Colin Forbes: The Savage Gorge

'Maybe you did,' Tweed said quietly. 'I think you should see this instruction from a Yard commander. It gives me full authority to search this house from roof to cellar.'

'I don't need to see it – after what happened today. Tear the place to pieces. Can't imagine what you'll find. Oh, at the very back of the brush cupboard in the kitchen there is a secret panel. You just push the right-hand side. My personal documents are inside. Read what you want.'

'Who in this house is a good rider?' Tweed enquired.

'All of them. Lance, Sable, Margot and Mrs Shipton. She is a wizard on a horse.'

'Where will I find Mrs Shipton now?'

'In her lair, in the kitchen…'

Tweed tapped lightly on the closed kitchen door. Nothing. He tapped a little louder.

'Go drop off a cliff,' Mrs Shipton's strong voice barked. 'I won't have anyone in here, whoever you are!'

Tweed opened the door quietly. Mrs Shipton stood at the far end of her work table. She had a wide alu minium bowl close to her together with a smaller variety of dishes filled with different ingredients.

'Get out, both of you!' she stormed.

Tweed was holding a document he had unfolded. He waved it at her. Wearing a spotless apron, Mrs Shipton glared at him.

'And what might that be?'

'An authority signed by a Yard commander giving permission for us to search the whole house. Any resistance is a criminal offence.'

'You mean you propose to search my bedroom?' she demanded, her hands on her hips.

'If that becomes necessary I shall not venture inside. Paula alone will enter.'

'You do realize why I'm working this late?' she snapped.

'No idea.'

'Because at this hour His Lordship has decided he'd like me to make his favourite dish. A souffle.'

'He's had a nasty shock today,' Paula said quietly.

'Were you here when it happened?' Tweed demanded, seizing on the opening.

'I suppose I must have been.' Mrs Shipton sat down in a wicker chair. 'He got up exceptionally early I gather for a pre-breakfast ride. Never known him up so early.'

'Anyone else about at that hour?'

'Only the hiker.'

'What was he doing here? Can you describe him, please.'

'About five feet eight tall. Very well dressed, with a pack on his back. Lean and agile. The odd thing was his complexion – very pale. Had a slightly crooked nose. Very polite. Needed a glass of water. I took him through into here, he drank all the water.'

Paula turned her back on Mrs Shipton and mouthed 'Lepard' to Tweed. The description per fectly matched Harry's description of the villain.

'Which route did he follow when he left?' Tweed asked.

'Very considerate. Said he didn't want to risk leav ing mud from his boots on our beautiful carpets. Was there a more direct way out of the kitchen? I pointed him through the back door along that footpath.'

'Does that lead anywhere near the barn where Lord Bullerton mounted his horse before his accident?'

'Yes, it does. Can't see it from here.'

'Would this be a few minutes before Lord Bullerton went to the barn?'

'I've no damned idea.' Her patience snapped as Tweed, with latex gloves on, opened a tall door, real ized it was the broom cupboard with neatly stacked equipment hung by string from hooks on both side walls. 'Don't you go messing that up,' shrieked Mrs Shipton, 'I'm an organized woman and -'

Tweed, shining a powerful torch and now deep inside, heard her switching her tirade on Paula, who was opening several wall cupboards containing expensive crockery. He passed a five-foot-tall metal drum, from the top of which protruded a collection of well-used brushes and mops. Reaching the back wall of white panels, he pressed the right-hand side hard. It swung inward on a central metal pivot. Inside was a cardboard roll, which he extracted.

By the light of his torch he read the legal document quickly. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, refolded the document, slid it back inside the tube, replaced the protective cap and tucked it under his arm.

On his way to the exit he noticed again the drum crammed with used brushes and mops. It was then he noticed a long green rod shoved between them. Its handle was rusted. Still wearing the gloves, he eased the whole handle out. At the working end were rem nants of an ancient mop. His expression became grim.

Walking back into the kitchen, he closed the door. Paula was just closing the last of the cupboards she had searched. She smiled at Tweed, then noticed his expression.

'Find any treasures?' she asked quietly.

'Have you a long enough evidence envelope for this handle?'

'Might have. Let me look in my briefcase.'

In no time she hauled out an envelope folded sev eral times. Extending it, she held it out to Tweed, who slipped the green handle inside. She sealed the top, wrote the date and place on a card attached to the envelope's mouth.

'What do you want that old thing for?' Mrs Shipton demanded. 'Where did you get it?'

'I have never seen such a neat and well-organized kitchen,' Paula told Mrs Shipton when Tweed didn't reply. 'You are such a well-organized person. I know I'm repeating myself but I'm so impressed.'

'Time we left,' Tweed said abruptly, heading for the door leading to the hall. 'Sorry to disturb you, Mrs Shipton.'

Lance met them in the hall. As usual, his eyes roamed over Paula.

'Two odd visitors have arrived to see Father,' he told them. 'Sable, the idiot, answered the door, took them straight to the study. She rushed past me to her room. I asked her who they were. "No idea," she snapped.'

'Did you hear a word either of them said?'

'I was on the landing. They never said a word. One was incredibly tall and thin. He -'

Tweed walked fast across the hall, took hold of the study door, threw it open and entered. Paula was at his heels.

Lord Bullerton was seated at his desk, looking very aggressive. Seated facing him on a couch were Neville Guile and Lepard.

Lord Bullerton looked up. Tweed thought he detected relief in his expression. He raised a clenched fist, crashed it down on his desk.

'Tweed, this man wants me to sell him Black Gorse Moor. I'm not going to do it for any price.'

'A million pounds is a lot of money,' Guile sneered.

'He has also,' Bullerton continued, 'threatened me if I refuse. Look at the thug he's brought with him.'

'I'm a professional carpenter.'

'Look,' Bullerton exploded, 'at his right leg! Just lift the trouser.'

Tweed had already observed the large holster not exposed. In it was sheathed a huge wide-bladed knife. Paula, who had also seen it, had sidled round behind Lepard. In her hand she held the. 32 Browning slipped out of her own leg holster.

Close behind Lepard, she pressed the muzzle hard against the back of his neck. He stiffened. He knew what that meant.

'It would be murder,' he said unconvincingly. 'You'd spend a bad twelve years in Holloway.'

'Don't think so,' said Paula in a hard bitter tone. 'Not with two impeccable witnesses to confirm you were attacking Lord Bullerton.'

'Take it easy,' Guile told Lepard.

'I never do.'

'That's an order I'm giving you,' Guile said in his cut-glass voice.

He was disturbed by the hard tone of Paula's voice. Time to quieten down a dangerous situation.

'Now,' began Paula, talking to Lepard, 'you will do exactly what I tell you. Any tricks and my trigger finger is itchy. Bend slowly forward, undo the straps on your holster. Don't touch that knife.'

Lepard slowly bent down. As he did so Paula kept the Browning's muzzle pressed against his neck. He unfastened the straps, his face a picture of fury. To be humiliated by a woman. He held holster and knife well away from himself.

'Now put it on that table by your side,' Paula ordered. 'I want you to use your elbow to push the whole thing way over that table. That's right. You can sit up straight now.' She looked at Tweed, spoke again to Lepard. 'Don't forget my gun will be inches from your head.'