend. Paula already had the Browning from her shoulder holster gripped in her lap. She twisted round, stared through the rear window.

'Thank God for Harry's armoured glass. That bullet, the starred glass is in direct line with your head.'

'I was driving slowly,' Tweed remarked calmly, 'so it wouldn't take a top marksman to aim at me.'

'You look pleased,' she snapped. 'Can't imagine why.'

'That bullet is significant. Shows we came to the right area. Someone doesn't like us poking round here. Or,' he suggested amiably, 'maybe it's Lord Bullerton's way of saying welcome to Hobart House.'

The high hedge to their right ended suddenly and Paula sat up. A panoramic view of great beauty opened before them. The hedge had masked a vast green bowl descending down a steep slope. Towards the rear was a single house perched on a small hill.

Tve never seen a more attractive house,' Paula commented.

'Looks to me like an original Georgian,' Tweed replied. 'Which means it's a perfect cube – the length of the front will be the same as the sides.'

'And it has a sea-blue lake in the huge space in front of it.'

'So, we have found Hobart House. I wonder what sort of a reception we'll get…'

He was driving down the steep curving hill as Paula studied the landscape. Some distance behind the house the ground rose to a grim bleak moor covered with gorse, which appeared to be black.

A small brown Ford was parked at the foot of marble steps leading up to a wide terrace. Tweed parked behind it. As they mounted the steps the front door opened, a man walked out, the door closed behind him.

'Falkirk, of all people,' Paula whispered.

The private detective was more smartly dressed than usual. He wore a new leather jacket, a cravat at his neck, well-cut blue trousers. He stared at Paula with a hint of amusement in his alert eyes.

'What a surprise,' he remarked. 'Makes my day to see my favourite girl friend.'

'And that will be your day,' she snapped.

'I guess you must have had me followed,' he sneered. 'Must be an expert shadow. Never saw him. Enjoy yourselves,' he went on, ignoring Tweed, 'I have to get things done.'

'We'll talk later,' Tweed said grimly.

'It will be my pleasure,' Falkirk called out as he jumped athletically behind the wheel of the Ford. He drove off at a dangerous speed up the curving road, leaving a trail of dust in his wake.

'Not now,' Tweed warned as Paula opened her mouth.

He pressed the bell, then raised the polished knocker, rattled it loudly. In less than thirty seconds the door opened and a tall woman dressed in black, with a Roman nose and an unpleasant expression, stood there.

'What is it?' she demanded.

'My name is Tweed. I have to see Lord Bullerton urgently.'

'His Lordship does not see callers without an appointment.'

'I don't make appointments.' Tweed showed her his folder. 'I have to see him now. At once.'

Til inform him you called.'

She slammed the door in his face. Tweed paced the front, then measured the left-hand side. He thought he saw a huge shadow which immediately vanished. He returned as the front door opened again. The tall woman in black eyed Paula with disfavour.

'His Lordship has decided to make an exception in your case. The girl will remain in your car.'

'She is my chief assistant, goes everywhere with me. So she will come with me now.'

'You might have mentioned that earlier. And don't trip over the shag carpet.'

She was referring to the fact that the small panelled hall's floor was covered wall-to-wall with the carpet. Tweed felt his ankles sinking into it. She led them to a door in the right-hand wall, opened it, made her announcement.

'Mr Tweed, sir. Also the female assistant he insisted must accompany him.'

A very large man jumped with surprising agility out of an armchair, walked rapidly across to his visitors, his outsize hand extended in greeting. The head on a thick neck seemed huge. Below thick fair hair his prominent forehead suggested intelligence, beneath his thick eyebrows large blue eyes stared at each of them in turn. His nose was aggressive above a strong mouth and below that jowls were developing.

Paula was taken aback by their host's sheer size, but like many big men his feet were small and neat. His voice was powerful.

'You are so welcome, Mr Tweed. A visitor of great importance who arrived in Gunners Gorge yesterday and is staying at the Nag's Head.'

He was smiling warmly as he shook Tweed's hand and then turned to Paula to shake hers.

'I am losing my manners. I should have greeted the delightful Miss Paula Grey first. Mr Tweed's brilliant aide-de-camp.'

'Lord Bullerton?' she queried, tensing her hand, expecting it to be crushed in his great paw. Instead he squeezed gently, holding on longer than is normal.

'Yes,' he answered her, 'for my sins I am Lord Bullerton. My venerable late father insisted I carry on the line. Three of us so we shall sit round this table. The chairs are very comfortable.' He glanced at the open door where the woman who had let them in stood waiting for orders. 'Mrs Shipton, drinks all round. I'll have a neat double Scotch. Tweed?'

'The same as yourself.'

'Most important of all. Miss Grey?'

'I'd like a French Chardonnay in a small glass.'

'We only serve French,' Mrs Shipton said severely as she walked to a large glass-windowed cupboard which appeared more like a bar.

'And I see you know Mr Falkirk,' Tweed com mented, settled in one of the tapestry-covered carver chairs. 'A private detective.'

Tweed doesn't waste time, Paula thought. Plunges straight in.

'Ah, Falkirk,' Bullerton sighed. 'Touts for business round the shires.'

Mrs Shipton had served the drinks, placing a large cloth mat in front of each of them before perching their drink on top of it.

'At least Mr Falkirk made an appointment,' she snapped, went into the hall, slamming the door behind her.

'Mrs Shipton!' thundered Bullerton.

'Sir?' she called out, reopening the door.

'Point one,' Bullerton continued thundering, 'I can do without your commentaries. Point two, when you leave this room I like the door closed quietly.'

Mrs Shipton, her expression venomous, left again, closing the door without a whisper.

'Your housekeeper?' Paula enquired.

'Shsh!' Bullerton laid a hand on hers. 'House man ager.'

'You seem to have a lot of spies,' Tweed remarked. 'When we arrived you knew a lot about us.'

'Ah! Mr Tweed. You are in the country now. Anyone new and the gossip starts…'