opened and a tall woman dressed in black, with a Roman nose and an unpleasant expression, stood there.
'What is it?' she demanded.
'My name is Tweed. I have to see Lord Bullerton urgently.'
'His Lordship does not see callers without an appointment.'
'I don't make appointments.' Tweed showed her his folder. 'I have to see him now. At once.'
Til inform him you called.'
She slammed the door in his face. Tweed paced the front, then measured the left-hand side. He thought he saw a huge shadow which immediately vanished. He returned as the front door opened again. The tall woman in black eyed Paula with disfavour.
'His Lordship has decided to make an exception in your case. The girl will remain in your car.'
'She is my chief assistant, goes everywhere with me. So she will come with me now.'
'You might have mentioned that earlier. And don't trip over the shag carpet.'
She was referring to the fact that the small panelled hall's floor was covered wall-to-wall with the carpet. Tweed felt his ankles sinking into it. She led them to a door in the right-hand wall, opened it, made her announcement.
'Mr Tweed, sir. Also the female assistant he insisted must accompany him.'
A very large man jumped with surprising agility out of an armchair, walked rapidly across to his visitors, his outsize hand extended in greeting. The head on a thick neck seemed huge. Below thick fair hair his prominent forehead suggested intelligence, beneath his thick eyebrows large blue eyes stared at each of them in turn. His nose was aggressive above a strong mouth and below that jowls were developing.
Paula was taken aback by their host's sheer size, but like many big men his feet were small and neat. His voice was powerful.
'You are so welcome, Mr Tweed. A visitor of great importance who arrived in Gunners Gorge yesterday and is staying at the Nag's Head.'
He was smiling warmly as he shook Tweed's hand and then turned to Paula to shake hers.
'I am losing my manners. I should have greeted the delightful Miss Paula Grey first. Mr Tweed's brilliant aide-de-camp.'
'Lord Bullerton?' she queried, tensing her hand, expecting it to be crushed in his great paw. Instead he squeezed gently, holding on longer than is normal.
'Yes,' he answered her, 'for my sins I am Lord Bullerton. My venerable late father insisted I carry on the line. Three of us so we shall sit round this table. The chairs are very comfortable.' He glanced at the open door where the woman who had let them in stood waiting for orders. 'Mrs Shipton, drinks all round. I'll have a neat double Scotch. Tweed?'
'The same as yourself.'
'Most important of all. Miss Grey?'
'I'd like a French Chardonnay in a small glass.'
'We only serve French,' Mrs Shipton said severely as she walked to a large glass-windowed cupboard which appeared more like a bar.
'And I see you know Mr Falkirk,' Tweed com mented, settled in one of the tapestry-covered carver chairs. 'A private detective.'
Tweed doesn't waste time, Paula thought. Plunges straight in.
'Ah, Falkirk,' Bullerton sighed. 'Touts for business round the shires.'
Mrs Shipton had served the drinks, placing a large cloth mat in front of each of them before perching their drink on top of it.
'At least Mr Falkirk made an appointment,' she snapped, went into the hall, slamming the door behind her.
'Mrs Shipton!' thundered Bullerton.
'Sir?' she called out, reopening the door.
'Point one,' Bullerton continued thundering, 'I can do without your commentaries. Point two, when you leave this room I like the door closed quietly.'
Mrs Shipton, her expression venomous, left again, closing the door without a whisper.
'Your housekeeper?' Paula enquired.
'Shsh!' Bullerton laid a hand on hers. 'House man ager.'
'You seem to have a lot of spies,' Tweed remarked. 'When we arrived you knew a lot about us.'
'Ah! Mr Tweed. You are in the country now. Anyone new and the gossip starts…'
'Indeed it does,' intervened Paula. 'You have five daughters and one son.'
'Yes.' Bullerton sighed. 'The two eldest, Nancy and
Petra, walked out on me. Wished to travel, I gather. Nancy went to Canada. Had just one postcard from her. Toronto. Petra pushed off to Australia. Again only one postcard – Sydney. But I still have Margot and Sable -'
As though on cue the door burst open and a wild girl burst into the room. Fair-haired, she wore baggy jeans, a short jumper which exposed a generous dis play of bare stomach, and Reeboks on her feet. She dropped a briefcase by a couch and hurtled over to Tweed. He held out a hand and she slapped it in a friendly gesture with her own.
'This is Margot,' Bullerton said in a resigned tone.
'I like you,' Margot said to Tweed, dragging a chair close. 'I'm so fed up with the young idiots. Just dumped a boy friend. Only one part of my anatomy he was interested in. Tried to drag me behind a bush up on Black Gorse Moor. I gave him my knee. Left him crouched over and moaning. I prefer more mature men.'
The door opened and Mrs Shipton appeared again. She seemed in a better mood now as she addressed her employer.
'Sir, that important call you expected has come through. You could take it in the library. The line is bad. I think he's using a mobile.'
Bullerton stood up, excusing himself to his guests. He wore jodhpurs tucked into gleaming boots and riding kit. The garb seemed quite normal in this part of the world. As he was leaving, a very attractive slim girl appeared. She was fashionably dressed in an expensive two-piece blue suit. Her fair hair was neatly coiffured and Paula estimated her to be in her early twenties.
'This is Sable,' Bullerton called over his shoulder before he left the drawing room.
'Oh, God!' Margot said in a loud voice.
She began running two fingers up the sleeve of Tweed's arm. Her smile was inviting when Sable spoke. She had a cultured voice and a very pleasant manner as she spoke to Margot.
'I'm not sure Mr Tweed likes you doing that during his first visit.'
'Drop dead,' Margot snapped. 'Just because you manipulated Pater into sending you to Heathfield you think you're the cat's whiskers,' she went on nastily. 'I went to a good school but it wasn't Heathfield
…'
'Calm down, Margot,' Sable said quietly, still standing.
'You shove off,' screamed Margot. 'You weren't invited to this party!'
She jumped up, advanced on Sable, her right fist clenched ready to punch her sister in the stomach. Sable, taller, stood very still, shot out her long arms, her hands on Margot's shoulders. She gave Margot a violent shove. Margot staggered backwards, ended up sprawled in an armchair.
Sable fingered a diamond brooch attached to the top of her jacket. Margot leaned forward, screaming as she felt under the left leg of her jeans. She pulled out a knife from a holster attached to her lower leg.
'See that!' she screamed. 'Pater's birthday present to his pet, Sable.'
Margot leapt to her feet. She rushed at Sable, knife raised to slash her. Sable remained quite still. Then as Margot reached her one long arm shot out, the hand grasped Margot's knife hand by the wrist, twisted. Margot yelled in pain and dropped the knife. At that moment during the struggle Lord Bullerton returned.
'Couldn't hear a word… bloody hell. Margot, are you mad?'
'We had a disagreement,' Margot replied sullenly, sitting on the armchair, nursing her twisted wrist.
Tweed leaned forward, studied the knife. One side had a keen blade, the other a regular serrated edge. Not the weapon which had been used to carve up the faces of the two women in London.
A good-looking young man in his early twenties entered the room. Wearing a neat grey suit, his fea tures
