'What is it?'
'I'm pretty sure it's French chalk. Let me test it.' She held the stick, rubbed it on the cuff of her cotton blouse. A white mark appeared. She brushed at it with her fingers and it vanished. Opening the glove flap, she balanced the makeshift shelf on her knee, rubbed the stick across it. The substance appeared as small grains of powder. She bent forward, sniffed at it. 'No smell.' Moistening her index finger, she dabbed it in the powder, tasted it. 'No taste. It is French chalk.'
'I fail to see the significance.'
'You know I make some of my dresses. I use it for marking. And there's another purpose it could be used for.'
'Now you're keeping me dangling.'
'Reams' complexion – normally ruddy when the suntan has worn offis white. We put it down to grief. I think he used this stick of French chalk to alter his complexion, to simulate grief. It must have dropped out of his pocket. I think he used it to touch up the effect just before he appeared at the door. There is a mirror in the hall. And I noticed traces of white powder on his jacket lapel.'
'My God!' said Tweed. 'And Howard still thinks I'm wrong to introduce women into the Service.'
40
They arrived back at The Anchor and found Butler and Nield having a drink in the bar. Nield sat at the corner table with his head leant against the wall, his eyes half-closed. It was early for business: they had the place to themselves.
'Don't get up,' Paula said as Nield stirred. 'You look all in.'
'Application to the job in hand.' Nield smiled. 'Your boss expects non-stop action,' he said as Tweed arrived with the drinks: mineral water for himself, a glass of white wine for Paula. 'I've been driving over those moors until they seem to start moving.'
'Application!' Butler snorted and drank from his half-pint glass. That's what we're here for.' He lowered his voice, speaking to Tweed, who sat next to him. 'Barrymore left Quarme Manor soon after you'd gone. Drove into Minehead. Made a call from a public box. Funny thing to do – he ha* his phone at home.'
'How long a call?'
'Between one and two minutes. I was going to time it but found my watch had stopped. Then he drives straight back to Quarme Manor.'
'Odd,' Tweed agreed. He looked round the table. 'Does anyone know whether Jill Kearns used to take that Alsatian when she went for her early morning walk on the moor?'
'I do,' Nield said. 'The answer is yes. Came out in a chat I had with the barman over there. She was well- known for those walks. Always started at 6.30 a.m. on the dot. The dog always went with her. For protection as much as company, I imagine. A lonely place, the moor.'
'That means the dog was pining for her,' Tweed remarked. 'And why am I worried about Mrs Larcombe down the road? Something she said. It will come back to me. What is it?'
Paula plucked at his sleeve. 'Look outside.' He twisted round, gazed out of the window. Two men and two girls clad in denims and windcheaters were getting out of a Land Rover covered with a canvas roof. They walked off towards the harbour. 'You see,' she said, 'another of those vehicles.'
Butler nodded. 'Four-wheel drives? They're pretty common – Pete and I have seen a number while we've driven around.'
'And there,' said Tweed, 'goes another theory I had. Every time I think I've got somewhere it turns into a dead end.'
'Like Porlock Weir,' Paula chimed in and sipped more wine.
'One thing I'd like you to do,' Tweed said to Nield, 'is check on the inhabitants of that bungalow estate near Kearns' place. Any titbit you can pick up.'
'First target the electoral register,' Nield replied. Then go on from there.'
'Why the interest?' Paula asked.
'Two remarks you made. That it didn't look real. And that you almost expected robots to emerge. Incidentally, the pathologist at Taunton told me Partridge was killed by someone who knew just where to insert the knife. Another thing. Pete,' he went on, 'I need to know whether Kearns still takes those night rides up to the summit of Dunkery Beacon…'
'Certainly not at the moment. Only when there's enough moonlight to see his way. Tricky riding those moors at night even for a really experienced horseman.' He drank more beer. 'Well, that should keep my days filled.'
'There's more for you.' Tweed smiled at Nield's expression. 'You'll cope. I'd like you sometime – in daylight – to get up to the top of Dunkery Beacon and poke around up there. With Butler's help you'll manage. Plus, of course, keeping an eye on the other two. I wouldn't want you to have time on your hands, to get bored.' He finished his mineral water and stood up. 'I fancy a breath of fresh air. Want to come, Paula?'
'Lovely idea. Help to work up an appetite for dinner. That remark you made about the pathologist's comment again points the ringer at the commandos.'
'Any news from Greece?' Tweed asked Butler as he donned his Burberry. 'You check regularly?'
'As you requested. Not a word. Monica didn't seem worried. She said Newman only calls when he has something solid. Same with Marler.'
'See you.' Tweed nodded to the barman, opened the door, paused. 'Pretty blustery out there.' He took his old waterproof hat off a peg and rammed it over his head. Paula wrapped a scarf round hers.
'Gale warnings round all coasts,' the barman called out.
'Which means a sleepless night,' Tweed remarked to Paula. 'Our bedroom windows both face the front.'
'Harry and Pete will be OK. Theirs face the back. I'm OK…''
The wind hit them as they plodded west along the road and then over the track which was still moist from the morning tide. To their right they could hear the crash of the sea against the rocky shoal. Spume, caught by the wind, blew off the wave crests and they felt it on their faces as they walked against the nor'wester.
'Are we staying here long?' Paula asked, her mouth close to his ear.
'I haven't decided. We may push off back to London within a day or two. I've stirred up those three ex- commandos again. One of them may be nudged into making a wrong move. I'm stumped, Paula. And this doesn't seem the right place for any funny goings-on. That vehicle Mrs Larcombe saw would have to drive on through Porlock village even before it could turn up Porlock Hill. Too much risk of being seen.'
That's not so. Harry told me about the toll road.'
Told you what?'
'A very lonely road which turns up the hill just outside Porlock Weir. Apparently it turns up and joins the main road to Culbone. Sheer drop on one side. Harry's point was, that is the direct route to Quarme Manor and End-point – even on to our Mr Kearns' place. You take the first left off the main road like we did during our last visit. No one would see you driving that route late at night.'
'I've had enough of this,' said Tweed. 'We'll turn back.'
The wind was hammering them, making it difficult to walk over the sliding pebbles. They reached the track and were hurrying towards The Anchor when Tweed grabbed Paula's arm.
'Let me take a quick look at the harbourmaster's office. It has a notice behind the window.'
He took out a pencil torch, went close up to the deserted building. He shone the beam on the cardboard clock with adjustable hands. High Tide 10.50 p.m. The sea was already surging inside the channel which fed the harbour.
'I hope we decide to go back to London.' said Paula. 'If it's going on like this.'
Arriving back in the bar, they hung up their raincoats and got rid of their headgear. Butler and Nield sat at the same table. Tweed offered drinks.
'Not for me,' said Butler. 'I'll stick with this half pint -you may want to send me off somewhere.'
'I'll have a second,' Nield decided. Tin not going anywhere. Except to bed after a good dinner.'
'Harry,' Tweed said as he sat down, after calling out the order to the barman, 'have you shown Masterson's
