'One more question. What odd characters? You just said Siros was crawling with them.'
'Republican Greeks, left-wing Greeks, Royalist Greeks, monks from the monastery. And the German occupation troops. Now…' He marched round the table to the door, opened it and went into the hall.
Jill Kearns, who had lit a fresh cigarette, leant across the table to Tweed. 'Are you staying somewhere near?' she whispered.
'Luttrell Arms, Dunster. You can get me there if something's bothering you,' Tweed replied in a low tone. He raised his voice. 'I think we may soon outstay our welcome, Paula.'
In the hall Kearns stood by the open front door. Somewhere close at hand Paula heard Wolf snuffling, growling, scratching at a door. Kearns had handed the dog's chain to Jill when they entered the place.
'Goodbye,' said Kearns stiffly.
'Just before we go,' Tweed persisted amiably, 'please give me your impressions of Colonel Barrymore and Captain Robson.'
Kearns' thin mouth tightened. The colonel is a first-rate commander. Can smell trouble a mile off.' He gazed straight at Tweed for a moment. 'Knows at once how to deal with it. No hesitation. Captain Robson was not a regular. More inclined to circle round trouble. Very determined in an emergency.'
'And that estate of new houses just down the road. Seems out of place.'
'Why? Occupied by businessmen, I gather. Probably commute to Taunton or Bristol. Like the country life. How would I know? I'll let you out now…'
Tweed and Paula prepared to follow him down the slope. Just before he stepped out Tweed glanced back. Jill Kearns stood watching him, holding her cigarette holder. She nodded at him.
'Goodnight,' said Tweed. 'Sorry to disturb you at this hour.'
'Any disturbance is welcome out in this Godforsaken wilderness.'
Kearns had both the wooden gate and the grille open when they reached him. He stood aside, said not another word as they walked out. The grille slammed shut behind them, followed by the main gate. Standing on the grass verge Tweed heard brisk footsteps retreating back towards the house.
'Well!' Paula blew breath between her teeth. 'That was really something. Imagine living with him.'
They climbed back into the car which was chilly inside. Tweed switched on the heater and tapped his fingers on the wheel before starting the engine. He was gazing at the glow of the estate lights in the mist.
'What was your impression?' Tweed asked as he fired the engine.
'A born CSM. Should still be in the Army, bawling contemptuous commands to his troops. Very self-contained. Could settle anywhere. A bloody iceberg.'
'And his attractive wife, Jill?'
'A manhunter. After more trophies to add to her collection.'
That's pretty catty. Not your usual style…'
'I saw the way she watched you while you grilled Kearns.'
'She's a good few years younger than him – and it must get very lonely in that hideous old pile.'
'She's getting to you already.' Paula glanced at Tweed as he let the car cruise downhill. 'You devil, you're teasing me. I agree it can't be much fun married to the perfect CSM.'
'I thought Tie did that rather well – put on a clever performance. Just stopped short of caricature.'
'Tweed, what are you driving at?'
'Mr Kearns is a great deal more devious than you give him credit for. He was presenting a mask to us.'
'Talking about masks, I wonder about that peculiar little colony of bungalows,' she observed. 'They don't look real. Let's take a closer look. You know, they all look simply too good to be true to me.'
He slowed down even more as they passed the entrance to the estate and Paula counted six bungalows, three on each side of the cul-de-sac. All the dwellings had curtains drawn, lights on behind them. AH had the usual status symbols of the upwardly mobile young and ambitious executives. Coach lanterns flanking each porch; more lanterns at the entrance gates to the drives; urn-shaped pots with evergreen shrubs like small exclamation marks.
'Like something out of the Ideal Homes Exhibition they hold at the annual Olympia exhibition in London,' Paula remarked. 'As I said before, they don't look real.'
'And Kearns, who lives on their doorsteps, doesn't seem to know a thing about them. Hard to swallow.'
'Makes sense to me. You said it yourself. He's a self-contained type…'
'I also said he was a good actor. What's the matter?'
They had left the bungalow estate behind, the road was now level, winding across the moor, open to it on either side. No hedges. In the moonlight on both sides smooth dark slopes swept up to high ridges silhouetted against the night sky. Paula had stiffened, was staring up to her left.
'There's that ghostly horseman again!'
'Where?' Tweed reduced speed to peer up the slope where transparent veils of pale mist rolled slowly over the moor, assuming strange shapes, Tweed was sceptical. One patch of mist looked like a centaur, then dissolved. 'I don't see any horseman…'
'Up there on that dip in the ridge, for God's sake. And he's got his rifle again. He's aiming it…'
Everything happened at once. A Cortina came up behind them and overtook, slowing as it pulled in ahead of the Mercedes. 'Pete is still with us,' Tweed remarked. 'I still can't see…'
He broke off in mid-sentence. Paula was not given to seeing phantoms as he'd imagined. Perched in a fold between two ridge crests a man on a horse stood still as a statue, rifle raised. Tweed rammed his foot down on the accelerator, turning out to pass the Cortina which had stopped. There was a sharp crack! At the same time the sound of splintering glass. Paula jerked her head round.
'Both rear side windows are crazed…'
'Bullet,' Tweed said tersely.
He pulled up at a point where two copses of trees shielded the road on either side, forming a shield. In the rear-view mirror he saw Pete Nield crouched behind the parked Cortina, both hands raised, aiming up the slope. The hard detonation of three shots fired in rapid succession echoed through the night. Nield stood up, climbed back behind the wheel, drove forward and stopped alongside the Mercedes. Tweed lowered his window full depth.
'He tried to kill you this time,' Nield remarked. 'How the hell did he make it all the way down here from the Doone Valley?'
'Did you get him?' Tweed asked calmly. Beside him Paula gripped both hands tightly to stop shuddering.
'No. The range of fire was too far for a handgun. Frightened him off before he could try again. Saw him vanish over a cleft in the hills. You didn't answer my question. How could he make it here from the Doone Valley?'
'He'd have to know the country well, have ridden over Exmoor a lot.' Tweed splayed his hands on the wheel. Paula was amazed by his reaction: he was cool as a cucumber. She was still shaking. 'Also there's a moon up,' Tweed went on. 'An experienced rider could have come across country direct while we drove in a half circle slowly.'
'So it could have been either Barrymore or Robson?' Paula suggested. 'Kearns told us they all rode…'
'Or even Kearns himself. Time to get back for a late dinner to Dunster.' He glanced at her as he released the hand-brake. 'Don't forget – Kearns is closest and the horse I saw in his table was still saddled up. But the attempt on my life proves that we came to the right place.'
13
The horseman appeared in the middle of the road as they came close to Dunster along a quiet hedge-lined country lane.
He sat motionless on his horse, one hand held up, the other holding the reins. Tweed saw him clearly in his headlights. He turned them from dipped to undipped and the twin glare showed up the waiting man starkly. He lowered his raised hand to shield his eyes.
Pete Nield's Cortina, close behind the Mercedes now, overtook Tweed's car. Nield drove with one hand on the wheel, his other slipping the. 38 Smith amp; Wesson from his hip holster. Stopping the Cortina, he jumped out of the seat, lifted both hands, gripping the gun, aiming point-blank.
