'I'd like to have seen inside the place,' Tweed remarked.
'Follow me, then. Someone left a window unfastened at the back,' he said with a straight face.
Cardon appeared on a hillock in a commanding position above the house, gave a brief wave. Nield stood up from behind a dense patch of undergrowth closer to the house.
They've established outposts to watch over us,' Newman commented as they followed Butler round the back.
Paula stared at the sash window which was open at the bottom. There were jemmy marks close to the catch on the inside which was turned to the open position. She spoke to Butler in a tone of mock severity.
'Breaking and entering? That's against the law, Harry.'
'So someone got here before us,' Butler retorted, grinning.
Tweed crouched to step over the ledge and ease himself inside. Butler, followed by Paula, was by his side in seconds. He put a finger to his lips, whispered.
'It appears to be unoccupied,' he warned.
Paula, with Newman by her side, studied the ancient floorboards, the window ledges and the mantelpieces with a housewife's practised eye. Undisturbed dust everywhere. She paused before entering the narrow hall while Tweed, followed by Newman and Butler, ran lightly up the bare wooden staircase.
In the hall the floorboards were perfectly clean, dust-free. Paula frowned as she mounted the staircase slowly. Every tread was equally clean and a familiar smell was assailing her nostrils. Pleasant, distinctive.
Tweed had entered the front bedroom at the left-hand side of the house. He took out of his coat pocket Newman's binoculars, stood in front of the clear glass of the window, focused them. His own windows in the suite at the Metro-pole seemed amazingly close.
'This,' he said, 'is where someone used a lamp to send a signal last night.'
'And have you noticed the floorboards?' Paula enquired from behind him.
'No, I…'
'Men are so unobservant,' she teased him. The room we came in by at the back had a musty smell and was covered in dust. Look at these floorboards – they've been scrubbed, probably during the past twenty-four hours. Was the door closed here?'
'Yes, it was.'
'Which is why the smell of the cleaner used – liquid Flash – is so strong in here. But you can smell it on the stairs and in the hall.'
'What's the idea of cleaning up the place so well?' asked Butler.
'Maybe to eliminate footprints,' Newman said, looking at Paula. 'Footprints with studded soles. Climbing boots.'
'If you say so,' replied Butler, mystified. He turned to Tweed. 'Want some evidence that you're still a good detective? Follow me.'
'In a minute.' Tweed was stooping over a corner of the window ledge. 'I'm doing a Sherlock Holmes. There's an intact roll of cigar ash here, a slight burn where the cigar rested while the smoker operated the lamp. Paula, give me one of those sample bags.'
Paula unzipped a section inside her shoulder-bag where she always carried several self-sealing polythene wallets. Tweed had taken out a penknife, used his other hand to take the wallet from Paula, used the knife to coax the ash off the edge and inside the bag, which he sealed and handed to her.
'There are experts who can identify ash. Now who have we seen recently who smokes cigars?'
'You want to see my evidence?' Butler broke in. 'Then follow me
…'
He led them down the stairs, returned into the back room where they had entered, climbed out of the window and walked to a lean-to shed next to the rear wall of the house. A large new padlock hung loose and dangling from an iron ring.
'I suppose you found it just like that?' Paula asked.
Butler grinned again, took a ring of skeleton keys from his pocket, jangled them. He edged the heavy wooden door open with his foot, stood back and gestured for them to enter, handing a small torch to Tweed. Paula wondered what else Butler might have in the capacious pockets of his made-to-order coat.
'Satisfying to find you were right,' Tweed commented as Paula joined him.
He was aiming his torch beam at a large brass signalling lamp perched on top of a heavy wooden box. Bending down, he examined the lamp without touching it, stood upright again.
'It has a red filter which can be slid across the lamp. And a green one. Hence the signal flashes I saw from my suite.'
'So all we need to find out is who owns this dump,' Paula replied.
Tweed and Paula had had enough of the gully path. With Newman, they started down the sandy track which showed the ruts of a vehicle's recent passage.
'A four-wheel drive job, like a Land-Rover,' Newman said.
Before leaving the house with no name, Butler had donned surgical gloves, had fastened the padlock on the lean-to shed, then closed the entry window. He vanished from the trio's view along with Cardon and Nield.
'They're enjoying practising the fieldcraft they've been trained in,' Tweed commented.
He knew the three men were close by but didn't hear one sound of their progress down the bleak heathland. He pointed to the channel of water which remained. Waves were tossing up and down.
'One thing I'm not going to enjoy is the ferry trip back to Padstow.'
'It may have calmed down by the time we return,' Paula suggested, not believing a word she said. 'And in summertime this place must be where the boaty types come.'
In the narrow channel of water a number of craft moored to buoys were wrapped in blue plastic to protect them against the elements. More were beached on the vast sandbank stretching clear across the estuary. Several boats were slowly circling the area where the powerboat had exploded. Paula still found the disappearance of the river extraordinary.
'It's as though there's a huge plug further out which they pull out and water just vanishes down it,' she remarked. She looked at Tweed. 'Was our journey here of any use?'
'Definitely. It's providing me with more pieces of the vague jigsaw I'm building up in my mind.'
The track fell more steeply and they saw the road leading to the quarry car park over to their right. Outside a bungalow a smartly dressed woman was shaking a blanket. Tweed stopped.
'Excuse me, have you any idea who owns that house at the top of this track?'
'A man called Gaunt. He lives somewhere way out on Bodmin Moor.'
'I might be interested in the property,' Tweed lied amiably. 'It appeared to be empty. I suppose he never comes near the place, this Mr Gaunt?'
'Someone does. Just occasionally. They did only last night. I had the TV on but I heard some kind of vehicle driving up there after dark.'
'Thank you for the information.'
'Wouldn't consider buying that old ruin,' the woman warned. 'We bought this place in summer. Never do that. We did – and we'd sell up and get out tomorrow if we could. It's spooky. Rock is only an old hotel further along the road and a few terrace houses. Nowhere to buy everyday necessities. I have to cross in that beastly old ferry to Padstow. Keep away from here.'
'You said spooky,' Paula reminded her.
'Every now and then lights appear in that house up there you've just been to see. I don't mean the room lights. More like someone prowling round with a torch. Gives me the creeps.'
'Well, thank you for your advice. It has not fallen on deaf ears,' Tweed assured her.
He waited until they had reached the bottom of the track. Paula looked along the lonely road which led to the rest of Rock.
'A waste of time,' Tweed said. 'She described it perfectly. Bob and I explored it when we were once at the Metropole for a day and a night. What are you looking for?'
Paula was delving deep inside her bag. With a triumphal air she brought out a small press-pack of white tablets.
'Look. Dramamine! And just down the road there's a shop which sells soft drinks, according to that madly
