Precipice

bisected by a smart grey tie. He had returned from watching the Priory for any sign of Buchanan to contact Tweed, to bring him up-to-date on Newman's trip to Grenville Grange.

'Pete.' Monica interrupted him, 'Tweed is away.'

'Where?'

'He didn't say.'

'Paula there?'

'No. Listen. I have instructions for you and Harry. I assume you're calling from a phone box.'

'Monica, you have the most amazing intuition.'

'Flattery will get you nowhere. I said listen…'

Nield kept quiet while she relayed Tweed's instructions. After the brief conversation he hurried back to the Black Bear in the hope that Harry Butler would call him from Poole.

Fat chance of that happening now I have to leave to watch the roundabout at Stoborough Green, he thought. Life was not like that. As he turned the key in the door to his room he heard the phone ringing. He rushed across to the instrument – knowing it would stop ringing as he picked it up. He grabbed it.

'Yes. Who is it?'

'You sound breathless. You're out of training.' Butler's heavy voice mocked him.

'Very funny…'

'Partridge is OK for tonight's meal? Partridge is OK.'

'My favourite dish.' Meld replied, playing along with Butler's cryptic message. 'You're still in Poole? Good. New instructions. An important client is possibly coming via the ferry at the exit to Poole Harbour…'

'Sandbanks this side, Shell Bay on your side. Go on…'

'He has to be treated like royalty. If he travels that route he'll probably be inside a limousine with tinted windows. You're his escort – a very discreet escort. He could just arrive within an hour, maybe longer.'

'Got it. I'd better get moving.'

'Me too.'

At Sandbanks Butler eased his sturdy bulk out of the phone booth, ran to his parked Ford Fiesta. Pete Meld would have grasped the gist of what he had reported: that he'd checked out Partridge.

Using the phone directory on arrival, he'd torn round in his car, calling at four different addresses where a Partridge lived. Apologizing at the first three of them, explaining he was looking for a friend, he hit gold dust at the fourth, a small detached house with a notice in a window. Room To Let. The landlady, a portly woman, was forthcoming.

'I'm sorry, but your friend has just moved to a cottage near Wareham. Very quick it was. I'm sorry to lose him, he was a quiet tenant. Worked in his rooms – had a lot of funny equipment. Computers he called them. And a machine which chattered and spewed out typed sheets of messages.'

'Probably his fax machine,' Butler guessed.

'He was such a nice quiet man. No trouble at all. He wanted a quiet place in the country. Some people like that, you know. Wouldn't suit me. I like a bit of life…'

'Just to make sure I've got the right man, could you describe him,' Butler interjected to halt the flood of words. He waited. People were terrible at describing someone they even knew well.

'Small. Much smaller than you. Less well built, if you don't mind my saying so. I wondered if he was a foreigner. Mind you, he spoke perfect English, but his appearance. He had such smooth skin that I used to wonder if he ever had to shave…'

'Could you give me the actual address he's moved to?' asked Butler in desperation.

'Devastoke Cottage, near Stoborough. That's south of Wareham. You take the

'Many thanks.' Butler was backing away to escape the barrage. 'I know how to get there. I'll be on my way…'

He hurried to the phone booth he'd noticed, confident he'd get across to Nield that Partridge seemed genuine. Then he drove to the car ferry point.

Butler had already decided where he would wait. He had driven to Poole via the ferry from Shell Bay and had noticed a car park near the beach on the far side. A ferry, a large craft controlled by a chain from shore to shore, was just about to leave. The only other vehicle aboard on the films. Start counting up to ten. Who sent you? One… two… three…'

Huddled behind a huge boulder, Philip crouched shoulder to shoulder with Eve. Marler was behind another rock further back. He had his Armalite aimed at Craie's back, but Philip realized he dare not shoot. He'd was a local bus. The ramp was elevated as he parked behind it.

The crossing took only a few minutes and in the distance Butler could see the curving ridge of the Purbecks. He drove off, paused at the toll-booth to pay the fare, then horned left into the car park a few hundred yards away from the crossing point. His was the only car on the sunny but bleak bitter February day.

'Perfect.' Butler said to himself. 'Perfect – cars passing don't notice this park unless the drivers are very observant.' And coming from Sandbanks he would be invisible to any traffic from Bournemouth and beyond. He opened a flask of coffee, had a hot drink, settled down to wait. Butler had the patience of Job.

The muzzle of the shotgun pressed deeper into Newman's neck. He lay quite still as Craig taunted him.

'Boot's on the other foot now. My head still aches. Better than having it blown right off. Who sent you?'

'I sent myself.' Newman mumbled, his chin pressed into the ground. 'I'm a reporter, in case you've forgotten.'

'Don't get sassy with me, chuml I'll ask you just once more. Then my nervous finger will pull the trigger. Come to think of it, this is an ideal spot. Afterwards I can dump your body over the cliff. Tide's about to go out. Why the two cars parked by the wall?'

'Porsche is my girl friend's. Motor conked out. She's been gone awhile on foot for help.'

'And you're about to conk out. I'll do it like they do on the films. Start counting up to ten. Who sent you? One… two… three…'

Huddled behind a huge boulder, Philip crouched shoulder to shoulder with Eve. Marler was behind another rock further back. He had his Armalite aimed at Craig's back, but Philip realized he dare not shoot. He'd get Craig but the brute might press the shotgun trigger as a reflex action when the bullet hit him. Newman's neck would be blown to pieces.

'I'm going to try and creep up on Craig.' Philip said, gripping his Walther.

'I'll try and create a distraction.' Eve replied, her teeth chattering, with cold or fear: maybe with both.

'If you do think of something, for God's sake time it so I'm close enough to ram my gun into the bastard's back.'

'I'm not an idiot…'

Philip stood up, began walking forward, keeping to the soft arid turf which carpeted the Tout on either side of the track. His footsteps made no sound as he clenched his teeth and came closer to Craig. If the brute turned round the range of his weapon was still greater than that of his Walther. He narrowed the gap, wondering what on earth Eve had in mind.

Behind the boulder Eve searched quickly among a pile of stones, found a large round one. She took a firm grip on it, stood up while Marler, puzzled, watched her.

Philip was within a foot of Craig when Eve hurled the stone with all her force against the drystone wall. Its impact made a sharp crack.

Startled, Craig moved the shotgun away from Newman as he began to turn. Newman grabbed the barrel, thrust it well away from himself. At that moment Philip rammed his Walther into Craig's back.

'My bullet will smash your spine. Keep very bloody still. That's a good boy. Now let go of the gun slowly…'

As Craig released his grip on the weapon Newman, still gripping it by the barrel, hauled it well out of his attacker's reach. He stood up as Marler ran up to them.

'Are you all right?' Marler asked.

'Fine.' Newman flexed his right hand. 'But I do have a little unfinished business.'

He suddenly clenched his hand into a fist, hit Craig with a haymaker to the jaw. The big man collapsed. Newman checked his pulse.

'Out cold, but that's all. I guess he'll stay that way for half an hour.'