The Savage Gorge tac-24

by Colin Forbes

  'And yet Sable is your father's favourite. Why?'

  'He thinks her personality is superior to Margot's, gives her fantastically expensive presents on her birthday.'

  'Like the diamond brooch she flaunted,' Tweed said grimly.

  'Flaunted?'

  For the first time the smile vanished off Lance's face, was replaced by a sneering curl of his lips.

  'Never mind,' said Tweed.

  'I expect you have a lot of girl friends,' Paula inter vened, appalled by Tweed's aggressive treatment of everything Lance had said.

  'Oh, lots and lots,' Lance said, the smile returning when he turned to her. Tm afraid I'm rather wicked. I've got a small pad in Gunners Gorge Father doesn't know about. When a girl attracts my attention I settle her there. Until she starts talking about marriage. Then I wait until she's out. I pack all her things neatly in her suitcase, place it in the hall, get the locks changed at once.'

  'Isn't that a bit tough on her?' Paula suggested.

  'Until she gets home,' Lance said with a grin. 'When she unpacks she finds an envelope stuffed with money.'

  'That probably eases her sorrow,' Paula said with a smile.

  'Don't much care whether it does or not. Self-inter est is what drives the world.' He turned to Tweed, tried again. 'Would it be possible for the two of you to dine with my father at Hobart House this evening?'

  'Don't see why not. What time?'

  'Would 8 p.m. suit you, sir?'

  'Yes, it would.' Tweed stood up, abruptly the soul of good humour. 'Please thank your father and say we're looking forward to seeing him again. Also, I would like to thank you for the truly excellent tea. To get this in London you'd have to go to the Ritz or the Savoy. I have enjoyed every minute of it. Thank you. Please excuse us – we must leave now…'

  'I think you were pretty tough on Lance,' Paula com mented as they walked through the entrance hall, keeping her voice low.

  'You've certainly been with me long enough to know I adapt my tactics to obtain information. They worked.'

  'It's been raining while we were having tea,' Paula remarked, gazing through the front entrance before Tweed turned into the garage.

  'Buckets of it,' called out landlord Bowling. 'All the time you were having tea. Drenched down – a cloud burst. The river has risen. It will be coming over the falls like an express train.'

  'What did you think of Lance?' Tweed asked as they entered the garage and headed for his Audi.

  'Very smooth. Too smooth for my liking. I would never trust him despite his good looks – which he obviously exploits to the full.'

  'I think, like the others round here, with the excep tion of old Mrs Grout, he was lying. Now I want to drive all the way along the High Street and up to Aaron's Rock at the top of the gorge. Should be quite a sight after all the rain…'

  As he was cruising along the High Street, Paula used her binoculars to study the road on the far side of the river. On each bank a wide area of grass separated road from river.

  'They call that road on the far side Ascot Way,' she observed. 'The horsey lot must live over there. Tweed, could you park for a moment? I've spotted the path which probably leads to the stone Pit Bull had erected when Lizbeth drowned.'

  ' If she drowned,' Tweed said as he climbed out, fol lowing Paula along the curving path through lush green grass.

  'Why "if"?' Paula called back.

  'They found her clothes neatly piled by the river. Despite the fact everyone agrees she was sloppy and untidy in her habits. The discrepancy bothers me.'

  'Look at the wording on the stone,' she exclaimed.

  FOR LIZBETH

  YOU WILL RETURN ONE DAY YOUR LOVING FATHER

  'It doesn't add up,' she protested. 'The affection. When you think this is the same man who stormed off the terrace as we were leaving. How abusive he was – not only to us but also to Archie MacBlade.'

  'I agree. We still don't know what sort of a man Lord Bullerton really is. As I've told you before, human nature is a fascinating and complex mixture. Now for the Gorge. The river is indeed very high.'

  Lepard sat in a chair overlooking the High Street closer to the Gorge. He had chosen the only accom modation available for a two-week stay, a cottage with a notice in the front window. Room Available For short Let.

  He would never be recognized now even in the East End. He wore a large grey shaggy wig with a very British wide-brimmed straw hat he never took off. He had explained to his landlady, Mrs Wharton, that he had been ill, that the doctor had warned him never to expose his head to the sun and to protect his hands. He therefore always wore gloves. No fingerprints. He had even gone to the lengths of wearing contact lenses that changed the colour of his eyes. To complete the disguise he now wore large horn-rimmed spectacles with plain ^ glass. With his disguise removed he was confident Mrs -Wharton would never pick him out of a police line up, if it-ever came to that.

  On his mobile he told his second-in-command, Ned Marsh, to bring up a bazooka with rockets when he summoned his gang to Gunners Gorge.

  He had foreseen that Tweed might summon his key team. In which case it would be a massacre, probably launched by his gang from the top of the Gorge, which he had explored very thoroughly. The window he watched through was masked by dense net cur tains. He could see out but no one could see in. The only disadvantage was he was too far up the High Street to view the Gorge or its summit.

  He sat up straight with shock as Tweed's Audi cruised slowly past. If it was Tweed's habit to travel the same route he was a dead man.

  'You know,' said Paula as they neared the turn-off leading direct to the summit of the Gorge, 'I don't see how Cromwell's cavalry ever climbed those steps as Bullerton described. Hooves would slither all over them.'

  'You've missed something,' he told her. 'Alongside each flight there is a wide grass verge between steps and the beautiful houses. Horses could easily mount as high as they needed to by galloping up the grass.'

  'Of course. I missed that,' she admitted.

  'Another thing,' he went on. 'Last night before I got into bed I phoned Marler and asked him to come up here today, so he could arrive at any moment.'

  'Why Marler?' she wondered.

  'Because he is a master strategist. So it's important that he checks the lie of the land, especially in this area.'

  Further down the High Street, Lepard was still watching through the net curtains, seated comfortably in his chair behind a table. A few minutes after spot ting Tweed's Audi he saw the next vehicle, a green Saab, driving slowly towards the Gorge. Without pas sengers there was a single driver behind the wheel. Lepard saw no significance in this brief event, assum ing it was one of the locals…

  Approaching the turn-off to Aaron's Rock, Paula became aware of a disturbing sound, a muted roar of great power which steadily increased as Tweed drove up a steep dusty track. On either side high granite boulders gave her a feeling of claustrophobia.

  They were in the open now. Tweed turned the Audi round for a swift departure. Jumping out of his car he was followed more slowly by Paula. She was staring at a huge cloud of spray and the roar had become deafening.

  Determined to keep up with Tweed she ran after and past him, stopping suddenly as she gazed at the awesome spectacle. The river was the kind of surge you see when a massive dam breaks. Her feet and her willpower carried her towards the brink and she stared down.

  The immense rush of water, culminating in the huge waterfall dropping a hundred and fifty feet, hyp notized her. She began to feel dizzy as her feet took her two more steps over the wet, slippery surface of the platform of rock projecting over endless space. She thought she heard Tweed shout but the thunder of the waterfall drowned him out.

  The next thing she knew he had one strong arm round her waist, the other gripping her arm tightly. He put his mouth close to her ear.

  'You idiot! You will now do exactly what I tell you. I want you to slowly back away. Slow steps. This platform is like a skating rink. Do not attempt to tur
n round. One foot at a time. That is an order!'

  She obeyed. She had the strange sensation Tweed had lifted her off her feet. He hadn't. Her right boot slipped as she was moving it back. She was terrified. She was going to slide over the edge. Tweed's arm tightened round her waist until she felt she could hardly breathe, her face running with spray as an exceptional surge of water arrived from higher up the river. Tweed's voice was in her ear again.

  'Nearly off the platform,' he said gently. 'Just a few more steps and we're there. Then you can cry all you like…'

  Tm not crying,' she shouted, furious. 'It's spray off the waterfall!'

  Her burst of indignation seemed to give her new strength. A few more steps and she'd be clear of this hideous platform. Her right ankle sank into the sand at the top of the road. She gave a great sigh of relief.

  'You did very well,' a familiar voice drawled. 'Sit down on this armchair.' Marler had spread out a waterproof sheet on a flatstone. 'And have a drink,' he went on as he offered her an uncapped flask.

  'Is that alcohol?' she asked cautiously.

  'No, you little boozer,' he told her, raising his voice. 'It is water. You go first. And leave a generous portion for Tweed and me.. .'

  She thanked him, comfortably seated, began sip ping slowly, feeling much better. Marler, who had foreseen conditions, wore a raincoat, a small camera with a zoom lens slung from his neck.

  'You've got nerve,' Marler told Paula.

  'I was scared witlesss…'

  'So was Tweed. So will I be, on that platform.'

  'What are you going to do?' Tweed asked.

  'See what is on the other side of this gorge?'

  Neither of them had noticed until Marler pointed. On the far side of the Gorge three large caves had been at some time carved out of the rock at their level, two more at the level below. Paula noticed they were high enough to accommodate men on horseback, recalling Bullerton's vivid description of the battle long ago.

  'Lepard,' Marler explained, 'will, I am confident, station his killers inside them. They overlook the road, or the first part of it. Tweed, do you often drive your Audi along that road?'

  'I was thinking of doing so each morning…'

  'Good. So you will be the target.'

  'Oh, no!' protested Paula.

  'Please keep quiet, dear, until I'm finished,' admon ished Marler. 'It won't be Tweed driving, it will be a member of the team clothed to look like Tweed. Probably have to draw lots for the driver, since they'll all volunteer.'

  'Not necessary,' Tweed insisted in a strong voice. 'Because I will be behind the wheel.'

  'In that case I will be with you,' snapped Paula.

  'No, you won't. And that is another order,' Tweed said, as he stared at her grimly.

  'Time to take my pics of those caves so I can show the team.'

  'You'd better be very careful of that platform,' Paula warned.

  'I'll be OK. Look…'

  He lifted a foot and he was wearing rubber gum- boots; the soles had rubber projections which would increase balance. He waved a hand, walked to the platform, stamped a foot on its surface and marched across as though on grass. He went to the edge, took a lot of pics of the caves at both levels, returned smiling.

  'Back to the Nag's Head,' he suggested. 'I've booked a room in my name. Also I've booked rooms for the rest of the team, telling the landlord, Bowling, they are members of the Fishers' Club. I've further instructed Bob Newman to include among the more lethal equipment fishing rods and tackle. They're waiting now for your signal to hurtle up here.'

  'Excellent organization. What I don't know is where the team will be located to counter Lepard's thugs.'

  'Another leaf out of the Cromwellian book. They will occupy positions up a series of three flights of steps to our right as we drive back to the hotel. Most residences I found were empty. These wealthy people take early holidays.'

  'Let's get back, then,' Tweed suggested, walking towards Marler's Saab, parked next to Tweed's Audi.

  'One vital factor you should be warned about. Newman found out that one of Lepard's men is bring ing him a bazooka. One round from that hitting your Audi and, despite armoured plate and armoured glass, your vehicle will go up in flames.'

  'This is not on,' Paula said vehemently just before they climbed into their transport.

  'Our team,' Marler assured her, 'scattered along those steps, have a clear view of all the caves. It will be up to me to spot the man with the bazooka and before the team opens fire to kill him stone cold dead.'

  'It's too much of a risk to Tweed,' she snapped.

  'All our previous operations have involved risk,' Tweed said.

  'Not as suicidal as this one,' she snapped again.

  'Marler,' suggested Tweed, to change the subject, 'I think it would be wiser if we were not seen together. Maybe you could drive back to the Nag's Head now and we'll start in just a few minutes.'

  'All great minds,' Marler said cheerfully. 'I was just about to suggest the same thing myself. And whenever our team is summoned urgently from Park Crescent by you I shan't say one word…'

  They had waited five minutes for Marler to get clear. Paula was staring upriver. The whole of that area north of Gunners Gorge had been obscured by mist. Now a breeze had dispersed it and she could see a long way. She tugged Tweed's sleeve.

  'Look at that. An old iron bridge. It must link Ascot Way with the High Street. I did see a girl riding a horse heading up Ascot Way. I wondered how she'd reach the hunting country on our side.'

  'Now you know,' he said without interest as they climbed in into the Audi. Tweed began driving down the track, turning right as they entered the High Street.

  'Why did you send Marler off ahead of us?' she began. 'I've the odd suspicion you had another motive.'

  'Can't keep anything from you.' He sighed. 'You are right. Remember that business card Archie MacBlade tucked into my pocket in the hall of the Nag's Head?'

  'I do.'

  'He urged me to visit a Mr Hartland Trent. Said he was trustworthy. Trent could be just the man to tell us what is really going on in this strange town.'

  ELEVEN

  Tweed parked the Audi several flights below Primrose Steps. No point in advertising who he was going to visit. He ran up the flight with Paula by his side. He realized all the expensive, well-designed houses were built of grim dark grey granite.

  Twinkle Cottage was high up the flight, more than halfway. He hammered twice with the large brass knocker. The heavy door swung inward. He glanced at Paula, who already had her Browning in her hand. He slipped out his own weapon, pushed open the well-oiled door.

  He did not call out as so often happens in films. Anyone might be waiting inside. He walked slowly in on the wall-to-wall carpet. He listened. No sound of anyone. With Paula close behind him he continued until he reached a partly opened door on his right. He pushed it open a little more into a spacious living room.

  'My God!' he said under his breath.

  'What is it?' whispered Paula, who had acute hear ing.

  'I think we have found Mr Hartland Trent.'

  The body was full length on a table whose green baize was covered with blood. Tweed gently felt a neck artery, shook his head. He then felt the face and shoulder.

  'No good,' he said to Paula. 'He's dead. But the warmth of the body suggests the murder was com mitted not so long before we arrived. At a quick count he was stabbed brutally over a dozen times.'

  'Look at the right hand, at the index finger. It's pointing at something. That pile of old newspapers on the coffee table.'

  'You're not suggesting,' Tweed said in disbelief, 'that this poor devil, after being stabbed so many times, was able to turn his hand and use his finger to point.'

  'We've encountered stranger cases,' she reminded him. 'Were any of the stab wounds lethal?'

  'Well, no,' Tweed admitted. 'It was the loss of blood which got him. And look at the state of this room.'

  It had been ransacked. Drawers we
re pulled out, dropped on the carpet. Bound books had been hauled out of the cases lining the walls. Paula moved suddenly,

  Browning in her hand. She rushed out of the room and up a staircase.

  Tweed swore to himself at his own slackness. Pulling on latex gloves, he began checking the rest of the downstairs rooms. He returned to the study as Paula dashed back down the stairs and joined him.

  'I thought it was just possible the killer was still in the house,' she explained. 'Nothing. Nobody. No sign of any hurried search.'

  'I should have thought of that myself earlier. I've checked downstairs. The kitchen door is locked and bolted on the inside. You know what that means?'

  'Mr Hartland Trent must have known his murderer, have seen no reason to be on his guard.'

  'Why is he stretched out on that table?'

  'My guess is he was standing by the end of it when he was attacked. His killer pushed him onto the table and Trent tried to escape by hauling himself along it. His killer ran down the side of the table, pushed his victim down and stabbed and stabbed.'

  Paula was only half-listening as she carefully opened each folded newspaper to every page. Tweed thought she was wasting her time but kept quiet, checking his watch. After a while Tweed stood up, left the room. Something had occurred to him. If someone arrived at the front door as Paula fooled around with a stack of old newspapers they would need an escape route. In the kitchen he drew back the bolts on the door. He left it locked with the key in. Just in case someone tried to get in that way.

  Paula was more than halfway down the stack when he returned. After checking every page of a newspaper she folded it, perched it neatly on one side. Tweed's patience snapped.

  'We must get out of this place. We need to report Hartland Trent's murder anonymously from a public phone.'

  'Shut up!' she told him. 'This whole room was ran sacked and the only item untouched was this pile of newspapers.' She was turning over the pages of an old copy of The Times. This newspaper seemed strangely thick. She reached the centre spread and stared down at a legal document and one brief typed letter on Hobart House stationery, dated five days earlier, addressed to Hartland Trent, signed by Lord Bullerton.