Colin Forbes: The Savage Gorge

'He'll be asleep at this hour,' she protested.

'No, he won't. He told me he catnaps, then comes downstairs again and plays a game of chess against himself.'

She kept quiet until they reached the turn-off at the beginning of the Village. She leaned forward and chuckled.

'First time I've seen Mrs Grout not scrubbing her steps.'

As they approached the hole in the hedge Harry appeared, his arms waving.

'No trouble so far. Earlier there were couriers from London.'

'We know about them. Stay put. Very much on guard.'

'How else would I do that job!'

Most of the lights were still on in Hobart House. Mrs Shipton, dressed in a coat to go out, opened the door. Her hat was tilted slightly to the right. A woman in a hurry.

'What on earth do you want?' she demanded. 'At this hour!'

'To see Lord Bullerton,' Tweed replied. 'I under stand he has a catnap, then comes down to play chess against himself.'

'Library.'

'Just a moment. Where on earth are you going at this hour?'

'None of your damned business.' She paused. 'This is the only time I can drive round and enjoy the fresh air. All the skivvies are out of the place long ago. Everything is ready for the morning. Anything else for your case book?'

On which note she turned to leave. But Tweed wasn't finished with her yet. He called down the steps.

'I see there's an unmarked police car parked behind yours…'

'Observant, aren't we?' She clutched her Gucci handbag under one arm. 'Sergeant Marden has arrived with Lizbeth. Since his Lordship was asleep, they went straight up to her suite. Marden has excel lent manners – better than some police officers I could name.'

She slipped behind the wheel of a brand-new Renault, slammed the door shut. She drove too fast up the winding road to the lane. Tweed turned to find Lance standing in the doorway. He made an off-hand gesture, looking out at the night rather than his visi tors.

'The library,' he said in a superior tone.

'We know,' Tweed snapped, brushing past him.

This is getting to be familiar territory, Paula thought as Tweed knocked politely, turned the handle and descended the steps. In his smoking jacket Bullerton sat crouched over a table occupied by a chess game in progress. He frowned.

'My dear chap, welcome. And also to you, Paula. The frown was my being puzzled by the state of the game. Join me for a few moves, Tweed?'

He waited patiently while Tweed toured the board, checking it from all angles. Sitting opposite Bullerton, he moved one of his pawns. Bullerton looked perplexed.

While waiting, Tweed picked up the imposing Queen. He used a clean handkerchief to wipe off her waist a tiny mark. Then he placed her back on the board.

'She's a heavy lady,' he remarked, 'but so she should be. She dominates the entire board.'

Bullerton moved one of his pawns. Tweed immedi ately moved one of his. Bullerton stared.

'Checkmate!' said Tweed quietly.

'You're dangerous,' Bullerton said good- humouredly. 'I never saw that coming.'

'Archie MacBlade has told me the whole position,' Tweed explained. 'You're sitting on top of a world- class oil field. Guard it well.'

'I have already acted very quickly. I contacted my top lawyers in London. They worked incredibly fast composing an iron-clad oil trust, then two of them flew up here to the private airfield just the other side of Black Gorse Moor. I signed the document with the lawyers as witnesses. Next bit is very confidential. Trust is registered in the Bahamas where no British government can ever reach it with taxes. The registra tion will move tonight to another tax haven I won't name.'

'That ties it up forever.' Tweed stood up. 'I was hoping you'd moved fast. You have.'

'I gather Lizbeth has arrived under armed guard,' Paula said.

'A wonderful moment when I hugged her and she hugged me back.'

Paula could have sworn there were tears in his eyes.

He used a coloured handkerchief and smiled. 'Your Sergeant Marden is an excellent fellow. Gets on well with Mrs Shipton, who had laid a table out side Lizbeth's door and served him a slap-up supper.'

'Must have a way with women,' Tweed said with a smile.

'One more favour, please,' he said as he approached the door. 'Who will carry on the title?'

'Since Lance refuses point-blank to be the next Lord Bullerton, I have decided Margot will be the first lady to occupy the post. In many ways she will do the job better – very brainy, superb manners and so popular, but wary of the aristos. Everyone in the house knows her, but no one outside.'

'Thank you for your time and information,' Tweed said, grasping the handle without yet turning it. 'One more thing. Are there two separate beds in Lizbeth's suite?'

'Yes, tons of room. Why?'

'Do me a favour. Let Margot sleep in Lizbeth's suite tonight and tomorrow also. Lizbeth had a bad time of it and I think she'll welcome Margot's company.'

'Chap thinks of everything,' agreed Bullerton, winking at Paula.

In the lane they were stopped briefly by Harry, who indicated he had news. Tweed lowered his window.

'Bob Newman has surfaced again,' Harry reported. 'Wants to see you urgently in the hotel garage…'

'More trouble,' Paula commented cheerfully as they drove out of the lane.

Entering the garage quietly, Tweed saw Marler standing by his Maserati. No sign of Newman. A well- built figure appeared, clad in a tropical-drill outfit; his wide-brimmed straw hat was pulled down over large dark glasses. For a moment Tweed didn't recognize Newman as he alighted.

'Several items you should know about,' Newman began. 'I called my pal in the East End of London. All the dangerous scum have left, including the three killers who escaped conviction in the courts on a technicality thanks to brilliant lawyers.'

Lawyers paid a fortune by Neville Guile, Paula said to herself.

"They're travelling separately,' Newman continued. 'Some in cars, some on motorbikes. Looks like the attack on you is planned for tomorrow – that is, today…'

'No,' said Marler. 'The day after or the one after that. They need to be fresh, to become familiar with the killing ground.'

'The other thing,' Newman went on, 'is I've dis covered who Mrs Shipton really is. Don't ask me how.' He grinned. 'Some of my methods were unorthodox. Lived with her sister in an old small town way north of here called Barham-Downstream.

They ran a prosperous general store – local council had banned supermarkets. Am I going too fast?'

'No, carry on…'

'Her real name is Jennifer Montgomery Fisher- Mayne. Her sister was Myra Montgomery Fisher-Mayne before she married Lord Bullerton. Jennifer, who'd never met him, was furious – she'd heard about his playing about with the ladies of London. She refused to attend the wedding, made Myra promise never to admit her existence. They gossip in Barham-Downstream. So Myra never com municated with Jennifer by letter or phone. She must have wiped Jennifer out of her mind.'

'Well, well…' Tweed sighed. 'The one motive I overlooked was revenge?

'The weather is changing dramatically,' Marler remarked. 'Three huge storms are building up north of the bridge.'

'Thanks a lot,' said Paula.

She saw the end of the glowing sun at 70 °K, her favourite temperature. Her reaction showed.

Marler smiled. He waved both hands in a wide throwaway gesture.

'I don't control the weather. I hope those storms wait until we have sorted out our ambush. They break first well north of the bridge. Then the tidal wave comes.' He walked out and the others followed. He pointed across the wide stretch of grass his side of the river bank. 'Apparently once the water was less than a foot from pouring over onto the grass.'

'Wait here,' Tweed told them. 'I have a phone call to make.'