'Time to go.'
'Why did you liken it to a watch tower?' she asked while he drove down the drive and turned back the way they had come along the lane.
'I passed the base of the circular column on the way to the bathroom. It had a curved door, closed. Inside there must be a spiral staircase. Watch tower? Because I think Robson uses it to keep a close eye on the approaches to his home. The ridge along the moor continues from Quarme Manor, runs above Endpoint.'
'They both gave me the impression they're waiting for something dangerous to arrive – Barrymore with that wall and an electrified wire you saw. Now Robson – again with all that expensive security. The kind of thing you expect to see protecting a Beverly Hills mansion.'
'As though they were expecting Nemesis,' said Tweed.
12
Tweed, who had studied the map of Exmoor, drove back the way they had come and then turned on to a country lane leading away from Quarrae Manor. Paula watched his expression as the headlight beams followed the twists of the hedge-lined road. The darkness seemed eerie, the moor closing in on all sides.
'Pete is still following us if that's what you're wondering,' she remarked. 'I saw his lights a moment ago behind us.'
'I was wondering about the name of Robson's bungalow. Endpoint.'
'Rather obvious. The lane comes to a full stop below where his bungalow is perched.'
'I noticed that. Something else came back to me. One of those notes Harry Masterson sent back from Athens -wrapped up as a clue only I would understand, he thought. Endstation. Close to Endpoint, wouldn't you say?'
'My God! It never occurred to me. Was Harry pointing a finger at Robson?'
'Who knows? It's early days yet.'
'It's getting late nights. Where are we off to now?'
'To pay a call on the third member of the party which raided Siros all those years ago. CSM Kearns. If we can ever find his place in the dark. I've marked where I think it is on that map. Navigate, girl.'
'Maybe he won't welcome a surprise visit at this hour…'
'So, maybe we catch him off guard. It's odd the way the three of them live so close together.'
'Perhaps they've remained close friends even after all these years.'
'And you don't sound any more convinced than I am…'
It was a difficult drive even when the moon rose, casting a weird light over the landscape. The light became weirder as a mist began creeping down from high up the moor. Behind the phosphorescent glow Paula could still see the ridge crests sweeping across Exmoor like giant waves.
They met no other traffic. They passed no villages. For miles on their way towards Simonsbath they saw not even one isolated dwelling. They were alone in the desolate wilderness as Tweed descended a long curving road, lights undimmed to warn any vehicle approaching from the opposite direction.
'What on earth is that?' Paula asked suddenly.
Lights suddenly appeared further down the slope, lights close together on their right-hand side. Tweed frowned, slowed to a crawl. They were still several miles from Simonsbath from his memory of the map. Woods now lined either side, and the lights gleamed between the tree trunks, flashing on and off as the trunks momentarily obscured them. He stopped the car and stared through the windscreen.
'It's a small estate of modern bungalows. They're crammed pretty close together. Must have been built during the past ten or fifteen years.'
'And I think we may have pulled up just outside CSM Kearns' house,' Paula commented.
To their left inside a gap in the trees stood an old stone two-storey house perched higher up the slope. Surrounded by a high stone wall, there were two six-feet-high solid wooden gates. Tweed reached for his flashlight in the glove compartment, asked Paula to lower her window, switched on the light. A large metal plate carried the name. Wood-side House. 'This is his place,' he agreed.
He continued to move the light over the solid wooden gates. On the roadside was a grille covering each slab of wood. Reaching over to the rear seat, he grasped a heavy wooden walking stick he had purchased in Dunster. He was never sure afterwards what had made him do this.
'Let's investigate,' he said, switched off the engine and extracted the ignition key.
He locked the car before walking round it to join Paula who stood staring at the gates. Carrying the stick in his right hand, the light in his left, he swivelled the beam to the side of the right-hand gate and saw a bell-push. He pressed firmly with his thumb and they waited.
In the distance beyond the wall there was the sound of a door being opened, a door which creaked loudly in the heavy silence of the mist-bound night. Footsteps approached with a brisk tread across what sounded like a cobbled yard. Suddenly a ferocious snarl murdered the night, followed by barking.
'My God, what's that?' Paula asked.
'Guard dog.'
'Sounds as though it's short of food – and thinks we'd make a good dinner.'
'Who is it?'
A cultured voice. Terse. Commanding. Talking at them through a small window flap opened in the right-hand gate.
'My name is Tweed. Are you Mr Kearns?'
'Yes. What do you want?'
'Special Branch. I want a talk with you. Now.'
'You have identification?'
'Of course. Wait a minute.' The unseen animal was growling, its claws pawing at the inside of the gate. It couldn't wait to get out. Paula shivered. Tweed produced his card, held it up to the spyhole, shone his torch on it.
'Stand quite still when I open the gate. Move and you'll be torn to pieces.'
'Charming,' Paula mumbled under her breath.
The flap slammed shut. A sound of bolts being withdrawn, the turn of a key and the right-hand gate swung inward. They were still faced with the heavy iron grille. Tactfully, Tweed switched off his light. Also, he wanted to regain his night vision. He felt Paula tense beside him.
The tall figure of a man stood inserting a key into the grille with his left hand. His right gripped a chain holding a huge dog. The creature became excited again, baying and snarling, lunging forward.
'Quiet, Wolf,' the crisp voice commanded. 'Come in. He's harmless …'
'You could have fooled me,' Tweed rapped back.
'And who is this girl? Not also Special Branch? She can wait in the car.'
'She can come in with me, for God's sake. She's not waiting by herself out here in the middle of nowhere. And she is Special Branch. My assistant, Paula Grey…'
As this exchange took place Kearns was closing the grille and the gate, relocking everything. Tweed wandered up the slope paved with stone flags towards the house. Over a hundred years old if it was a day. Paula kept pace, anxious to distance herself from Wolf, which she had now identified as an Alsatian.
'Wait here,' Tweed said as they reached the steps up to the front door. 'Back in a moment.'
He walked swiftly in his rubber-soled shoes round the left side of the stone hulk. At the entrance to a wide passage a horse had recently relieved itself on the stones. Rounding the corner, he was confronted with a stable door, the upper flap open. A horse's head regarded him, poked itself further over the flap and whinnied softly. Tweed held out a hand, stroked its neck. Its smooth hair was wet. It had been ridden hard. And not long ago.
'Leave him alone. What are you poking round here for?'
Kearns' voice was harsh, demanding. He moved as quietly as Tweed. Turning, Tweed smiled apologetically, made a dismissive gesture.
'I'm fond of horses,' he lied. 'That's a very fine animal…'
'Come back to the proper entrance.' The Alsatian, snarling like a mad dog, lunged for Tweed, who
