Colin Forbes - The Power
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- Название:The Power
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Tall and thin, built of the universal grey stone, it had a single high gable with a turret below it at one corner. The building had a derelict appearance and Paula thought she'd never seen a more sinister house. Like something out of Hitchcock's Psycho.
'We'll climb up and have a look at it,' Tweed said as Butler joined them under the lee of the granite wall.
'What's the objective?' he asked tersely.
'That tall house above us. We're going to have a look at it.'
'I'll tell Cardon and Nield. We'll spread out. I'm going to approach it from the rear, which means a little alpine climbing…'
Tweed headed for a small flight of crude steps leading up out of the quarry to a winding footpath. He climbed so quickly that Paula and Newman had to move to keep up with him. Newman tucked his Smith amp; Wesson inside his belt.
'What an awful area,' Paula commented when they reached a point halfway to the house.
The steep slope had an air of desolation and to her right was a dense wood of miserable firs hanging over Rock. The trunks were stunted, bent at an angle away from the sea, their branches twisted into ugly shapes like deformed arms. Now they were higher up a wind, blowing in off the ocean, whipped against them. No wonder the trees were so crippled. Beyond the path was scrubby grass and the undergrowth had a shaggy look, hammered over the years by ferocious winds.
'What a glorious view,' Newman said, pausing.
The wind was stronger, the Atlantic had come into sight. As they stood together the wind was battering like a thousand flails. Surf-tipped rollers were roaring in to the outer reaches of the estuary, breaking against the base of the eastern cape, hurling skywards great clouds of white spray. More rollers advanced up the estuary.
Tweed averted his eyes, looked across the estuary to the far side. The grey mass of Padstow sheered up like a gigantic fortress wall. The Metropole was well elevated and he realized why he had seen so clearly the lamp flashing from the house above them.
'Let's keep moving,' he urged.
The narrow path snaked from side to side in its gully, which made walking difficult. They were near the tall thin house which, close up, had an even more derelict appearance. Three steps led up to the front door inside a porch. No garden, no fence – the property was open to the wilderness. Then Tweed saw how it could be reached by car. A wide sandy track led downhill, went round a bend, vanished.
Butler suddenly appeared from the rear of the building. He was pocketing the compact tool-kit which he always carried.
'No one here,' he reported. 'No furniture inside, no carpets on the floor.'
'I'd like to have seen inside the place,' Tweed remarked.
'Follow me, then. Someone left a window unfastened at the back,' he said with a straight face.
Cardon appeared on a hillock in a commanding position above the house, gave a brief wave. Nield stood up from behind a dense patch of undergrowth closer to the house.
They've established outposts to watch over us,' Newman commented as they followed Butler round the back.
Paula stared at the sash window which was open at the bottom. There were jemmy marks close to the catch on the inside which was turned to the open position. She spoke to Butler in a tone of mock severity.
'Breaking and entering? That's against the law, Harry.'
'So someone got here before us,' Butler retorted, grinning.
Tweed crouched to step over the ledge and ease himself inside. Butler, followed by Paula, was by his side in seconds. He put a finger to his lips, whispered.
'It appears to be unoccupied,' he warned.
Paula, with Newman by her side, studied the ancient floorboards, the window ledges and the mantelpieces with a housewife's practised eye. Undisturbed dust everywhere. She paused before entering the narrow hall while Tweed, followed by Newman and Butler, ran lightly up the bare wooden staircase.
In the hall the floorboards were perfectly clean, dust-free. Paula frowned as she mounted the staircase slowly. Every tread was equally clean and a familiar smell was assailing her nostrils. Pleasant, distinctive.
Tweed had entered the front bedroom at the left-hand side of the house. He took out of his coat pocket Newman's binoculars, stood in front of the clear glass of the window, focused them. His own windows in the suite at the Metro-pole seemed amazingly close.
'This,' he said, 'is where someone used a lamp to send a signal last night.'
'And have you noticed the floorboards?' Paula enquired from behind him.
'No, I…'
'Men are so unobservant,' she teased him. The room we came in by at the back had a musty smell and was covered in dust. Look at these floorboards – they've been scrubbed, probably during the past twenty-four hours. Was the door closed here?'
'Yes, it was.'
'Which is why the smell of the cleaner used – liquid Flash – is so strong in here. But you can smell it on the stairs and in the hall.'
'What's the idea of cleaning up the place so well?' asked Butler.
'Maybe to eliminate footprints,' Newman said, looking at Paula. 'Footprints with studded soles. Climbing boots.'
'If you say so,' replied Butler, mystified. He turned to Tweed. 'Want some evidence that you're still a good detective? Follow me.'
'In a minute.' Tweed was stooping over a corner of the window ledge. 'I'm doing a Sherlock Holmes. There's an intact roll of cigar ash here, a slight burn where the cigar rested while the smoker operated the lamp. Paula, give me one of those sample bags.'
Paula unzipped a section inside her shoulder-bag where she always carried several self-sealing polythene wallets. Tweed had taken out a penknife, used his other hand to take the wallet from Paula, used the knife to coax the ash off the edge and inside the bag, which he sealed and handed to her.
'There are experts who can identify ash. Now who have we seen recently who smokes cigars?'
'You want to see my evidence?' Butler broke in. 'Then follow me
…'
He led them down the stairs, returned into the back room where they had entered, climbed out of the window and walked to a lean-to shed next to the rear wall of the house. A large new padlock hung loose and dangling from an iron ring.
'I suppose you found it just like that?' Paula asked.
Butler grinned again, took a ring of skeleton keys from his pocket, jangled them. He edged the heavy wooden door open with his foot, stood back and gestured for them to enter, handing a small torch to Tweed. Paula wondered what else Butler might have in the capacious pockets of his made-to-order coat.
'Satisfying to find you were right,' Tweed commented as Paula joined him.
He was aiming his torch beam at a large brass signalling lamp perched on top of a heavy wooden box. Bending down, he examined the lamp without touching it, stood upright again.
'It has a red filter which can be slid across the lamp. And a green one. Hence the signal flashes I saw from my suite.'
'So all we need to find out is who owns this dump,' Paula replied.
Tweed and Paula had had enough of the gully path. With Newman, they started down the sandy track which showed the ruts of a vehicle's recent passage.
'A four-wheel drive job, like a Land-Rover,' Newman said.
Before leaving the house with no name, Butler had donned surgical gloves, had fastened the padlock on the lean-to shed, then closed the entry window. He vanished from the trio's view along with Cardon and Nield.
'They're enjoying practising the fieldcraft they've been trained in,' Tweed commented.
He knew the three men were close by but didn't hear one sound of their progress down the bleak heathland. He pointed to the channel of water which remained. Waves were tossing up and down.
'One thing I'm not going to enjoy is the ferry trip back to Padstow.'
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