Precipice

by Colin Forbes

  A tall well-padded man with greying hair appeared. He was holding a huge dog on a leash, some kind of ferocious-looking wolfhound which tugged at the leash and then stood for a moment, sniffing the air.

  'Damn!' Newman muttered. 'The wind's behind me and that nasty-looking beast may pick up our scent.'

  'Horrible brute,' replied Philip, who had returned and dropped to the ground next to Newman. 'Imposing sort of chap. Oh, Lord, he's coming this way.'

  The figure with the dog had descended the steps and was beginning to walk with brisk strides down the track where earlier Newman had driven towards the cliff edge.

  As he drew closer Newman let his binoculars drop so they were looped round his neck and stared in disbelief.

  'It can't be.' he said. 'We might as well stand up. He's going to see us.'

  Despite the raw wind, the low temperature, the man coming towards them wore an expensive-looking midnight-blue suit, a white shirt, and a pale grey tie. His large head was held erect, his complexion was ruddy, his features were strong with a Roman nose and a wide mouth above a firm jaw. He walked with an air of complete self-assurance and had a commanding presence. He was very close when he left the track and stood on a large flat rock, the dog straining at the leash.

  'Heel, Igor,' the tall man ordered.

  The dog immediately sat beside its master, its mouth open, teeth showing, gazing at Newman as though it hoped it was suppertime.

  'Mr Robert Newman, I presume,' the tall man remarked. 'I think as Stanley said to Livingstone, or was it the other way round?'

  'One or the other.' Newman replied calmly. 'And you are right. Robert Newman.'

  'Welcome to Grenville Grange. I am Leopold Brazil.'

  8

  Newman studied the large man before reacting: an aura of power seemed to emanate from him as he stood calmly, steady as the rock beneath him, with the full blast of the wind battering him. He had startlingly blue eyes and Newman realized he was in the presence of a most unusual and forceful personality.

  'I once tried to interview you.' Newman recalled.

  'Indeed you did.' The ghost of a smile crossed Brazil's face. 'I rarely give interviews but now that I have met you I almost wish I had granted your request. Have you seen a minion of mine, a certain Carson Craig?'

  'Yes. He's tied up behind the wall. He made a mistake. He threatened me with a shotgun.'

  'Oh7 Lord.' Brazil sighed. 'Actually he is one of my most able deputies. A brilliant administrator, but he has an evil temper. I am constantly telling him that he must control it. Could your friend beside you kindly release him and I will send him back to the house.'

  'Do it.' Newman said quietly to Philip.

  'I also observe you have two cars with you, one with a woman behind the wheel . . .'

  Newman then realized that from his vantage point on the rock Brazil could see the vehicles over the top of the wall. He glanced at the Porsche. Eve, seated behind her wheel, had wrapped a scarf round her head and was now wearing tinted glasses.

  'I trust you were not thinking of driving back down the track along Lyman's Tout.' Brazil continued in his amiable tone. 'I see they are pointed that way. It is a dangerous route. I urge you to return the way you used to come here - along my drive. The gates are shut but I will order Craig to open them for you.'

  'I'm not sure that route might not be more dangerous.' Newman told him bluntly.

  'Ah, a man of my own heart. Cautious, taking no chances unless compelled to.' Brazil chuckled. 'Mr Newman, I will sit with you in the front passenger seat and escort you to the road. We have to give Craig time to reach the house and operate the automatic gates.'

  Inwardly, Newman was again taken aback, although nothing in his expression showed his surprise. Philip, who had earlier been given the key by Marler before hiding in the back of the Merc, had removed the blindfold and the gag and then unlocked the handcuffs.

  Craig staggered to his feet, blinking, saw Newman, began stumbling towards him.

  'You . . .'

  'Craig!' Brazil's tone was like a man addressing a child. 'Don't make bad worse. Kindly keep your mouth closed. Go back to the house and open the gates. Mr Newman and his companions are leaving. I shall be sitting with Mr Newman before I bid him a safe journey and return to the house. Move, man!' he suddenly thundered.

  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 RIGHT SQUARE BRACKET 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 di
stance 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 . . .'

  9

  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 sinceRIGHT SQUARE BRACKET'

  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 RIGHT SQUARE BRACKET 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.'

  The proprietor paused, clearly embarrassed. Tweed said nothing, gave no indication that he had heard of Newman.

  'He then went on,' the proprietor continued, 'to ask me if a Mr Tweed was registered with us. I told him no -because at that moment you had not appeared. I saw no reason to tell him you had stayed with us before.'

  'Thank you for telling me. We are just going out to keep an urgent appointment. And I have no idea when we'll be back.'

  'I'm sorry to . . .'

  'Think nothing of it.'

  Tweed walked casually back into the lounge. Franklin was joking with Paula who looked very relaxed.

  'I'm afraid we'll have to leave immediately,' Tweed told them. 'We may not be back until it's time for dinner.'

  'Mind if I accompany you?' asked Franklin. 'But if it's hush-hush I'll steer clear.'

  'You can come. You'll hear about what's been happening sooner or later. But I'd like us to move now. . .'

  The wind seemed even more bitter as they crossed the cobbled yard outside and went to their cars. Franklin reached into his Jaguar, brought out a heavy fawn raincoat, which he donned. It had wide lapels and broad belt; Paula thought he looked very much a military type.

  Tweed put on the new coat Paula had pushed him into buying but she felt quite comfortable in her windcheater.

  'What is our destination?' Franklin called out.

  'Just follow us.'

  Tweed dived behind the wheel of his car, turned on the engine, and began backing at speed. He turned, headed for the small square which led into South Street.

  'Where are we going, then?' Paula asked.

  'Anywhere outside Wareham. Buchanan put in an appearance. Asked for Newman, then for me.'

  'For you? That's strange.'

  'He's very shrewd is our friend, Roy Buchanan. I think he was aiming a shot in the dark. Hang on, there's Bob coming back, with Philip in Eve Warner's Porsche on his tail. And Butler, dressed like a gangster, on a Fireblade behind them.'

  Tweed pulled up in the Georgian square tucked away from South Street. Other cars were parked but no one else was about. Jumping out, Tweed ran over to Newman, who had braked.

  'Don't ask any questions. Don't go near the Priory -just follow me. That's Bill Franklin in the Jaguar. He turned up unexpectedly and is coming with us. Wait a sec . . .'

  He ran to the Porsche and Eve lowered her window. Tweed addressed Philip across her.

  'Get out. Move. Then get into Bob's car.' He looked at Eve, studying Philip's new friend as Philip left to join Paula. She stared straight back at him. 'I assume you are Eve Warner,' he began, and she interrupted him.

  'And how, may I ask, do you know about me? My name?'

  'Newman mentioned you when he phoned me. I hope that you won't mind, but we are all going to a meeting.'

  'Who are you to try and push me around?' she asked cockily.

  'My name is Tweed.' he said reluctantly. She was going to find out anyway, staying at the Priory. 'I would appreciate it if you would wait at the Priory - Philip will be back later.'

  'I don't feel like staying on my own.' she informed him. 'And we've had an adventure. You might like me to tell you what happened . . .'

  'Later. Excuse me.'

  Tweed, feeling like a grasshopper, ran across to Butler.

  'Harry, follow us.'

  'News to tell you. And Pete Nield is still probably at that roundabout you told us to send him to. Or Monica did . . .'

  'We've got to get away from here.'

  'OK. But Pete is wasting his time.'

  'Then we'll drive there and you can tell him to drive back to watch the Priory
again. He's to resume looking for Buchanan to arrive.'

  Tweed tore back to his own car, jumped behind the wheel, took off, turned left into South Street, across the bridge over the Frome, and out into the country.

  'You are fit.' Paula remarked. 'You weren't even puffing when you came back.'

  'Probably my frequent walks from my flat in Radnor Walk and back again in the evening. This isn't good.' he said, glancing in his mirror.

  'What isn't good?'

  'We have a regular convoy - first me, then Bob, followed by Franklin. And would you believe it? The Warner girl is coming up behind him in her blasted Porsche. At least Butler is keeping well back. Imagine if we run into Buchanan driving in the opposite direction. He'll spot us, do a U-turn when he can, and come after us.'

  'Then let's hope we don't see Buchanan.' Paula said calmly.

  'Don't be too hard on Eve,' Philip called out from the back. 'She practically saved Bob's life, maybe my own, too.'

  'Really? And I thought I told you to get into Newman's car.'

  'You did. But I've a lot to tell you.'

  'Tell me now. While the attractive Eve isn't bending an ear to our conversation . . .'