'What is it. Selsdon?'
'I've just done it, sir. Fired six shots out of the dining-room window – with the door into the hall open.'
'Thank you. Go and do something useful.'
'I never heard a thing,' Paula said as they re-entered the hall.
'I must admit neither did I…'
Buchanan's interview – even longer – with Tweed produced no fresh information, which Buchanan found frustrating. He said as much to Tweed.
'I find this unconvincing and unsatisfactory.'
'The first is your suspicious mind, the second I agree with completely. I've answered all your questions.'
Which was true. But Tweed had omitted certain data.
No reference to Joel Dyson's visit to Park Crescent.
No reference to a film.
No reference to a tape, stored in the safe with the film, a safe now buried under tons of rubble. In the study, alone with Tweed, Buchanan stood leaning against a table, jangling loose change in his trouser pocket.
'I may want to talk to you again.' His manner was casual and Tweed, knowing Buchanan's ploy of throwing a witness off balance at the end of an interview, braced himself for the unexpected. 'Incidentally,' Buchanan continued, 'the whole country knows you're down here.'
'How could they possibly know that?' Tweed asked quietly.
'Your presence here has been linked with the massacre. In a stop-press item in a London evening paper. Reported also on the radio and in a TV newsflash. You were named-Deputy Director Tweed of the SIS, et cetera.'
'I still don't understand,' Tweed persisted.
'Neither did I, so just before flying down here I phoned the paper, the BBC and ITV news editors. They all told me the same thing. An anonymous caller contacted all three, told them to check with the Exeter police. Reporting the massacre all the media were careful to use the phrase it is strongly rumoured that eight people have been shot to death at Tresillian Manor, et cetera. Then your rumoured presence was reported.'
'I find this extremely sinister. Only the killer could have had that information. But why broadcast the crime?'
'You tell me,' Buchanan said, again sounding frustrated. 'You're going back to London?' he went on. 'Where will you operate from now?'
'You can try my flat in Walpole Street. It's up to Howard to answer the second question.'
That's it, then. A fleet of ambulances has arrived to take away the bodies. The dead guests' cars have been driven away for examination. Any idea where I can contact this chap Gaunt?'
'None at all,' Tweed replied as they went into the hall.
Two white-coated men were carrying out a covered body on a stretcher towards the front door. The man at the rear called out over his shoulder.
This is the last one from the abattoir back there.'
The forensic team seems to have finished the job,'
Buchanan remarked. 'I understand they've gone, so I think I'll be gone too. I'll be up half the night when I get back. What about you?'
'We'll try and persuade that nice cook to make us some tea. Sustenance to fuel us for our trip away from here.'
'As you wish.'
Paula came out of the Great Hall at that moment. Buchanan looked at both of them, didn't make any effort to shake hands and walked out.
'I don't think he likes us much,' Paula observed.
They went to the door and watched Buchanan driving off followed by the last patrol car. Tweed put an arm round her shoulders and briefly told her what Buchanan had just told him. Paula was stunned.
'On the radio, TV and in the paper! I feel frightened. Is this place a death-trap?'
'We'll be out of here soon.'
They had wandered out on to the terrace and as the cars' engines faded the silence of the moor descended on them. It was late afternoon and would be dark within the hour. Paula was taking in deep breaths of fresh air to cope with what Tweed had told her. After a few minutes they were going inside when she grasped Tweed's arm.
'Listen… Horses' hooves.'
They waited as the clip-clop came closer. Two riders appeared, approaching the manor along the drive – a man and a woman. Tweed went back out on to the terrace as the newcomers halted at the foot of the steps. The man, large and with a hawklike face beneath a deerstalker, barked out his question.
'Who the blazes are you?'
'I might ask you the same question,' Tweed snapped back.
'I'm Gregory Gaunt. And I just happen to own this damned place.'
5
'Welcome to Tresillian Manor,' Gaunt said breezily. He had accompanied the girl to leave the horses in a stable on the left side of the house. 'I thought Amberg and all his guests would have pushed off by now. It was a flying visit from Zurich.'
'Stop here a moment, please,' Tweed said as they reached the terrace. There's something you should know before you go inside. You're in for a ghastly shock.'
'Shock? What kind of shock?' boomed Gaunt. 'A burglary? Is that it? Spit it out, man.'
Gaunt was six feet tall, heavily built, muscular and about forty, Tweed estimated. His complexion was weather-beaten under thick sandy hair and he seemed to be a man of the great outdoors. Under prominent brows his eyes were swift-moving and intelligent. His manner was dominant without being domineering. Tweed sensed he was in the presence of a strong personality and he could see why the locals called him 'Squire'.
'I'm forgetting someone/ Gaunt went on. This is my girl friend, Jennie Blade. Say hello, Jennie.'
'Greg, I don't need a prompter,' Jennie drawled. 'Hello, everyone. Who is that peach of a man who just came out?'
It was Philip Cardon, joining Butler and Nield, who had heard voices. Cardon smiled at her as Tweed made introductions. Paula and Jennie eyed each other up and down like two cats warily summing up the opposition. Jennie switched her gaze back to Cardon.
'Life is looking up, Greg – becoming interesting again.'
In her late twenties, Jennie was attractive. Five feet six tall, her riding outfit emphasized her superb figure. Her slim legs were encased in jodhpurs. Golden hair fell in smooth locks to her shoulders. Her face was triangular – a wide forehead, thick gold brows and a good bone structure tapering to a pointed chin below full red lips. Strong competition, Paula admitted to herself.
Bearing in mind the girl's presence, Tweed gave a terse account of the tragedy. He explained that Amberg had invited them down to lunch because he had been a friend of Tweed's. He omitted mentioning that Paula had witnessed the aftermath.
'I don't believe this,' Gaunt rumbled. 'Police trampling all over my property. And why should anyone want to harm Julius, a Swiss banker? I'm going to see for myself.'
'I'll come with you,' said Jennie.
Cardon stopped her. He took her arm as Gaunt marched inside. She looked at him through half-closed eyes.
'Better not,' Cardon advised her.
'I'll be all right if you'll come with me,' she replied, openly flirting with him.
'Glad to be of service,' Cardon agreed, who seemed not averse to accompanying her anywhere.
Tweed slipped in ahead of them. He found Gaunt standing very erect and still in the dining-room. The
