by Colin Forbes
Arriving at the point where the Hengistbury wall curved away from the road, he slowed down. He moved very cautiously as he reached the unmade drive leading to Shooter's Lodge. The drive was ankle-deep in pine needles. He listened. No sound from the lodge and no lights in any windows. It was too quiet.
By now his night vision was functioning well. The lodge was about ten yards back from the road, on the right of the drive. It was very old, as Paula had said, built years ago of grey stone; it was one storey high with a steep sloping roof and wide stone square chimneys rearing up. The entrance had a long stone-roofed porch protecting it. Too quiet, Newman said to himself again. Yet it had all the appearance of being uninhabited.
With his Smith amp; Wesson held down by his side he began to walk up the drive, his soft-soled shoes making no sound as they pressed deep into the carpet of pine needles. He thought he saw a movement behind the largest chimney, stopped, waited, stared up. Nothing.
Then he noticed a complex web of radio-like wires attached to the chimney. This was the first sign this place was not all it pretended to be.
Inside Shooter's Lodge an alarm button had flashed red as Newman trod through the pine needles on the sophisticated pressure pad. Two men in the kitchen at the rear looked at each other.
One was dressed in a velvet jacket and trousers. He wore a Jewish-style cap on his head and gold-rimmed pince-nez on the bridge of his long, strong nose above thick lips. He had a professorial look.
His companion, Jacques, was a contrast. Taller and heavily built, his hands were huge. He produced from a leg sheath an ugly wide-bladed knife. He made a gesture of cutting a throat, pointed outside.
The professor frowned, shook his head, pointed first up the chimney, mimicked taking a photograph. Jacques nodded, then carefully removed a sheet of metal from the base of the chimney. Bending his head, he shinned up a ladder leading up the chimney to the roof.
The Professor bent down, removed a heavy floor rug, dug his fingers into a slot, heaved, hauled up a trapdoor, went down a series of stone steps into the vast cellar. Jacques would follow him by the same route. Warmth from the cellar drifted upwards.
The cellar was luxuriously furnished. Wall-to-wall carpet covered the floor. Heat came from a log fire which the Professor hastily damped down. Then he calmly sat on a sofa and began studying an old book entitled Weapons in the Middle Ages.
Jacques took his photo of the intruder walking towards the porch with his non-flash camera. Climbing back inside the chimney onto the ladder, he closed the cleverly designed stone door, descended the ladder, re-entered the kitchen, carefully put back into place the stone-coloured metal sheet.
His only real problem was closing the trapdoor after taking several steps down towards the cellar. The heavy kitchen rug had a strong adhesive attached to its base.
Once this was accomplished he slotted the trapdoor back into its place and descended into the cellar. His large hands were sweaty as he sat down on the sofa beside the Professor, who was calmly reading his book. Without looking at Jacques he took a large blue handkerchief out of his pocket, handed it to him. Jacques used it to dry his hands.
Reaching into his jacket pocket, Jacques produced the small camera, extracted the photo he'd taken from behind the chimney. The Professor always paid for the best – the camera worked without a flash and yet took clear pictures in the dark. He handed the print to the Professor who examined it over the top of his pince-nez. Nothing in his expression registered a reaction.
He reached for a notebook on a nearby table. He wrote in it with care. Then he handed it to Jacques, watching him closely as Jacques read the words.
Robert Newman. Key member Tweed's team.
Jacques lurched forward, his wide-bladed knife already in his hand. The Professor reached forward with one hand. With surprising strength he placed it on Jacques's chest, pushed him back into the chair. Then he used two fingers of the same hand, pressed them against his lips. Not one word, his gesture signalled. He resumed reading his book.
On the floor above, Newman was checking each room. When he entered the second bedroom the same atmosphere met him. The bed was made but there was mould on the sheets. And everywhere he went he walked through cobwebs dangling from the ceiling. It seemed even chillier inside the lodge than it was outside.
He entered the last room to check, the kitchen. More cobwebs and again all the surfaces were covered with dust. No aroma of food being prepared, maybe for years. Then he stopped, frowned. Was it his imagination or was there a faint feeling of warmth?
He took off a glove, held his bare hand over the cooker. Nothing. So why had he briefly detected warmth? He swung the beam of his pencil torch round. Unlike the other rooms this floor was covered with plastic sheets instead of stone paving.
Logical, he thought, this being the kitchen. He swivelled the beam of his torch, saw a thick rug in the centre of the floor. He crouched down and felt the corner which was turned up. He frowned. It was sticky, as though covered with an adhesive.
He slowly peeled the rug to one side, exposing the floor beneath. On one side the plastic sheet didn't fit perfectly. There was a deep narrow slot. Carefully, he slid one hand down inside, felt a handle, resisted the impulse to lift. Very carefully he replaced the rug over the whole slab.
His expression was grim as he stood up. There was a cellar below. If opened and closed recently it explained why he had sensed warmth in the kitchen only. As he had examined the apparently uninhabited lodge there had been someone hiding below him. Maybe more than one person. It gave him a creepy feeling.
He walked quietly back to the front door. It was protected by a Keylock, the most complex on the market. On his way in he had used the advanced pick-lock supplied to him by Harry. He had opened it easily.
Now, standing in the long arched porch, he closed the door, which had well-oiled hinges. Harry's instrument locked it silently. He emerged slowly from the porch, Smith amp; Wesson by his side, listened.
Then he was careful to walk back towards the road down the centre of the drive just as he had come in, his feet again sinking into the carpet of pine needles. He was near the exit when his right foot felt something hard. He crouched down after a quick glance back at the lodge. Using his gloved hand, he swept aside a whole mass of pine needles and there it was.
A wide metal band which appeared to span the drive, a deep trench in the middle of the bar occupied by a thick cable. Whoever was inside the lodge had been warned of his coming by the weight of his foot on the signal cable. Probably a red light came on somewhere inside the lodge.
He took care to sweep back pine needles over his discovery. Then he started the long trudge through the icy night to the manor. He used the speaker-phone, Snape replied immediately, opened the gates.
Newman thanked him for waiting up so late, gave him a generous tip, toiled up the staircase which seemed longer than usual. He paused outside Tweed's apartment door, his hand raised to knock, then decided not to disturb him.
He walked on to his apartment. Once inside he forced himself to take a shower, climbed into pyjamas, flopped under the sheets. The moment his head hit the pillow he fell into a deep sleep. His bedside light remained on all night.
25
After breakfast the following morning Newman described his visit to Shooter's Lodge to Tweed. Marler, Harry and Paula were also present. When he had finished, Tweed's reaction surprised him. `First, that was good work, outstandingly so, Bob. And the way you handled it was perfect. For the moment we don't go near the place. If we're driving past it no one even glances at it.' `I don't understand,' Newman protested. We may have Calouste in the palms of our hands.' `I do hope so. So we don't want him slipping away as he did at Heather Cottage. He'll have an escape route. I'm getting to know how Calouste thinks. He's moved in close to me after failing twice to kill me.' `I think you're right,' said Paula.
They were assembled in the large downstairs library. Before permitting Newman to report, Tweed had checked every distan
t armchair to make sure neither Leo nor Crystal were hidden away, listening.
Several were getting up to leave when Tweed's mobile buzzed. He made a gesture indicating they should wait. It was Monica calling from Park Crescent. Tweed listened, said very little, thanked her for the call. Nothing in his expression indicated the call had been important. `Gather round,' he ordered. 'I'll be speaking very quietly. Disturbing news: Monica has had a call from Philip Cardon on the Continent. Very short. I quote what he said. "Our friend has ordered the elite of his French servants to come over here urgently. They are probably already in England." End of message.' `I don't get it,' said Harry. `Philip is warning us Calouste has brought over here the elite of his French killers. I left a bit out. There are six or seven of them, Calouste doesn't do things by halves.' `They'll come through The Forest to attack here,' Marler warned. 'Obvious line of approach. And unlike us they'll use their favourite weapons – knives. So I suggest the team goes into The Forest, scattered, and now.' `I'll advise you,' Harry volunteered. 'I probably know the area better than any of you.' `Wait a moment,' intervened Tweed. 'There's a problem. The bodies. Both the Home Office and the Foreign Office dumbos are playing diplomatic chess with Paris. The French are waiting for some excuse to smear us. Even though you'll be up against murderous thugs, Paris could yell about French citizens being massacred.' `I have the answer,' Harry piped up. 'I found an ancient and deep stone quarry, its sides crumbling, on the far side of The Forest. Bodies. Need I say more?' `No,' said Tweed. As his team trooped to the door he called out. 'Be careful – you'll be dealing with professionals.' `I thought we were professionals,' Harry fired back at him as he left and closed the door. `Everything is hotting up,' Tweed said to Paula when they were alone. 'The tempo is accelerating. But we have experienced this before.' `I don't like the idea of our team lost in The Forest,' she said. `Except they won't be lost, under Harry's guidance.'
A few minutes later the door opened slowly and Leo's head peered round it sneakily. Behind him Crystal's head also appeared. `Anyone else in here?' he whispered. 'Good. We have an important secret to tell you.'
Not another one, Paula thought. The Mrs Carlyle one was bad enough, but it was important.
With Tweed and Paula the two of them gathered round the table, Crystal looked excited, brushed her hair back off her face, while Leo looked determined. `You heard our mother died in a car accident,' Leo began. 'I was eleven and Crystal was eight. Mother was driving home by herself using a route she knew well. Coming back from Midhurst she climbed a steep hill with Hook Corner at the top. It's high up, with a drop of a hundred feet on one side and a big warning notice. Hook Corner is a hairpin turn so she drove slowly, I'm sure, as she always did. Are you with me?' `Yes,' Tweed said, hands perched under his chin, waiting for Crystal to interrupt, which she didn't. `Coming round Hook Corner,' Leo continued, `there's a steep hill going down, so you brake. Mother's car went over the edge and ended up a hundred feet down, smashed to pulp. The police under Inspector Trafford-' `Tetford?' enquired Tweed. 'The man still in charge over at Leaminster.' `That's him. Tetford. Been here forever. Prior to Mother's so-called accident Tetford reported it as just yet another accident at a dangerous corner. It wasn't. The brake linings had been tampered with. When Mother pressed the brake it didn't work. It was murder.' `My mother was murdered,' Crystal said. `Tetford messed it up.' `How do you know the brake linings were tampered with?' Tweed demanded, leaning forward. `Leo is a mechanic,' Crystal spoke up. 'Worked for a garage once and was so good they offered him a job. He can take any car to pieces and put it back together perfectly. He could demonstrate on your Audi' `No thanks,' Tweed said firmly. 'When did you go down to examine the smashed-up car?' `The day after his men had made a superficial check.' `And did you report your findings to Telford?' `I did.' Leo's face flushed. 'He told me I was only twelve years old – he even got my age wrong – and warned me not to go spreading silly stories or I'd find myself in serious trouble.' `And have you told this to anyone else since?' `Only to Crystal and she's kept quiet.' `Surely you mentioned it to Warner, your father?' `I knew he didn't want to discuss it or talk about it to anyone. He's never referred to it since. I'm telling you now so you know everything that might be connected with your investigation.' `Keep it that way. And I appreciate your telling me.'
They both got up and left the library together. Tweed looked at Paula who had a very serious expression. `What do you make of that?' `It could add a whole new dimension to the case. I believed Leo. I've seen him fiddling with his motorcycle in bits, then setting to work to put it together again.'
She stopped talking as the door opened and Marshal breezed into the room, his usual flamboyant self. He wore jodhpurs, tucked into gleaming leather riding boots, and a blazing yellow tunic. In his right hand he held a whip, which he slapped against his boots. `Mornin', you two detectives. Time you solved the case.'
Tweed was not amused. He stared hard at Marshal before he spoke. `It's not a flippant matter when your own mother has been brutally murdered. And we are closer to breaking the case than when we arrived. Were you thinking of going riding?' `As a matter of fact I'm taking a trot through the woods. Lavinia often rides the course laid out beyond the tennis courts which has tricky jumps. She sails over them. I can't watch her. But this morning I'll be on my second horse, Whiskers. A slow plodder so quite safe to take into the woods.' `In that case, Mr Main, I suggest you postpone your ride, confine yourself to your apartment for the morning.' `What the hell for?You can't order me about!' `Some members of my team are in The Forest shooting rabbits to help out Snape. There's a danger the growing population of our furry friends will overrun the place.' `I haven't seen one damned one of the things on the lawn.' `And you don't want them invading that lawn, digging up a labyrinth of warrens. Also,' Tweed went on genially, 'I don't want one of my suspects shot.' `I'm a suspect?' Marshal's face reddened with fury. `Everyone in this mansion is until we have all the evidence I am collecting almost hourly.' `Oh, well…' Marshal paused uncertainly. 'I do have a whole pile of accounts to check in my apartment. If you'd spoken earlier I wouldn't have had to change my togs.'
With this parting shot he left the library, slamming the door behind him Shortly afterwards Snape appeared with a telephone he plugged into a wall socket. `There's a Professor Heathstone on the line. Asked for you personally. Said it was urgent' `Hello. Tweed here.' `Good morning, Mr Tweed, I am a man of few words. I am a rare-book dealer.' `I don't deal in them'
The voice was reedy, like that of an old man, throaty and pronouncing every word slowly. As though he had to remember what he wanted to say. `Ah,' the voice continued, 'an impulsive man. Not what I had expected. I have important information for you. I have a room at the Pike's Peak Hotel in Gladworth. Could you be here in, say, fifteen minutes?' `No, I couldn't. I'd need to know more about this alleged important information before I come anywhere near you.' `Very well. I was in a second-hand bookshop in Paris quite recently when, tucked behind some rubbish, I found a first edition of Ulysses, by the Irish gentleman. Have you any idea of what that would go for at a London auction?' `No. And if you don't get to the point quickly I'm going off the line.' `Patience, Mr Tweed. Just a few moments longer. Inside was a sheet with names typed on it, a new sheet. It gave the names of the members of something called the Red Circle. The chairman, apparently, is someone called Calouste something or other.'
There was silence. Tweed thought he could hear heavy breathing on the line. `I'll be at your hotel in half an hour,' Tweed said as Harry entered the library. `There will be a charge, Mr Tweed. I'm a businessman.' `There always is a charge.' `What is it, Harry?' Tweed asked as he put down the phone and Marler followed him into the library. `Thought I'd tell you we're all ready to go at the back door.' `You have come at just the right moment. A change of plan.'
Newman came in as Tweed began telling them about the mysterious phone call, recalling every word from memory and stating that he was going to meet this professor Heathstone at Pike's Peak Hotel. Paul
a chimed in that she was going with him.
Marler immediately came up with a detailed plan, reminding Tweed of Philip Cardon's warning that six or seven French killers had arrived. He thought Philip, as usual, had exaggerated the number to put Tweed on full alert. He told Harry and Newman how they should react. `The car park at that hotel is the danger point, so we must get there first.' `I hope you're right about this,' Paula said to Marler. `This could be very dangerous for Tweed.' `Haven't I always been right?' Marler said with a smile as he put his arm reassuringly round her waist. `Give me time to think,' she teased him. `And just before we leave,' Marler continued as Tweed was impatiently waiting by the door. `What is it now?' Tweed snapped. `I want everyone to give Harry their handcuffs. He will need plenty.'
26
`This meet at the hotel is a trap,' Paula said as she sat by Tweed driving the Audi through the tunnel road leading to Gladworth. 'I'm not happy about any of it.' `Of course it's a trap,' Tweed replied. `A trap for you,' she insisted, `so why walk into it?' `Because a trap can be reversed, eliminating the trappers.' `If you say so.'
Her mood was not helped by the weather change. The sun had vanished. She had the sensation that, even with headlights on, they were driving into a pool of gloom, maybe doom.
A short distance behind them Newman was driving his Merc. As passengers in the rear of the car he had Marler and Harry. Harry had produced from his tool bag a thin long-barrelled weapon, which he handed to Marler. He also gave him a short slightly larger metal barrel with perforated holes at frequent intervals, plus several cartridges. `An American Colt,' Marler said. 'Not many of them about, even in the States.' `Pal of mine visiting New York was threatened with that in a bar. He took it off the American. Chap didn't know you don't threaten a Cockney. The shorter bit with a screw lining inside is-' `A silencer,' Marler said. 'Trouble is they can jam a gun.' `Agreed. But you could get off two shots, maybe three before you get into trouble.' `You think I can, if necessary, use it…' `To scare any thug dead.' `Could come in useful. Thanks.'