While waiting, Tweed picked up the imposing Queen. He used a clean handkerchief to wipe off her waist a tiny mark. Then he placed her back on the board.
'She's a heavy lady,' he remarked, 'but so she should be. She dominates the entire board.'
Bullerton moved one of his pawns. Tweed immedi ately moved one of his. Bullerton stared.
'Checkmate!' said Tweed quietly.
'You're dangerous,' Bullerton said good- humouredly. 'I never saw that coming.'
'Archie MacBlade has told me the whole position,' Tweed explained. 'You're sitting on top of a world- class oil field. Guard it well.'
'I have already acted very quickly. I contacted my top lawyers in London. They worked incredibly fast composing an iron-clad oil trust, then two of them flew up here to the private airfield just the other side of Black Gorse Moor. I signed the document with the lawyers as witnesses. Next bit is very confidential. Trust is registered in the Bahamas where no British government can ever reach it with taxes. The registra tion will move tonight to another tax haven I won't name.'
'That ties it up forever.' Tweed stood up. 'I was hoping you'd moved fast. You have.'
'I gather Lizbeth has arrived under armed guard,' Paula said.
'A wonderful moment when I hugged her and she hugged me back.'
Paula could have sworn there were tears in his eyes.
He used a coloured handkerchief and smiled. 'Your Sergeant Marden is an excellent fellow. Gets on well with Mrs Shipton, who had laid a table out side Lizbeth's door and served him a slap-up supper.'
'Must have a way with women,' Tweed said with a smile.
'One more favour, please,' he said as he approached the door. 'Who will carry on the title?'
'Since Lance refuses point-blank to be the next Lord Bullerton, I have decided Margot will be the first lady to occupy the post. In many ways she will do the job better – very brainy, superb manners and so popular, but wary of the aristos. Everyone in the house knows her, but no one outside.'
'Thank you for your time and information,' Tweed said, grasping the handle without yet turning it. 'One more thing. Are there two separate beds in Lizbeth's suite?'
'Yes, tons of room. Why?'
'Do me a favour. Let Margot sleep in Lizbeth's suite tonight and tomorrow also. Lizbeth had a bad time of it and I think she'll welcome Margot's company.'
'Chap thinks of everything,' agreed Bullerton, winking at Paula.
In the lane they were stopped briefly by Harry, who indicated he had news. Tweed lowered his window.
'Bob Newman has surfaced again,' Harry reported. 'Wants to see you urgently in the hotel garage…'
'More trouble,' Paula commented cheerfully as they drove out of the lane.
Entering the garage quietly, Tweed saw Marler standing by his Maserati. No sign of Newman. A well- built figure appeared, clad in a tropical-drill outfit; his wide-brimmed straw hat was pulled down over large dark glasses. For a moment Tweed didn't recognize Newman as he alighted.
'Several items you should know about,' Newman began. 'I called my pal in the East End of London. All the dangerous scum have left, including the three killers who escaped conviction in the courts on a technicality thanks to brilliant lawyers.'
Lawyers paid a fortune by Neville Guile, Paula said to herself.
'They're travelling separately,' Newman continued. 'Some in cars, some on motorbikes. Looks like the attack on you is planned for tomorrow – that is, today…'
'No,' said Marler. 'The day after or the one after that. They need to be fresh, to become familiar with the killing ground.'
'The other thing,' Newman went on, 'is I've dis covered who Mrs Shipton really is. Don't ask me how.' He grinned. 'Some of my methods were unorthodox. Lived with her sister in an old small town way north of here called Barham-Downstream.
They ran a prosperous general store – local council had banned supermarkets. Am I going too fast?'
'No, carry on…'
'Her real name is Jennifer Montgomery Fisher- Mayne. Her sister was Myra Montgomery Fisher-Mayne before she married Lord Bullerton. Jennifer, who'd never met him, was furious – she'd heard about his playing about with the ladies of London. She refused to attend the wedding, made Myra promise never to admit her existence. They gossip in Barham-Downstream. So Myra never com municated with Jennifer by letter or phone. She must have wiped Jennifer out of her mind.'
'Well, well…' Tweed sighed. 'The one motive I overlooked was revenge?
'The weather is changing dramatically,' Marler remarked. 'Three huge storms are building up north of the bridge.'
'Thanks a lot,' said Paula.
She saw the end of the glowing sun at 70 °K, her favourite temperature. Her reaction showed.
Marler smiled. He waved both hands in a wide throwaway gesture.
'I don't control the weather. I hope those storms wait until we have sorted out our ambush. They break first well north of the bridge. Then the tidal wave comes.' He walked out and the others followed. He pointed across the wide stretch of grass his side of the river bank. 'Apparently once the water was less than a foot from pouring over onto the grass.'
'Wait here,' Tweed told them. 'I have a phone call to make.'
He called Hobart House. He had little hope of reaching Mrs Shipton, but felt he must try. She answered almost immediately.
'Tweed here -'
'That bulldog of yours stopped my car halfway along the lane. Quite frightening. So I drove to the end, turned round and came back to Hobart House.'
'Mrs Shipton, I really am so sorry. I would like to find a way of making it up to you…' Tweed, when he set out to do so, could charm the birds out of the trees. 'May I suggest we have dinner together, say tomorrow evening, at the Nag's Head? It would ease my conscience and I know I would enjoy your company, your exceptional intelligence.'
'Really?' There was a brief pause as though she had lost her breath. 'I accept your generous offer, of course. I shall indeed look forward to the occasion. I will drive over from here. Would eight o'clock be a suitable time? If not, please tell me the timing which would be convenient for you.'
'Eight would be perfect timing. I shall also warn the bulldog not to stop you. You drive a blue Renault, I believe. Then, until tomorrow evening. Goodnight to you, Mrs Shipton.'
He next called Harry and warned him not to stop a blue Renault on its way out the following evening.
And not to stop it whenever it returned. Paula ran up to him as he emerged from the garage.
'We're going to do the town. Marler's idea.'
'At this time of night!'
'The aristos have a different way of living from us. I rather like the sound of it.'
'You do?'
'And so will you. Lots of pretty women.'
Marler led the way out and Paula was astonished at the sight of the High Street, tastefully illuminated by 'Ancient Lights', the elegant Victorian lamp posts with their slanting glass panes, inside which a light glowed.
'Some of the shops are open,' she exclaimed.
'The locals, especially the aristos,' Marler explained, 'sleep late in the mornings, get up, have a light breakfast. Then they ride like mad over their great estates. In mid-afternoon they return home, have a shower, a quick snack and get some much-needed sleep. In late evening they get well dressed, come out, have a good dinner and then check out the shops. The general stores are closed – housekeepers buy the essentials during the morning.'
'Sounds like the ideal life of leisure,' Paula remarked.
'They're not idle,' Marler assured her. 'Soon they'll be hard at work, ploughing the fields, sowing the wheat. Some unusual shops. Tweed has just gone into one.'
Paula slipped into the shop: it had its name inscribed on its fascia. Edwin Cocker.
Tweed was gazing at a beautiful three-foot-high wooden model of a horse, painted black. The owner came
