Cardon stirred in the back.
'I make the body count ten now,' he observed. 'Eight wiped out in the massacre at Tresillian Manor. The postman at Five Lanes. Now this Celia Yeo is number ten.'
'All right,' Paula said edgily. 'Now we know you can add up.' She returned to the previous subject, which was gnawing at her nerves. 'We can't just leave Celia lying out there. Supposing it rains tonight? I know that must sound silly…
'Not at all.' For a moment Newman drove with one hand and put an arm round her, gave her an affectionate squeeze. 'I had two reasons for not touching her. They have an advanced fingerprint technique these days which can sometimes take a print off flesh. You'd have had to touch her eyes to close them. But my main reason is we should leave everything for the police without disturbing anything.'
'When they eventually find her,' she snapped.
'Oh, they're going to find her today. When we get back to Padstow my first job is to call Buchanan from that phone box outside the Old Custom House. I'll disguise my voice. That's another reason for handling it this way – if Buchanan knows we were there when it happened Lord knows how much more time would be wasted while he questions us. Maybe several days. And I suspect time is something Tweed is short of.'
'You've made me feel better,' she said. 'But why are we visiting Tresillian Manor?'
'Can't you guess? I think it might be significant to find out whether Gaunt and Jennie Blade are at the manor. Bearing in mind what happened at High Tor.'
Spiky hedges lined the section of the side road leading to the manor. At one point where the fake diversion had been set up Paula pointed to an open gate leading on to the moor.
'We told you last night about the ambush, Bob. I think they hid their vehicles inside that gateway.'
Tweed took a chance crashing through,' Newman commented.
'What would you have done, then?' Paula challenged him.
'Exactly what Tweed did…'
No one was about as they entered the drive to the manor. As it came into view and they drove closer Paula noticed the curtains were closed over the dining-room windows. Again they left Cardon to mind the car while Newman and Paula climbed the steps to the terrace, walked into the large square porch. Paula pressed the bell and quickly the door was opened on a heavy chain. Cook peered out. Behind her loomed a shadowy figure.
'Well, what do you want?'
'It's me.' Paula swiftly took off her glasses, whipped off her scarf. 'We talked yesterday.'
'Lordy me, never recognized you.' She released the chain, opened the door wide. 'Cousin Jem is here with his shotgun. Come in and have a good strong cup of tea.'
That's kind of you. This is my friend, Robert,' she introduced Newman. 'I was hoping Squire Gaunt was here.'
'Been gawn 'ours. Both of 'em. One took the Land-Rover, the other a horse. Not sure which took which. I was out back in kitchen. There's a proper upset 'ere. Two girls never came for work – don't expect as we'll ever see them again, considerin' what 'appened yesterday. I 'as to serve meals in the Great Hall for the master and Miss Blade. The police said they 'ad to seal the dinin' room…' It was all pouring out in a torrent as though Cook was glad to talk to someone she could trust. 'But Wendy's turned up – worth the other two of 'em, she is. Police said they'd be comin' back later.'
Thank you, Cook. I wonder if you'd mind not mentioning our visit? It's a surprise for the Squire. And I don't think we have time for that cup of tea, but thank you.'
'We've been told not to say a word to a soul. I hope Celia's keepin' her mouth shut. She'll be back tomorrow. Don't worry, dear. I won't say a word to anyone about your visit.' Her ruddy face creased into a grin. 'Me, I likes secrets
Newman said nothing until they were heading back along the drive. The reference to the police returning had alarmed him. He made his remark when they were driving back to the A30.
'That was interesting. Both Gaunt and his girl friend could have been on the moor near High Tor.'
'But not the one in the Land-Rover,' Paula pointed out. 'We'd have heard it. Pity we don't know which one was on horseback…'
Newman swung out on to the A30. He was just about to drop out of sight down a steep slope when he saw a car a long way off in his rear-view mirror. A patrol car turning off down the road to Tresillian Manor.
That was a damn near run thing,' he commented, 'which Wellington remarked after Waterloo. Now, Padstow, here we come, so I can make my phone call to Buchanan. And Cook little knows that poor Celia is keeping her mouth shut,' he said grimly. Tor ever…'
Paula waited with Cardon in the Mercedes in the car park opposite the Old Custom House. It was the most impressive building in Padstow, a solid block of an edifice, three storeys high. From the roof projecting up was a large dormer with two closed wooden doors. Paula pointed to it.
'At one time, ages ago, they must have hauled cargo up there from the street.'
'It's ancient history,' Cardon agreed. 'I wonder how Bob is getting on…'
Inside the phone box Newman had dialled New Scotland Yard. When the operator answered he spoke quickly through a silk handkerchief stuffed into the mouthpiece.
'Get me Chief Inspector Buchanan and 'urry it up. I'm callin' about a new murder on Bodmin Moor. Don't interrupt me. Just get 'im. I'll call back in five minutes and expect to be put straight through or I'll ring off again.'
He replaced the receiver. It was the only way to ensure Buchanan had no time to do what Newman was certain he'd try to do – trace the call. He looked at his watch and dialled the number again in exactly five minutes.
'I called a few minutes back. Put me on to Buchanan. Now! Or forget it.'
'Chief Inspector Buchanan speaking,' the detached voice answered after a moment. 'Who is this?'
'No names, no sorrow. Just listen and take this down. There's a fresh corpse at the western base of 'Igh Tor outside Five Lanes. Servant girl who worked at the manor. Thrown down from the top. And you'll find a big footprint on summit. I s'pose you likes clues.'
Thank you. Now if you'll just give me your name…'
'You're the detective…
Newman put down the receiver. No time to trace that call – even with the sophisticated equipment they had now which could often pinpoint a location in three minutes. Stuffing the silk handkerchief into his pocket he stared across the car park at his Mercedes. Paula and Cardon had company. Drawn up alongside was a Land-Rover: the occupants Jennie Blade and Gaunt.
'A hearty welcome to Ye Olde Port of Padstow,' Gaunt had called out jovially as he stopped the vehicle.
'Hello again, Philip,' Jennie greeted Cardon with a fetching smile. 'We must have a drink together sometime. Oh, Paula, I'm ignoring you,' she went on saucily.
'But then I'm not a man,' Paula shot back.
As they climbed out she noted they were both dressed in sheepskins and jodhpurs. So who had been riding the horse? She got out of the car, stretched, glanced in at the back of the Land-Rover. It was crammed with cool bags, coils of rope and a ship's compass. She was wondering whether there was a pair of studded climbing boots hidden under the heap.
Both new arrivals wore gleaming leather riding boots. Gaunt leaned over into the back, grasped hold of a whip. He straightened up, saw Newman coming.
'I'll take the crop. And who have we here? The famous foreign correspondent. Read your book, Newman. Can even remember the title. Kruger: The Computer Which Failed. Rattling good stuff. And an international bestseller. Must have made you a mint.'
'It did reasonably well,' Newman said.
