any other traffic. It was a lonely road to Beaulieu behind them.
`You get three old China hands,' Paula explained. 'They knew each other in Hong Kong – half-way round the other side of the world. I'm including Andover because he apparently paid frequent visits to Hong Kong. Where do they all end up, for Pete's sake? Next door to each other on the edge of the New Forest. I find it peculiar and almost sinister.'
`We were told how it came about. Find anything odd in that?'
`Yes. First, Andover never mentioned that he'd found houses for them. But he was so agitated for obvious reasons there's nothing in that. But Burgoyne said they – he and Willie Fanshawe – had a drink in Hong Kong with Andover and Burgoyne asked Andover if he could find him a property, which he eventually did. Willie told a different story. He distinctly said it was Andover who offered to find him a place.'
`So you spotted that?'
`You're impossible!' she burst out with mock anger. `You wanted to see if I'd noticed the inconsistency too.'
`And have you noticed we have company? One of those huge mobile concrete mixers is closing on our tail.'
`I was just about to ask you the same question. I've seen it in the wing mirror. Ruddy great orange brute with its huge mixer churning round.'
`Keeps the cement ready for use. Funny vehicle to be on the road at this time of night.'
`And if he keeps up that speed he's going to come through our rear window.'
Which was true, Tweed thought grimly. The orange monster was inches from his Escort, looming over them like a huge Army tank. He pressed his foot down on the accelerator. They swung round a sharp bend far too fast, but for a brief period they left the mixer behind.
On a straight stretch Tweed rammed the accelerator down further. He thanked God there had been no rain, that the road surface wasn't slippery. The juggernaut was catching them up again. Paula watched it rushing towards them.
`The driver must be mad or drunk,' she snapped. `Or else he has another more lethal purpose.'
`But why?' she protested.
`Let's concentrate on surviving…'
Tweed skidded round the next bend, regained control, and kept his foot pressed down. They passed a solitary lamp which, presumably, marked the entrance to another isolated residence. Watching in the rear-view mirror Tweed had a glimpse of the driver, wearing dark glasses, hunched over his wheel.
He was overtaking them like a rocket. Once again the juggernaut was within inches of the rear of his Escort. It was only a matter of seconds before they would feel the hammer of his massive weight smashing into them.
Tweed risked even more speed, swung round another bend. The gap had widened. But only briefly. The concrete mixer was thundering down on them yet again. Tweed thought of the weight combined with the load of cement inside that revolving drum.
`He's trying to ram us,' Paula said quietly. 'Where did we say something which so disturbed someone they set out to kill us?'
`Work that out later. Staying alive is the object of the exercise now.'
Tweed was cursing himself for bringing Paula with him. But who could have foreseen the original visit to Andover would result in a desperate life-and-death attempt to escape oblivion? He had little doubt that once the mixer reached its target they'd be crushed to pulp.
His headlights swung round yet another sharp curve and shone on a narrow side road leading off to their left. He braced himself for the manoeuvre, calculating his chances at bringing it off at fifty-fifty.
`Hang on for dear life!' he shouted.
At manic speed he swung off the main road, aiming for the side road, little more than a lane. He felt the rear of the Escort sliding away and Paula braced herself for the crash. Luckily, as Tweed had observed, on the far side of the entrance to the lane there was a level flat area covered with dead leaves.
The rear of the car slid on to the level ground as Tweed reduced speed. The Escort stabilized. He rammed his foot down again, left behind a scatter of leaves which flew up into the air. Now he was driving straight down the lane bordered with trees and undergrowth. Paula glanced in her wing mirror. The unexpected manoeuvre had taken the driver of the killer vehicle by surprise.
He had overshot the mark, was backing, turning to follow them down the lane. Tweed had caught sight of a signpost at the entrance. Too little time to read what it pointed to. Lymington, he hoped. Or it could be a dead end. In which case…'
`Where did that signpost point to?' Paula asked, her voice still calm.
`No idea. We'll find out in due course.'
Behind them the juggernaut was building up speed. It would be on top of them again in less than a minute, Paula calculated. Where was this nightmare going to end? She glanced at Tweed. His expression was grim but his body showed no signs of tension. Frequently his eyes whipped up for a millisecond, checking the rear-view mirror.
`Let's hope we don't meet a farm tractor,' she said. `That's what I like. An optimist,' he joked.
The lane was becoming more tunnel-like, the trees on both sides closer together. Oh, Lord! Paula thought. They had turned round a bend and left the straight stretch behind. The lane became a series of non-stop curves and blind bends, which forced Tweed to reduce speed. She glanced again in the wing mirror. The orange monster was catching up fast, sweeping round the bends with reckless abandon. He had weight on his side and knew it.
`If only we could reach a village,' Paula commented.
`Doesn't look like the sort of lane which has them. We haven't passed a single cottage so far…'
Another glance in the rear-view mirror revealed the concrete mixer close to their tail, its insidious sphere revolving like a clock counting down their fate. Tweed was driving as fast as he dared, bearing in mind the tortuous country lane. The headlights of the pursuing vehicle glared in his mirror. Something had to give – and damned soon.
He swung round another bend with the thunder of the cement mixer's engine and mechanism in his ears. Paula extracted the Browning from inside her shoulder-bag, reached for her safety belt to release it.
`Put that away!' Tweed snapped.
`I might get him with a shot through the rear window…'
`I said put it away. Travelling at this speed you will never hit him. More likely to shoot me.'
She rammed the weapon back into the bag, frustrated but seeing the sense of Tweed's objection. The Escort was now rocking from side to side as – by the grace of God – he negotiated another diabolical bend. Suddenly he leaned forward.
He had his headlights undimmed and the tunnel-like effect continued. Tweed was staring at a point ahead where two ancient thick-trunked oaks leaned from each side of the lane, forming an arch as they reached out towards each other as though in a passionate embrace. The mixer was within inches of the Escort, roaring like a thunderbolt.
Tweed pressed the accelerator down, coaxed a fraction more speed out of his engine. The gap between the two vehicles again widened for seconds. Tweed drove under the oaks, saw another straight stretch, looked in the rearview mirror.
The juggernaut was rushing towards them at top speed. He guessed the driver was intent on finishing the job. Which is why he didn't see the arch. His machine began to pass under it but was too large to slip through as the smaller Escort had done. Tweed was still watching when he saw what happened.
`Look in your wing mirror,' he said quickly.
Paula saw the huge vehicle stopped with terrifying suddenness. The arch was too small. The mixer was trapped by the narrow vault. There was a frightful screech of tyres. A horrendous grinding of metal against solid oak. The drum continued to revolve but was twisted through a hundred and eighty degrees. An avalanche of cement descended on the cab. One oak trunk gave way, crashing down on the cab roof, telescoping it. The drum was now turning slowly as though revolved by some unseen hand. Then it stopped. The sound of the machine's engine died. Tweed switched off his own engine and a silence like doom closed over the countryside.
`Give me the gun,' snapped Tweed.
It was an order. Paula obeyed without hesitation, handing him the Browning. Tweed jumped out of the car,
