Colin Forbes - The Main chance

Jacques took a deep breath as he descended the steps into the luxuriously furnished cellar running underneath the ground floor of Shooter's Lodge. He was trying to decide whether to tell the truth about his failure.

Once a bricklayer, the previous night he had carefully removed the old bricks from the arched entrance in the wall. After he'd completed this arduous work he'd settled down in the undergrowth opposite the now open arched doorway.

Laying the rifle with the scope sight where he could grab it up quickly, he'd opened his packet of food, gobbled it down, livened it up with a good swig from his flask of cognac, then fallen asleep in the dark.

It had been bitterly cold at night but he'd come prepared for that. Under his windcheater he wore three layers of woollen underclothing. Dawn woke him. He checked his rifle, stared through the cross-hairs at the opening he'd created. Calouste's informant had told him one of Tweed's team never stopped searching The Forest. `When the open entrance is reported to Tweed,' Calouste had predicted, 'Tweed himself will come to see it. That is when you kill him.'

Jacques waited for many hours, frequently shifting his position to fight cramp. The stocky wide-shouldered fat little man appeared first. Jacques did not like the look of him. 'A professional,' he said to himself.

Later, he returned, and with him was a tall slim man who also worried Jacques. Then almost immediately Tweed and 'his tart' were standing there, framed by the arched doorway, a perfect target. Cramp forced Jacques to shift position as he focused the cross-hairs on Tweed's chest. He pressed the trigger, stared in disbelief. Tweed and the girl weren't there. He saw Fatty take something from a pocket, guessed it was a grenade, rolled over sideways. A fragment of the grenade sliced a piece away from his windcheater but didn't penetrate the flesh. Jacques fled.

Arriving at Shooter's Lodge by a roundabout route he lowered his motorbike into the deep hole with walls covered with canvas, covered the opening with branches, piled pine needles on top, then let himself into the kitchen.

Calouste was waiting for him in the underground apartment, seated in a tall chair. He wore his coal-black glasses, one claw-like hand under his spade-shaped chin, the other clutching a glass of cognac. The dark lenses Jacques found so disturbing gazed at him. `Tweed is still alive,' Calouste said. `How do you know that?' asked Jacques. `From your expression.' `I nearly put a bullet through his chest.' `Nearly,' Calouste sneered. `One of his team shoved him clear.' `Because you stupidly made a noise.' `It's possible.' Jacques was always worried by the way that Calouste could reconstruct what had happened – as though he had been there. `So I am beginning to think I must kill Tweed myself – with this.'

Calouste was wearing his long black cloak, with its very long sleeves. His right hand slipped up inside his left sleeve, emerged gripping a long slim razor-edged stiletto. He leaned forward, a sadistic smile on his strange face. He placed the point on Jacques's hand resting on the table. Jacques was petrified. `Do not worry, my dear Jacques,' Calouste said in his soft silky voice. 'Tweed will return to check that new entrance and the trail of blood will lead him to that immense chalk pit.' `Blood?' Jacques gasped.

Calouste was gently drawing the tip of the stiletto across the back of Jacques's large hand lying flat and tense on the table. The murderous-looking weapon was held so steadily that not one drop of blood surfaced. With a swift movement the stiletto vanished up Calouste's wide sleeve. `You understand?' Calouste enquired. 'Rabbits.' `Rabbits?' Jacques repeated in a hollow voice. `Yes. You go out and shoot three rabbits. Not now, you idiot,' he said gently as Jacques started to get up, thinking Calouste meant him to go out now. `Tomorrow is the earliest Tweed will reappear.' `Oh, I see.' `What does Jacques see at long last?' `That tomorrow I get up early with my rifle and shoot the three rabbits.' `But you will need more than your rifle?Yes? No?'

Calouste produced from a pocket a large sheet of transparent material which he unfolded, showing one end was open. He looked at Jacques, who desperately tried to say the right thing. `After I have shot a rabbit I put it inside that container. Then I squeeze every drop of blood out of the animal. I get rid of the bloodless body where it will not be found.' `Excellent. Then you take the bag and at intervals along the path leading to the quarry you smear blood for Tweed to track. He will assume the grenade his associate threw did injure you. I shall be waiting for him near the quarry.' `Where is Mr Warner Chance now?' Tweed asked Snape as they entered the hall. `In his apartment, sir. He will be working and will not wish to be disturbed.' `Before I've broken this case all of you will be more than disturbed.' Tweed paused: Snape's complexion had lost colour. 'I have also been told that you are the only person here who has the daily papers.' `That is so, sir.' `And that you keep them in that cabin of yours in The Forest. Please bring all those for the past week and leave them for me in the library over there.' `I will do that as soon as I can.' `Now would be soon enough. Thank you.' `I find that peculiar,' Paula commented as they climbed the staircase. 'Shuts them off from the outside world.' `I suspect it was Bella's idea. She probably didn't believe anything in the papers. Also there are no radios or TVs in the place. I think she relied on phoning up her contacts to keep in touch. Here we are'

Tweed tapped on Warner's apartment door. A strong voice growled from inside, 'Come in, whoever you are, then get out.'

Warner was seated behind a large desk facing the door. It was covered with piles of accounts. The expression on his rock-like face was not welcoming. `I am very busy, both of you.' `Murder won't wait,' Tweed said harshly. 'I have questions to put to you.' `You have five minutes' Warner folded his arms.

He was wearing a leather windcheater, unbuttoned at his strong, thick neck. He also wore corduroy trousers tucked into knee-length boots. Tweed could see this through the knee-hole in the desk. `Five minutes?' Tweed repeated. 'We have as long as it takes.' `You have already interrogated me,' Warner said aggressively. `So why are you here again?' `The first time I asked you a few questions they were preliminaries.' Tweed paused. 'More evidence has come to light. `What evidence might that be?' Warner asked sarcastically. also object to Miss Grey's presence.' `Normal procedure. You had a friend, a Mrs Mandy Carlyle.' `Never heard of a person with that name. You used the past tense.' `I did.' Warner is very quick-witted, Tweed thought. `Yes, because she has been murdered. Using the same method that killed your mother. You saw the brutal collars found inside Crystal's wardrobe. A replica of those.' `Planted on her, of course.' `Unless it was a case of double bluff,' Paula intervened. 'I did wonder if they were put there so everyone would assume that. If she were involved-'

The communicating door with the rest of the apartment was flung wide open and Crystal stormed in. Her red hair was perfectly coiffeured and she wore a tight red jumper and a skirt of the same colour. This red was nothing compared to the blazing flush of her cheeks. Her expression was livid. `Are you accusing me of putting those ghastly things there myself?' she screeched close to Paula. `Been eavesdropping again?' Tweed enquired mildly. `Damned right I have. Who the hell does Paula think she is? She's been careful not to say that to my face.' `I can repeat it if you wish,' Paula replied calmly. 'In a murder case all possibilities have to be considered. You, along with others, remain a suspect.' `What is that room you just emerged from?' Tweed asked to take the pressure off Paula. `It's the bedroom. Warner's bedroom.' Crystal's expression was hideously suggestive.