Tweed was stunned when he left the Padstow phone box and was joined by Butler. Nield waited on the far side of the road. Tweed had never known Dillon be frightened of anyone. So what group could have scared the tough American, made him start running?
'Where is Paula?' he asked.
'She went off with Newman and Cardon towards the harbour. They're collecting the car ready for their drive to Bodmin Moor.'
'I don't like it,' Tweed commented. 'Lord knows what they will run into on that blood-soaked moor…'
Newman had led Paula and Cardon to the harbour to show them the complex layout. Paula saw there was an inner harbour full of water, which puzzled her since the tide was out. She stopped to look at a large luxurious cabin cruiser with an array of radar equipment. Mayflower III.
'That's cost somebody a bomb,' she remarked.
A gnarled old fisherman sorting out his orange-coloured fishing net near by looked up. Paula smiled at him and he walked over to her.
'Admirin' the Squire's boat? It could sail to Europe in bad weather.'
'The Squire?' Paula queried.
'Yes. Squire Gaunt. Lives on the moor. Comes down 'ere quite often and takes her out for days.'
'To somewhere in Europe?' she asked casually.
'Ah! No one knows. Keeps a tight mouth on his doin's, does the Squire. You'll excuse me, lady. This won't earn a crust of bread. Enjoy yourselves.'
Newman led them back into the car park. He pointed to a single-storey building.
'Harbour Master's office. I enquired there about the tidal rise and fall. Seven point six metres, they told me.'
'That's fantastic.' She did a quick calculation. 'Over twenty feet.'
'I'd say you need to be skilled sailing round here,' Newman commented, leading them along a quay.
They reached a narrow footbridge linking one side of the harbour with the other. As they strolled over the white metal bridge Paula stopped, looked down. She realized they were walking over a large lock gate. To her left was the inner harbour full of water, to her right a drop like an abyss to a mudbank. Water trickled through the gate. Only then did she see an outer harbour, exposed to the sea.
It lay to her right and was a basin of mud. Small craft moored to the walls were canted over at a drunken angle. Beyond the closed lock gate on the seaward side a thin channel of water led out of sight towards the ocean. Newman pointed across to the outer jetty enclosing the waterless harbour.
'That's what they call the Pier. When the tide starts coming in you catch the ferry to Rock from some steps on the far side. Now you have to take that coastal path to the cove further out where there is still water.'
Paula saw a flight of steps leading up to a steep path which disappeared behind a new development of fiats, directly overlooking the river.
'Wouldn't like to live there,' she remarked. 'No wonder they're all for sale. It must be as lonely as hell.'
'Padstow is pretty much hidden away,' Newman agreed. 'Which is why Tweed has chosen this place to give himself a little time to think. Turn round and you'll see the whole of the little town.'
Paula swung round. Beyond the harbour and the quays a densely packed series of old buildings was stepped up like a giant staircase. Newman checked his watch, looked at Cardon.
'Now I think it's time we headed for Bodmin Moor and bearded this Celia Yeo – if you can do that with a girl. Philip, you sit in the back and keep your eyes open…'
There was a little more traffic on the A30 as Newman swooped down a huge slope and then whipped up the other side. The sun shone down on the moor out of a clear blue sky but Paula found it no less hostile. A strong wind beat against the side of the Mercedes 280E as Newman made his suggestion. He perched dark glasses on the bridge of his strong nose, then rammed a black beret on his head.
'Paula, I think you ought to disguise yourself. We've no idea what may face us at Five Lanes. It's possible we won't want to be recognized.'
'A smart idea,' she agreed.
She took a pair of dark glasses from her shoulder-bag. After putting them on she took out a scarf, wrapped it over her raven-black hair and framed her face. Both actions completely altered her normal appearance. Newman grinned.
'You look like a madonna.'
'Just so long as I don't look like the contemporary Madonna. I suppose not – I'm wearing too many clothes.'
'While I'm waiting with the car,' Cardon called out, 'I'll sit hunched up like a midget.'
'You look like a midget normally,' Newman retorted, which was unfair. Cardon stood five feet ten tall and was very muscular.
Paula called out a warning to Newman. 'We're approaching the turn-off to Five Lanes. Celia lives in a cottage called Grey Tears on the outskirts.'
'Let's hope that peculiar name isn't prophetic,' Newman remarked.
Grey Tears was a small single-storey stone dwelling set in a hollow outside the village of Five Lanes. It was almost on the moor and Paul noticed that High Tor reared up as a clear-cut cone against the blue near by. Newman parked the car in another hollow off the road and followed Paula who was lifting a brightly polished knocker carved in the form of a sheep's head and hammering it down.
'That polishing job doesn't look like Celia to me,' she whispered.
The ancient wooden door swung inward to reveal a stooped crone wearing an overall over her flowered dress. Her lively eyes studied the new arrivals.
'We have come by arrangement to see Celia Yeo,' Paula began. 'She told me this was her day off from her job at Tresillian Manor.'
'Not one of we locals will ever work there again. Not after what 'appened yesterday. 'Orrible.' She clamped a worn hand to her lips, the hand of a worker. 'Dearie me, we're not supposed to talk about that to anyone.' She brightened up. 'Still, I 'aven't told you anything, come to think. Celia's gettin' ready to go out.'
'Well, perhaps you wouldn't mind telling her a lady has arrived who'd like a word with her.'
'See what she says…'
The door was closed slowly, not rudely, in their faces. Newman, keeping his voice down, stared at Paula.
'Why didn't you mention your name? Just your first name? There are other Paulas in the world, so it wouldn't have positively identified us.'
'Intuition. I have a feeling Celia may be reluctant to talk to me.'
They waited several minutes. Newman paced backward and forward and Paula bit her lip to stop telling him to for God's sake keep still. Then the door opened slowly again. Newman studied Celia. She had an odd-shaped head, almost misshapen. Not a lot of intelligence and her eyes reminded him of a cow's. Celia pulled the door to without closing it and stood outside with them.
'What was it you were wanting, miss?' Sullenly.
'We agreed to meet today, Celia. There are a few questions I'd like to ask you.'
The servant girl's eyes opened wider. She stared at Paula like a startled fawn.
'It's you, miss. I never recognize you till you spoke.'
Newman glanced at Paula. Wearing ski pants tucked inside the tops of leather boots and a windcheater, she looked very different from when she had arrived at the Metropole. Celia's eyes swivelled to Newman, gazed at the eyes she couldn't see behind the glasses.
'Who is he?'
'My brother,' Paula said quickly. 'Now, about yesterday. That tea towel – the bright red one I saw you bringing back from so-called drying. It was a signal, wasn't it?'
'Information costs money.' Her manner was suddenly truculent. 'I've no boy friends. No man ever looks twice at me, I have to get something out of life, don't I? Like money.'
