She had bent down to where the last gorse bushes enclosed the path on both sides. She hauled out a long thick steel rod with a wide flat steel top. Tweed peered over her shoulder.
'That,' he told her, 'is like the pillars they once used in coal mines to support the roofs in deep tunnels. And beyond that little railway there are deep runnels in the ground – as though made by heavy trucks.'
'That nauseous smell. What is it?' she wondered.
'Probably from an industrial plant beyond the ridge over there. Belching out pollution, which it shouldn't.'
'I don't like this place. It's creepy.'
Tweed didn't hear her. He was returning downhill along the path at an incredible rate. She followed slowly, watching her footing. Near the bottom of the path she noticed dead gorse piled up in a large heap. Bending down, she carefully removed the branches and foliage. Reaching the ground level she stared.
She had exposed the entrance to a large tunnel. It comprised a new steel pipe at least three feet in dia meter. Taking out a torch, she shone it into the tunnel, which gradually went lower and lower. The metal was perfectly clean.
She rearranged the concealing gorse over the entrance. As she stood up she noticed a large boulder near the end of the path. A marker?
Tweed was far below, heading for Hobart House. The moment she reached the grass her legs flew to catch him up. Out of breath, she arrived to find him standing at the Audi. She was on the verge of men tioning the tunnel when she saw his absorbed expression.
They were driving back up the curving road when she looked back to catch a glimpse of the beauty of the Georgian house. It had the outward appearance of a dream house.
'I sensed deceit and evil inside that house,' she mused.
'They do say that the family can be the bloodiest battlefield,' he replied as though his mind was on something else.
'I noticed that Sable decided not to come out onto the terrace. I suspect she sensed her father's change of mood.'
'Possibly. The strange thing is this case started out with the bestial murder of two women in London. Which is why we came up here. Now I wonder.'
'You wonder what?'
'I'm not being fanciful. You know that's not my style. Now I really do wonder.'
'Wonder what?' she persisted.
'We may by chance have walked in on something which is bigger, much bigger than I ever foresaw.'
NINE
They were driving slowly along the hedge-lined lane leading to the Village when Paula glanced at the slim leather executive case Tweed had taken into Hobart
House but had never opened.
'That wouldn't contain those photos Hector gave you – the pics of the two murdered women looking normal?' 'It does.' 'I'm surprised you didn't show them to Lord
Bullerton.'
'Not when Sable and Margot were about.' 'What did you think of Margot? Bit of a wild cat.' 'Sisters often dislike, even hate each other. I thought that Sable was being provocative, the way she fingered her diamond brooch when she came into the drawing room.'
'I rather liked Sable.'
'Maybe,' he replied, 'but you know your own gender.'
'I also thought it odd when Falkirk turned up. Looking for a job? Could it be his host covered him by giving that as a reason? I'm wondering who has hired Falkirk.'
'A number of candidates. Lord Duller ton. Chief Inspector Reedbeck or Archie MacBlade, to name just some prospects… Look in front. I don't believe it.'
A battered grey Fiat had shot out from a gap in the hedge in front of them. Harry Butler, at the wheel, waved to them as he drove at their pace into the Village High Street, turning right towards Gunners Gorge.
'Now where has Harry been the past few hours?' Paula mused.
'I expect he'll tell us.' They had entered Gunners Gorge and Harry drove under the arch leading to the car park of the Nag's Head. 'He may have information from London…'
Parked in one corner was a new Maserati. Harry pointed to it as they stood next to their vehicles.
'That means Lance Mandeville is floating around somewhere – Bullerton's twenty-year-old athletic son. Polite, I gather he is popular in town. I've got something for you, Tweed. It came by courier. I persuaded him to give it to me by showing him my identity folder.'
Tweed broke the seal on the envelope Harry handed him. A brief note from Howard, then a large document on hand-made paper. He scanned it quickly, then passed it to Paula.
'Professor Saafeld's preliminary autopsy report. Now we know how those two women were slaugh tered.'
'Do we?' Paula asked after reading the document Tweed had handed to her. 'Chloroform?'
'Saafeld found traces of it in the nostrils and mouth of the woman murdered in the house next to Lisa Clancy's – but none on the other woman, who was murdered in the house round the corner. The killer had reconnoitred the area earlier. He'd seen the second victim took a lot of time making that lock on her door work. He attacks the other one first by pres sing a pad soaked with chloroform over her nose and mouth. He then cuts her throat, ruins her face. Darting round the corner, he finds his second target trying to get her key to work, comes up behind her, swiftly hauls back her long hair, uses his knife.'
'I must be thick. You're right…' Paula still had half her mind on the tunnel she'd discovered on Black Gorse Moor, something she still hadn't mentioned to Tweed.
'More news,' Harry reported tersely. 'I know who fired the bullet at you on your way to Hobart House. Lepard.'
'So a lot of money is changing hands among the killer thugs,' Tweed commented. 'Which means we're looking for someone with wealth. ..'
'And you are the target,' Harry warned. 'Lepard fired from behind a hedge. I was close behind in my car. I drove straight through a gap to get him. He was too quick – sped off aboard a Harley-Davidson.'
'How can you be sure it was Lepard?' Tweed demanded.
'He's half-French, half-British, as I explained. Bob Newman was an ace international reporter and he's still very good at description. Lepard is slim, clean shaven, with a sallow complexion. I know it was him because he turned to look at me before vanishing over a slope. News gets worse.'
'That's right, Harry,' Paula joked, 'cheer us up…'
'Newman has been back to check with his East End informant. All the killer thugs have been put on instant standby. My guess is they'll be up here any day – after Lepard failed to get you.'
'Then call Bob and tell him I want the whole team ready to come up here pretty damn fast.'
'Consider it done.'
Harry dived back into his car, drove slowly out under the arch.
'I was right,' said Tweed as they walked back into the hotel. 'And someone up here is reporting our every move. We have stumbled into something very big.'
The landlord, Bowling, was not behind his reception counter, which was unusual. Paula spotted a guest perched on a sofa, studying some kind of chart. He folded it quickly and stood up. Archie MacBlade.
'We're starting to bump into each other,' he said with a warm smile. 'For me that is a pleasure.'
'Do you often visit Gunners Gorge?' she asked casually.
'Occasionally. It is quiet and gets me away from the world.' He turned to Tweed with an unusual expression in his eyes. 'You have an enigmatic visitor waiting to see you in the lounge. A Lance Mandeville, son of Lord Bullerton.'
'Mandeville?'
