then asked his question.
'Could you tell me how to get to where Lord Bullerton lives?'
'Go back along the road you came in on. Just before you reach the Village there's a turn-off on your left, takes you right to his estate.'
'Thank you.'
'Poor old basket,' the landlord continued. 'He's had a lot of bad luck. Dines here quite often in the Silver Room…'
'What sort of bad luck?'
'First his wife slips over the edge of Aaron's Rock at the top of the falls. Plunges right down the gorge. Old Mrs Grout saw her go – down the hundred-and-fifty- foot drop. Mrs Grout comes rushing in here, so I charge out, dive into the river. I can see her body floating half below the surface with her wings flat on her back. I bring her ashore and a quack staying here tries to bring her round. No good. She's gone.'
'Did you say 'wings'?'
'A very intelligent and balanced lady she was. But we all have our quirks. Used to say she could fly, but I know she didn't really believe it.'
'How long ago was this?'
'Over six years ago.'
'You did say,' Tweed began thoughtfully, 'Lord Bullerton had a lot of bad luck. Was there something else?'
'Well, yes. About a year ago his two – no, three – eldest daughters walked out on him. Stupid people spread nasty rumours that he used to beat them up. There are people who don't like him.'
'Did he ever hear from them?'
'Just a postcard from Nancy, who went to Canada. Another from Petra, who pushed off to Australia. Nothing from Lizbeth. You would like lunch in the Silver Room? I'll organize it…'
The Silver Room was on the first floor, as were their suites. The room could have graced a good London hotel with its oak-panelled walls and tables set well apart, covered with expensive white tablecloths. A cheerful waitress with chubby red cheeks appeared as soon as they were seated.
'Mr Bowling,' she informed them, 'said you were important and I must look after you especially well.'
'Don't know about being important,' Tweed said with a smile. He took one of the menus she offered as she handed another to Paula. 'We're the only ones having lunch,' he remarked. 'Have you anyone else staying here?'
'Just one gentleman by himself in Room One. Lean and restless he is. Never a smile. Never looks at me. Has something on his mind, I'd say. And I saw that Inspector Reedbeck in the hall. Used to be in charge of our police station. Saw him studying the hotel reg ister late last night when Mr Bowling was down in the cellar. Cheek, I thought. Doesn't belong in Gunners Gorge any more. Sorry, I'm chattering too much but there's something about you which makes folk want to talk to you. Back in a minute when you've had time to decide. ..'
'She's fallen for you,' Paula teased him.
'Let's get on with lunch. I want to call on Lord Bullerton.'
They were downstairs about to leave when the land lord appeared full of apologies.
'I'm afraid I misled you about His Lordship. He still has two younger daughters living with him at Hobart House. And a twenty-year-old son called Lance. He'd been trying for years to get a son to carry on the line. Now he seems to have lost his enthusiasm for the idea. And I fear I also misled you about Lizbeth.'
'In what way?' Paula enquired.
'She didn't walk out with her elder sisters. They think she was drowned swimming in the river. Water was rough that day but Lizbeth was a strong swim mer.' He pushed a lock of grey hair away from his face. 'Odd thing about that. She was untidy, just threw her clothes off her swimsuit. Yet they were found neatly piled on the grass.'
'And her body was never found?' suggested Tweed.
'Could have been swept miles downstream. Time flies. Checked my diary. I told you it was over six years ago when Lady Bullerton went down the gorge. It was nineteen years ago. A year after the birth of Lance. Sorry about that.'
'Forget it. Doesn't matter.'
'There's a path across the grass opposite this hotel. Leads to a stone His Lordship personally had erected. Chose the wording himself. Mustn't hold you up like this.'
'What do you think of all that?' Tweed asked as he drove the Audi back the way they had come in.
'My head's in a whirl. All that information surging in. And Mrs Grout said Lady Bullerton had gone down the falls six years ago. Now Bowling, having said the same thing, corrects it to nineteen years ago.'
'Mrs Grout has most of her marbles but at that age memory can play tricks…'
'Funny that Bowling also said six years ago to start with.'
They had entered the Village and Tweed turned left down a lane bordered by high impenetrable hedges. No sign of Hobart House. There was a sudden loud report and the glass of the window next to Tweed was starred – but the glass remained intact.
'That was a bullet,' Paula hissed. 'Aimed at you.'
Tweed accelerated, risking that there was nothing round the next bend. Paula already had the Browning from her shoulder holster gripped in her lap. She twisted round, stared through the rear window.
'Thank God for Harry's armoured glass. That bullet, the starred glass is in direct line with your head.'
'I was driving slowly,' Tweed remarked calmly, 'so it wouldn't take a top marksman to aim at me.'
'You look pleased,' she snapped. 'Can't imagine why.'
'That bullet is significant. Shows we came to the right area. Someone doesn't like us poking round here. Or,' he suggested amiably, 'maybe it's Lord Bullerton's way of saying welcome to Hobart House.'
SEVEN
The high hedge to their right ended suddenly and Paula sat up. A panoramic view of great beauty opened before them. The hedge had masked a vast green bowl descending down a steep slope. Towards the rear was a single house perched on a small hill.
Tve never seen a more attractive house,' Paula commented.
'Looks to me like an original Georgian,' Tweed replied. 'Which means it's a perfect cube – the length of the front will be the same as the sides.'
'And it has a sea-blue lake in the huge space in front of it.'
'So, we have found Hobart House. I wonder what sort of a reception we'll get…'
He was driving down the steep curving hill as Paula studied the landscape. Some distance behind the house the ground rose to a grim bleak moor covered with gorse, which appeared to be black.
A small brown Ford was parked at the foot of marble steps leading up to a wide terrace. Tweed parked behind it. As they mounted the steps the front door opened, a man walked out, the door closed behind him.
'Falkirk, of all people,' Paula whispered.
The private detective was more smartly dressed than usual. He wore a new leather jacket, a cravat at his neck, well-cut blue trousers. He stared at Paula with a hint of amusement in his alert eyes.
'What a surprise,' he remarked. 'Makes my day to see my favourite girl friend.'
'And that will be your day,' she snapped.
'I guess you must have had me followed,' he sneered. 'Must be an expert shadow. Never saw him. Enjoy yourselves,' he went on, ignoring Tweed, 'I have to get things done.'
'We'll talk later,' Tweed said grimly.
'It will be my pleasure,' Falkirk called out as he jumped athletically behind the wheel of the Ford. He drove off at a dangerous speed up the curving road, leaving a trail of dust in his wake.
'Not now,' Tweed warned as Paula opened her mouth.
He pressed the bell, then raised the polished knocker, rattled it loudly. In less than thirty seconds the door
