The Savage Gorge

by Forbes, Colin

  'You'll have to drive back along the same road you came in on. There's another track to the west I drive over on my Land Rover for food and supplies. No use to you - it ends at a large village. So you have to use the way you came in on, no matter where you're heading for.'

  'London, straight to Finden Square,' Tweed said grimly.

  Paula stared at him. By the tone of his voice she knew they had reached their first climax. It was a development she had seen before. Tweed had turned aggressive, in an attacking mood. The initiative had passed into his hands.

  'The point I'm making,' Ben growled, 'was you drive back at a slow pace until you've passed the turn-off to that airfield. It is essential.'

  'Why?' demanded Marler.

  'If you listen you'll know why,' Ben growled again. 'My side of that high ridge to the east of here is solid, has stood like that since Stonehenge. The other side of the ridge is unstable. It's shale and one day immense tons will sweep down the ridge as a minor avalanche. Probably only stop when it's heaped up across the road or the barren fields beyond. Police put up warning signs but some crazy kids pulled the signs down then dumped them into the sea. In any case, that road only leads to a deserted beach unless you turn off to come to me.'

  'Sounds a potential hazard,' Tweed commented.

  'Not if you crawl, ' warned Ben, 'until the airfield turn-off. Funny thing is, the fifty yards of ground at the top of the summit is hard immovable rock. But you crawl^ he repeated.

  'Heard you the first time, Ben,' Marler said offhandedly.

  'And I heard you coming in that Maserati,' Ben snapped.

  They all stood up, gathered round Ben, thanked

  him for all his help. Tweed put a hand on his shoulder.

  'Sorry it was such a murderous nerve-racking trip. We are all so grateful.'

  'Get off! The sea has its moods and I knows 'em.'

  They travelled as they had come. Paula jumped into the passenger seat of the Maserati as Marler slipped in behind the wheel. Harry sat alongside Tweed, who took the wheel of the Audi, his mobile in one hand. They took off along the same road, which rounded the end of the ridge for a short distance with the sea close to their right, then descended for minutes onto the road below the ridge Ben had warned them about. Paula found an irresistible urge to look up to the summit. She was relieved that Marler was holding his speed to 25 m.p.h. or less. Then she stared, used her binoculars.

  'There's someone on the hard rock at the top, looked like one of these North Africans. Dark face, cloth wrapped round his forehead . . .'

  She heard a distant cracking sound, then another further along. At that moment the mobile buzzed. Marler snatched it up. He listened for a moment. His reply bothered Paula.

  'OK, Harry. Thought so. I'm ramming my foot down. Could be a close-run thing for us ...

  'Neville Guile's gangsters are on the hard rock up there. They're throwing grenades to start the shale

  moving. It is. They're going to crush us before we reach safety!'

  As he spoke he pressed his foot hard on the accelerator. They were racing as though at Le Mans. Glancing in the rear-view mirror Paula saw Tweed was only yards behind them, moving at the same manic speed. They swung round narrow bends, recovered, sped on.

  Horrified, she gazed at the mountainous slope of the ridge. The whole surface was on the move. The shale had gathered into incredibly fast-moving waves, riding higher and higher as it thundered down the slope, sending down a thunderous roar, now over six feet high along the whole unstable slope. She gazed ahead and the turn-off to the airfield seemed miles ahead. They weren't going to make it. They'd end up buried in the pulverized metal of their vehicles.

  She glanced at Marler. His expression was calm, concentrated. Ahead was a long straight stretch of road. Marler pressed his foot down hard. They were travelling at well over ninety miles an hour. She checked the rear-view mirror. The Audi was hurtling forward at the same speed. She forced herself to look at the rapidly advancing wall. It seemed almost on top of them, a mixture of large rocks 'cemented' together with the bloody shale. And still the turn-off to the airfield, to safety, seemed miles away. Paula had never been so frightened but she compelled herself to conceal her fear as the thunder of the landslide became almost deafening.

  To take her mind off the hideous approaching landslide, Paula looked to her right. She had the same impression of the 'scenery' as she had when they had driven to Seaward Cove. Many areas of Somerset and Devon were delightful and beautiful. This was not one of them.

  This was a desert of rock and derelict fields, so barren and with nothing green anywhere that she was vaguely reminded of the Mojave Desert in America. No hotels, not even a house. She looked away, checked the landslide.

  It was close to overwhelming the road. Marler glanced at her with a dry smile.

  'OK, Paula?'

  She managed to wink at him. He grinned back, swiftly stared back at the straight road. His foot was still pressed fully down and the car shuddered under the pressure. Looking again in the rear-view mirror she saw Tweed waving to her with a wide smile. He looked so cool and calm.

  Ahead of them a large round rock rolled across the road. It told her the avalanche was nearly on top of them. Then she leaned forward, tense. They had nearly reached the turn-off to the airfield. She couldn't believe it. As they swept past it she checked the rear-view mirror once more, scared for Tweed. She sagged as she saw the Audi pass the turn-off.

  Looking back behind the Audi she saw no sign of the road - only the seven-foot-high tumble of rock and

  shale that covered it. The tension slowly drained out of her as Marler slowed to a normal speed.

  'Where to next?' she wondered, trying to recall something said earlier. Park Crescent would be my choice, she thought.

  TWENTY ONE

  They were still in the wilds when Marler received a message from Tweed. Slipping his mobile into his pocket, he grinned at Paula.

  'I’m pulling in at that layby ahead of us. Tweed will join us there. Our next destination is Finden Square, the lion's den.'

  'Why?' demanded Paula.

  'Here is Tweed. You rejoin him in the Audi. Harry will be travelling with me.'

  'OK, Paula,' said Tweed as he appeared, opening the door for her. 'I'll take over the lead from now on,' he told Marler.

  'You must be mad,' Paula snapped as she settled beside Tweed in the Audi. 'He'll be expecting you at Finden - with an army of thugs.'

  'I've changed my mind. We're heading straight back

  to Hobartshire. I'll inform Marler in a moment. As in the past, I had a surge of fury, and misjudgement, when I thought that landslide was going to kill you.'

  'You'd have been killed too,' she pointed out.

  'Goes with the territory where I'm concerned.' He used her mobile to tell Marler of the change of destination. 'He also likes the idea. Our main task is still to identify the murderer.'

  'Any narrowing of the list of suspects?' she enquired.

  'Possibly. A motive has appeared but it may not be right.'

  Paula took a last look at the bleak inland landscape. She was so looking forward to getting away from the treacherous sea. To be revelling in the greenery of Hobartshire, the strange old town of Gunners Gorge.

  It was mid-morning and still May. The sun shone out of a blue sky. The temperature indicator inside the car registered 70°F in the open. Perfect - Paula settled down to enjoy the ride as they entered green countryside with rolling slopes and passed under arcades of dense trees in full leaf creating a boulevard-like atmosphere. Then the mobile buzzed. Tweed grabbed it.

  'Tweed here. Bob! Great to hear from you. What? Accident? Has he survived? Thank heavens for that. We're on our way to you from Seaward Cove. Expect our arrival about dusk. OK. Meet you inside the garage at the Nag's Head. Watch your back.'

  'Something has happened?' asked Paula.

  'An attempt was made to kill Lord Bullerton this morning.'

  'Neville Guile,' she said.
<
br />   'Doubt that. They were still doing business together.'

  'Maybe they'd completed their business, so Guile—'

  'Maybe, maybe, maybe,' Tweed responded irritably. His voice changed to normal. 'Now there could be a motive there. I think the fog is clearing over these mass murders. Must let Marler and Harry know.'

  He spoke briefly on the mobile, knowing the quickwitted Marler would grasp the situation when told in a few words.

  Then he concentrated on his driving. Half his mind was on this startling new development. Paula tapped his arm gently.

  'You're driving much faster. Only just under the speed limit. . .'

  'I know the speed limit,' he rapped back.

  'I'm sure you do.' Paula changed the subject. 'I really am looking forward to seeing Bob again.'

  'So am I. I suspect he may have accumulated a whole load of information as to what is really going on up there. Something is. I said earlier I believe it's something big. I'm more than ever convinced about that.'

  'Bob won't have wasted his time. The energy of the man is phenomenal.'

  'Paula . . .' He looked at her and smiled. 'I apologize for my recent irritability. An attack on Bullerton is the last thing I expected.'

  'You've been under tremendous pressure. Please forget the apology. Not necessary. You took a wise decision to return to Hobartshire.'

  'We could be walking into a dangerous situation,' he warned.

  'Situation normal,' she replied calmly.

  It was dusk when they arrived at the Nag's Head and drove slowly into the garage. Newman appeared from behind Harry's grey Fiat. For a moment Paula didn't recognize him. He was wearing khaki drill, a straw hat, brim pulled well down over his face, and dark glasses. He removed hat and glasses and came forward to hug her.

  'Good to see you,' Tweed called out, still seated behind the wheel of the Audi. 'What do you advise as our immediate objective?'

  'Drive with Paula and Harry to Hobart House right now. I can talk when you get back. Suggest dinner in your suite.'

  Driving to Hobart House, Paula found it strange to be back in familiar surroundings. She sat beside Tweed who was behind the wheel. Harry occupied the rear of the Audi. Approaching the turn-off lane at the nearest end of the Village, he leaned forward.

  'I don't believe it. Mrs Grout is scrubbing her steps again.'

  'Maybe a cat with muddy paws climbed them,' Paula joked.

  'Drop me off close to that hole in the hedge,' Harry requested. 'Anyone pursuing you up that slope will get a bullet closer to his legs than he'll like.'

  When they drove on down to Hobart House it was pitch black. The moon was obscured by a low bank of dark clouds. Every light in the residence was on.

  The front door was opened by Lance. Wearing a pale grey blazer and cream trousers, he looked as smart as he always did. His expression was one of relief when he saw them under the glow of the porch lantern.

  'Am I glad to see the two of you. Something awful has happened.'

  'How is your father?' Tweed asked as they entered the hall.

  'Lucky to be alive. Who would do such a thing? Father is in his study, working on some papers. He's amazing. The doctor has been, checked him over. No bones broken and no injury to the muscular system. I'll take you to him.'

  'Hold it a second,' Tweed ordered. 'When did this happen? In the early morning? I see. Now, who was in the house at the time?'

  'Let's see.' Lance frowned. 'I was here, so were Margot and Sable - in their rooms. Mrs Shipton was here - gets in to her kitchen where she is now at crack of dawn. To deal with the girl staff from the town, and they'd gone by then. I think that's the lot. No, the stable staff were in their stables.' He smiled ruefully. 'Dawn cracks when it sees them coming.'

  'What was the nature of the so-called accident?'

  'My father couldn't sleep, so he got up earlier than usual to take his morning ride before breakfast. Apparently found his horse, Fairlight, already saddled for him. Jumps on it, goes riding along the course. Was just about to go over a high hurdle when his saddle tips sideways, throws him off. Luckily they hadn't mown the side grass yet, which broke his fall.'

  'Who saddles his horse?'

  'Jacko, chief stable lad.'

  'Thank you. We'd like to see your father now.'

  Lance led the way to the study. Opening the door, he called out, 'Company which you'll welcome!'

  As they walked into the spacious room, Lord Bullerton was at a desk pushed against the wall. Its surface was covered with papers. Lord Bullerton's bulk was settled in a tall Queen Anne straight-backed chair. What happened next startled Tweed.

  Bullerton turned sideways, saw his visitors, leapt up and stomped steadily towards them. His hand was outstretched, his tread normal.

  'Welcome, Tweed, and you too, Paula. I couldn't have expected two more interesting visitors at this time of night. I suggest you both celebrate with me over double Scotches.'

  He indicated a large glass on the desk. It was already half empty.

  'Paula,' he continued vigorously, 'come and join me on the couch. You're looking more beautiful than ever.'

  'I hear you've had a bad so-called accident,' said Tweed, 'being tipped off your horse close to a high hurdle.'

  'When you ride a lot, as I do, these things happen.' Bullerton finished off his Scotch, poured himself another. 'No point in fussing.'

  'This was a carefully planned attempt . . .' Tweed paused, 'and I don't think you've grasped it yet - to murder you.'

  'Oh, come off it, Tweed.'

  'I've had a lot of experience with crime. Somebody attempted to murder you,' he repeated in a harsh voice, 'and make it look like an accident.'

  At last it had hit home. Bullerton walked back and sagged into his chair. Paula thought his earlier ruddy complexion had turned pale. He lifted his refilled glass, put it down without drinking.

  'Who would want to do a thing like that?' he asked.

  'I have several motives in mind - and several suspects . . .'

  He stopped speaking as the door was pushed open and Harry appeared. Paula had been wondering where he was. He was holding on to a young man by twisting his arm behind his back. In his late teens or very early twenties, Paula estimated. His thick black hair was ruffled and he wore a well-worn dark suit.

  'This is Jacko,' Harry announced. 'Found him very anxious to get away from the stable.'

  'Going to see my girl friend,' Jacko burbled. 'She cuts up rough if I'm late.'

  'You've heard about the so-called accident,' Tweed interrupted grimly. 'Did you saddle the horse for Lord Bullerton today as usual?'

  'No, sir ... I didn't . . . His Lordship had never arrived so early before ... I was appalled when I heard what happened.'

  'So appalled,' Harry rasped, still holding Jacko's arm, 'you made your first priority scooting away from here.'

  'She's special. . .' the lean handler began.

  'They all are. Until you meet—'

  'Harry,' Tweed intervened again, 'you can let go of his arm. Very roughly he addressed Jacko. 'Who else was with you to confirm your story? Where were you?'

  'No one, sir. I was in the adjoining barn, changing into my working kit. And I didn't see anyone else. It was very early.'

  'Harry,' Tweed ordered, 'see him off the premises -first get his address.'

  Bullerton had a sip of his scotch. He appeared to have calmed down as he spoke emphatically.

  'I'd trust Jacko with my life.'

  '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 aluminium 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.