'Get out. Move. Then get into Bob's car.' He looked at Eve, studying Philip's new friend as Philip left to join Paula. She stared straight back at him. 'I assume you are Eve Warner,' he began, and she interrupted him.
'And how, may I ask, do you know about me? My name?'
'Newman mentioned you when he phoned me. I hope that you won't mind, but we are all going to a meeting.'
'Who are you to try and push me around?' she asked cockily.
'My name is Tweed.' he said reluctantly. She was going to find out anyway, staying at the Priory. 'I would appreciate it if you would wait at the Priory – Philip will be back later.'
'I don't feel like staying on my own.' she informed him. 'And we've had an adventure. You might like me to tell you what happened. ..'
'Later. Excuse me.'
Tweed, feeling like a grasshopper, ran across to Butler.
'Harry, follow us.'
'News to tell you. And Pete Nield is still probably at that roundabout you told us to send him to. Or Monica did…'
'We've got to get away from here.'
'OK. But Pete is wasting his time.'
'Then we'll drive there and you can tell him to drive back to watch the Priory again. He's to resume looking for Buchanan to arrive.'
Tweed tore back to his own car, jumped behind the wheel, took off, turned left into South Street, across the bridge over the Frome, and out into the country.
'You are fit.' Paula remarked. 'You weren't even puffing when you came back.'
'Probably my frequent walks from my flat in Radnor Walk and back again in the evening. This isn't good.' he said, glancing in his mirror.
'What isn't good?'
'We have a regular convoy – first me, then Bob, followed by Franklin. And would you believe it? The Warner girl is coming up behind him in her blasted Porsche. At least Butler is keeping well back. Imagine if we run into Buchanan driving in the opposite direction. He'll spot us, do a U-turn when he can, and come after us.'
'Then let's hope we don't see Buchanan.' Paula said calmly.
'Don't be too hard on Eve,' Philip called out from the back. 'She practically saved Bob's life, maybe my own, too.'
'Really? And I thought I told you to get into Newman's car.'
'You did. But I've a lot to tell you.'
'Tell me now. While the attractive Eve isn't bending an ear to our conversation…'
Philip, keeping his recital of events terse, began with their drive to Grenville Grange and what had happened afterwards. Tweed's expression didn't change when he came to the arrival of Leopold Brazil with his wolfhound, Igor.
'So Mr Brazil would like to meet me.' Tweed commented when Philip had concluded his description of their experience. 'Well, he will have to wait.'
'Why?' asked Paula.
'Because I need a lot more information about what he is up to.'
He slowed down, cruising. He had reached the roundabout south of Stoborough Green, had spotted Pete Nield parked in his Sierra, apparently reading a newspaper. Tweed continued cruising so Butler wouldn't lose them after instructing Nield.
Behind them Eve had been aware of the motorcyclist following the Jaguar behind her. The rider had kept his visor down so she couldn't see his face. She also missed seeing Pete Nield as she forced herself to drive like a snail behind Newman's car.
As soon as Butler caught them up Tweed increased speed. Reaching the junction below Corfe Castle and before entering the village he turned right onto a quiet country road signposted Church Knowle – Kimmeridge. He slowed down. At intervals along this road he knew there were isolated cottages and very little traffic. The sort of road where children ran out without looking.
'Where are we going now?' Paula asked.
'Didn't you see the signpost? Eventually it is a dead end if the firing range operated by the Army is being used for target practice. Mostly tanks. Kimmeridge is a tiny place near the edge of the sea. Buchanan certainly won't be using this road.'
He was almost crawling round sharp bends and then on into open country. To their right a range of the Purbecks climbed steeply in grassy slopes, hemming in the road, which was little more than a tree-lined lane.
Tweed was passing a house, back from the road with land in front of it, when he signalled, stopped the car.
'What is it?' Philip called out.
'Well, I'll be damned,' replied Tweed, who rarely swore even mildly. 'I'm sure that chap outside this house is Keith Kent, the money tracer. I'd no idea he had a place down here. Let's go and have a chat with him…'
Newman switched off his engine, got out, and stood, as Tweed went down the long path to meet him. He recognized Keith Kent too, despite the fact that previously he had only seen him immaculately garbed as a City gent. He frowned as he watched.
Kent, despite the cold, wore a check shirt rolled up to his elbows and a pair of old corduroy trousers. He was chopping wood, slicing up a tree trunk. His arms were sinewy and he swung a heavy axe high into the air without any apparent effort. The axe thundered down, split a huge log into two. He was lifting the axe again when he saw his visitor.
'Hello, Tweed.' He greeted him in an upper-crust accent which was entirely unaffected. 'Good to see you. I'd stay where you are for a moment. Wood chips can fly off at an angle and do you no good at all.'
The large axe was whipped up in a fresh arc, brought down with great speed, sliced straight through a huge log. Interesting, Newman was thinking to himself. Kent laid down the axe, turned to greet his visitors with a broad smile.
A slim man, of medium height, he was in his late thirties, early forties. Clean-shaven, he had thick dark hair, neatly trimmed, and shrewd grey eyes. He shook hands after wiping them on his trousers while Tweed made introductions. Suddenly aware that someone was standing close behind him, Tweed turned to find Eve waiting with a bleak look.
'Oh, and this is Eve Warner, a friend of Philip's. Keith Kent.'
Eve held out her hand after Kent had extended his own with an apology.
'Hope my mitts aren't sticky. Welcome to Bradfields. Excuse the attire. We ain't given to puttin' on nice duds down 'ere,' Kent explained with a grin as he mimicked a Cockney. 'Coffee, everyone? I could drink a litre. Come inside…'
The old house was built of brick covered with whitewash and with a thatched roof above the first floor. Inside Kent ushered them straight into a large living room with ancient leather armchairs scattered about, invited them all to sit down.
'I'll just make the coffee. How do you like it?'
'Black for me.' Eve chimed in quickly. 'No sugar.'
'I'll give you a hand,' Paula said, following Kent. She noticed Eve had sat down in a chair with her legs crossed, obviously with no intention of giving her host any aid. She heard Tweed say something which struck her as odd because she had seen him complete the task.
'Don't think I locked the car. Be back in a moment.'
With all the others inside he hurried down the path into the road. Butler was perched astride his machine just out of sight of the property. Tweed walked briskly up to him.
'I hoped you'd come out.' Butler said. 'I left my car hidden down a track near Studland. I'd like to go back there now and retrieve it.'
'Do that. Then go back to the Black Bear and I'll be in touch. Where did you get the Fireblade?'
Butler explained what had happened briefly when he had seen the escorted limo with tinted windows pass him after coming over via the ferry.
