'How do you know that?' Barrymore snapped.
'I have contacts. I'm Special Branch. You know that. You checked up on the phone with my chief, Walton.'
Robson, wearing a loose-fitting brown shirt, a plain brown tie, the knot slack below his throat, and an old check sports jacket, stirred. He turned to face Barrymore.
'You didn't tell me that.'
'Must have slipped my mind,' the colonel replied curtly.
Robson tugged at his straggly moustache, turned back to face Tweed. His pale blue eyes studied him for a moment.
'What makes you think Jill was murdered?'
'A cleaning woman inside one of the St James's Street clubs saw a Jaguar waiting by the kerb with its engine running. The moment Jill started to cross the street the man behind the wheel headed straight for her. Cold-blooded murder.'
Tweed waited again. Before leaving London he had changed his mind, had phoned Chief Inspector Jarvis in charge of the case. No description of the driver worth a damn. The silence inside the room became oppressive.
Paula was studying Kearns. He sat like a statue. Not a blink of an eyelid at Tweed's statement. Years of iron self-discipline as a CSM, she thought. Never show your emotions however tough the situation. She felt Tweed was treating him inconsiderately.
'Why have you come to see us?' Robson asked, leaning forward, gazing at Tweed as though deciding on a diagnosis.
'Because you're all suspects, of course…'
'How dare you!' Barrymore burst out. 'Are you accusing us? And what evidence have you to base that slanderous statement on? I want an answer.'
'I'll give you one. You were all members of the commando raid on Siros. Andreas Gavalas was murdered. A fortune in diamonds he was carrying for the Greek Resistance was stolen. You were all based at the Antikhana Building in Cairo. You had returned from the raid, Ionides was murdered. You were all here on Exmoor a good few weeks ago. Partridge was murdered. You were all staying in London at the Lyceum Hotel – only a short distance from St James's Street. Jill Kearns was murdered. How much more coincidence do you think I can swallow?'
Robson laid a restraining hand on Barrymore's arm. He asked the question in the manner of a doctor enquiring about a patient's symptoms.
'Why do you think that Jill was murdered?'
'Because someone who knew she always stayed at Brown's saw me having tea with her. Whoever it was became worried she might tell me too much.'
'Stretching it a bit, aren't you?'
'Possibly. Until I link it up with the fact you must all have known she made a habit of staying at Brown's, that she made a habit of going out for a walk at that time every single day of her life. The killer followed her to the Stafford where I asked her to go, hoping to ensure her safety. Where were you all at 6.30 a.m. that fatal morning?'
Barrymore opened his mouth to protest. 'What damned impudence. I'll see you in hell before…'
'Best to reply,' Robson intervened. 'We all got up early – the habit of a lifetime. Goes back to Army days. By early I mean about 5.30 a.m. None of us have breakfast. There were tea-making facilities in the bedrooms. I spent my time packing, then studied some medical journals. No one to verify that.' His smile was wintry. 'Barrymore had gone for a walk – I know that because I went to his room and there was no reply. Kearns was also out walking. It was a fine day. Doesn't help a lot, does it?'
'Not a lot,' Tweed agreed. 'You were out for a walk, Barrymore?'
'You heard what Captain Robson said. I'm getting a trifle fed up with you…'
'And I'm fed up with the fact that my old friend, Sam Partridge, was foully murdered,' blazed Tweed. 'I'll move heaven and earth to find out who did that.'
Paula glanced at Tweed in surprise. She'd never known such an outburst during an interrogation. Then she saw the supercilious smile of satisfaction on Barrymore's face. He'd needled Tweed. She glanced back as Tweed began cleaning his glasses on his handkerchief and nearly sucked in her breath. Tweed had put on an act. She tensed: she was witnessing a duel between Tweed and the three men. Kearns spoke for the first time.
'That cleaning woman. Did she get a description of the driver? And what about tracing the owner of the Jaguar?'
'Stolen from outside a night club near the Lyceum Hotel where you stayed. Some fool of a yuppie got drunk, left the keys in the ignition, was persuaded to walk back to his flat in case he was stopped by the police.'
Tweed stood up and Paula closed her notebook, which carried a complete record of the conversation. Barrymore remained seated, his voice sardonic.
'You know your own way out. Mrs Atyeo will be waiting to lock up after you leave the premises. Don't come back.'
Tweed sat behind the wheel of the Mercedes where he had parked it in a lay-by twenty yards or so away before arriving at Quarme Manor. Butler, who had followed them from Porlock Weir, then waited, parked behind the Mercedes, appeared at Tweed's window.
'Next move?' he enquired.
'I want to ask Robson something on his own. His Saab is in the courtyard. Let's hope he comes out soon. You wait here. Then if Barrymore appears, follow him.'
'There's a better place for me to wait. I can back my car just a short distance and into a field. That way I won't be conspicuous if he comes this way.' Butler paused. 'Is it a good idea my leaving you? I'm the one with the gun.'
'It's broad daylight still. Not to worry. You back your car – and where is Nield?'
'No idea. We'll see him sometime at The Anchor when he's good and ready. Does Barrymore know where you're staying?'
'No. I said I'd phone him back when he wanted to call me.'
Paula stretched her arms to ease the tension out of herself as Butler left them. 'Did you get anything out of that interview? It was a bit fraught at times.'
'Two things you might have noticed. The absence of one of them asking a question. And someone else did say something.'
'And now you're going to leave me dangling. I'll ask you again. You think they're all in it together? Or just one of them?'
'Just one.'
'I'm too smart to ask which. Lord, it's getting darker.'
Earlier there had been hazy sunshine during their drive to the Manor. Now low heavy clouds were rolling in, obscuring the crests and higher slopes of the moor. It began to spot with rain on the windscreen. Then the Saab came out, turned in the other direction and drove off.
'We've got him,' said Tweed and followed as the Saab vanished round a bend. He drove slowly and when they reached Endpoint Robson had disappeared. The Saab was parked just below the terrace and Tweed gazed towards the Doone Valley. When he got out he stretched his legs, pacing up and down.
'Time to beard the lion in his den,' he remarked and they walked up the steep drive. It was very quiet, a silence Tweed felt pressing down on him. Then he stopped. The drive continued round the right-hand side of the bungalow. Parked next to the end of the building was a canvas-covered four-wheel-drive vehicle. Dark- coloured.
Robson's sister, May, opened the door, welcomed them inside and showed them into the sitting room. She asked them to sit down.
'Oliver is writing out his medical records in the conning tower. I'll just fetch him.'
'Conning tower?' Tweed asked.
'Well, I think it looks more like a lighthouse – the tower at the end. But Oliver calls it the conning tower. Back in just a minute.'
Her thick hair seemed even greyer in the daylight. She wore a flowered print dress over her ample form. On this second visit Tweed noticed she had the same pale blue eyes as her brother, eyes which had a remoteness
