Colin Forbes - Precipice

Bewildered, Craig stumbled past the end of the stone wall, paused when he saw his shotgun lying on the ground.

'I… said… move… Craig.' Brazil ordered in a soft tone which seemed to scare his deputy.

As Craig was passing him Brazil handed over the leash holding the wolfhound, said nothing while Craig took charge of the dog and tried to hurry back to the house.

'We won't want this,' Brazil said briskly.

Leaping very athletically off the rock, he picked up the shotgun, checked it, took hold of it by the stock, and hurled it towards the sea. It vanished over the edge of the cliff. Newman was impressed by Brazil's physical strength , it had been a long way to hurl a heavy object.

'I'll travel in the Porsche,' Philip suggested, to Newman's relief.

He was thinking quickly in this bizarre situation, Newman noted. He had realized he couldn't travel in the rear of the Merc with Marler still curled up under the travelling rug.

'I'm riding with you,' Philip called out as he approached Eve. 'Newman leads and we follow. We're going out the way we came in.'

'What the hell is going on?'

'Just get ready to turn the car round and follow Bob.'

'You are bossy.'

'When it's necessary.' Philip rapped back.

Newman opened the front passenger door of his car and Brazil slipped into the seat, fastening his seat belt. He laughed.

'That's a precaution in case you get it wrong and take us over the cliff.'

'I'll try and avoid doing that.' Newman responded jocularly. 'How did you know there was someone behind the wall – that I was there?' he asked as he eased his way back into the grounds.

'Elementary, my dear Watson. I like neatness. When I was last here I gave orders for the pebble track we are about to drive onto to be raked over. When I came out on to the terrace I noticed wheel marks. A simple deduction.'

The wheels were crunching over the pebbles now with the Porsche close behind them. Brazil clasped his large hands, very relaxed.

'You see, the gates are open.' he remarked as they drove slowly round the corner of the house. 'Mr Newman, would you mind if I asked you an important favour?'

'Ask away. It depends on whether I can help you.'

'I am very anxious to meet Mr Tweed during the next week.'

For the third time Brazil had thrown Newman off balance. It only took him seconds to phrase a reply.

'I think Tweed will want to know why you wish to see him.'

'Naturally. He is a most formidable man. I would like to discuss with him the present state of the world. To get his views on what should be done to correct a chaotic situation. I am talking globally, you can tell him.'

'If he's willing, how does he contact you?'

'If it does not seem impolite I will contact him. Then I will suggest a mutually convenient rendezvous.'

'I'll certainly pass the message on when I next see him.'

'Thank you. I am grateful.'

In his rear-view mirror Newman was checking for signs of activity outside the house. There were none. Again the place looked unoccupied. He pulled up when the two cars were outside the gates and safely on the road. Brazil climbed out, kept the door open, stared straight at Newman.

'If you still want that interview, I may some day feel able to oblige. I bid you a safe journey. I can say with sincerity I have enjoyed your company, brief as it has been.'

He held out his hand and Newman took it. Brazil gave him a warm smile and Newman noticed he had a strong grip. He waited a minute while Brazil made his way back up the drive with long, vigorous strides as the gates closed behind him.

A short distance along the road to Kingston, Butler stood by his Fireblade on the verge. He had removed his helmet so they would recognize him. Newman waved him on.

Butler took off on the machine, staying thirty yards or so ahead of the Mercedes with the Porsche following it. This time Butler was acting as outrider, on the lookout for any signs of an ambush. Newman could have told him there wouldn't be one. As the Mercedes rounded a long curve he called out to Marler to get up and sit in a corner while the Porsche was briefly out of sight.

'You have just met Leopold Brazil,' he told Marler as his companion settled himself in a corner.

'At least I've heard his voice. Very striking. But he didn't know you had company back here.'

'I'm perfectly sure he did know. It would be a great mistake to underestimate Brazil.' Newman warned. 'But he hasn't seen you, which is an ace up our sleeve.' 'How can he possibly know about Tweed?' 'Oh, you haven't caught on.' Newman smiled. 'I am quite sure Mr Brazil knows just about everything that is going on…'

In the lounge at the Priory Hotel Paula sat with Tweed as they waited for Franklin to join them. Coffee, cakes, and biscuits had been served for three people. There was no one else in the large comfortable room with French windows overlooking the spacious garden and the path leading to the Boathouse.

'Actually,' Paula whispered, 'I saw Bill Franklin in his car at the side turning where he spotted us. I didn't say anything to you because you were talking, explaining something to me.'

'Your eyes met?' Tweed queried.

'Very definitely.'

'Then maybe it was a genuine coincidence. Bill is fond of you,' he teased her.

'That's all there is to it,' she said sharply.

'I want to find out how he's spending his time nowadays since… '

He broke off as Franklin entered the room. He looked very handsome, wearing a heavyweight safari jacket and trousers. He smiled, sat next to Paula on the couch with Tweed beyond her.

'Sorry to keep you waiting. Coffee. Just what I need to wet my whistle.'

'What are you doing now, Bill?' Tweed asked immediately. 'Or are you ex-ex-Military Intelligence?'

'Now what, I wonder, does that cryptic remark imply?'

Franklin smiled, thanked Paula as she handed him a cup. He began munching a cake, leaning forward so he could see Tweed, who replied quickly.

'It means, Bill, have you gone back into Military Intelligence?'

'Now would I tell you if that were the case?' Franklin joked. 'Actually, I decided it was time I made a little money. You know how extravagant I am. Over a year ago I established a small chain of private detective agencies in Europe. They're thriving. I call the outfits by what I thought was rather an original name, Illuminations.'

'That's a very clever name,' commented Paula. 'I guess it means you find things out people are trying to conceal. You illuminate a situation.'

'Spot on.' Franklin told her. 'And with the contacts I established when I was Military Intelligence I'm doing rather well. Why don't you use me, Tweed, some time?'

'Where are you based?'

'Geneva, Paris, and Rome.'

'Must be an advantage,' Paula said between bites out of a cake, 'that you're fluent in French, German, and Italian.'

'It helps. Finding good staff was the problem.'

'What about London?' Tweed asked.

'I toyed with the idea, but there's a flock of outfits over here. I'm still thinking about it. Are you two taking a break?'

'We're down here investigating three weird murders my interest was triggered off by something odd which happened on the Continent.'

'Playing it close to the chest, as usual.' Franklin grinned at Paula. 'Getting blood out of a stone is a piece of cake compared with getting Tweed to open up.'

'You are muddling your metaphors,' Tweed pointed out.

He looked up as the proprietor appeared at the door and beckoned to him. Excusing himself, he joined the proprietor in the privacy of the hall. His host had a worried look, which was unusual.

'Sorry to interrupt your conversation, Mr Tweed, but a Chief Inspector Buchanan from Scotland Yard called here and asked me if Mr Robert Newman was staying with us. I had to say he was and this Buchanan wanted to know if he was in his room. I told him he'd gone out, that I didn't know where or for how long.'