The Power (18 page)

Tall and thin, built of the universal grey stone, it had a single high gable with a turret below it at one corner. The
building had a derelict appearance and Paula thought she'd
never seen a more sinister house. Like something out of
Hitchcock's
Psycho.

'We'll climb up and have a look at it,' Tweed said as Butler joined them under the lee of the granite wall.

'What's the objective?' he asked tersely.

'That tall house above us. We're going to have a look at
it.'

'I'll tell Cardon and Nield. We'll spread out. I'm going to
approach it from the rear, which means a little alpine
climbing...'

Tweed headed for a small flight of crude steps leading up
out of the quarry to a winding footpath. He climbed so
quickly that Paula and Newman had to move to keep up with
him. Newman tucked his Smith & Wesson inside his belt.

'What an awful area,' Paula commented when they
reached a point halfway to the house.

The steep slope had an air of desolation and to her right
was a dense wood of miserable firs hanging over Rock. The
trunks were stunted, bent at an angle away from the sea,
their branches twisted into ugly shapes like deformed
arms. Now they were higher up a wind, blowing in off the ocean, whipped against them. No wonder the trees were so
crippled. Beyond the path was scrubby grass and the
undergrowth had a shaggy look, hammered over the years
by ferocious winds.

'What a glorious view,' Newman said, pausing.

The wind was stronger, the Atlantic had come into sight.
As they stood together the wind was battering like a
thousand flails. Surf-tipped rollers were roaring in to the outer reaches of the estuary, breaking against the base of the eastern cape, hurling skywards great clouds of white spray. More rollers advanced up the estuary.

Tweed averted his eyes, looked across the estuary to the
far side. The grey mass of Padstow sheered up like a
gigantic fortress wall. The Metropole was well elevated
and he realized why he had seen so clearly the lamp
flashing from the house above them.

'Let's keep moving,' he urged.

The narrow path snaked from side to side in its gully,
which made walking difficult. They were near the tall thin
house which, close up, had an even more derelict appear
ance. Three steps led up to the front door inside a porch.
No garden, no fence - the property was open to the
wilderness. Then Tweed saw how it could be reached by
car. A wide sandy track led downhill, went round a bend,
vanished.

Butler suddenly appeared from the rear of the building.
He was pocketing the compact tool-kit which he always
carried.

'No one here,' he reported. 'No furniture inside, no
carpets on the floor.'

'I'd like to have seen inside the place,' Tweed remarked.

'Follow me, then. Someone left a window unfastened at
the back,' he said with a straight face.

Cardon appeared on a hillock in a commanding position
above the house, gave a brief wave. Nield stood up from behind a dense patch of undergrowth closer to the house.

They've established outposts to watch over us,' New
man commented as they followed Butler round the back.

Paula stared at the sash window which was open at the
bottom. There were jemmy marks close to the catch on the inside which was turned to the open position. She spoke to
Butler in a tone of mock severity.

'Breaking and entering? That's against the law, Harry.'

'So someone got here before us,' Butler retorted,
grinning.

Tweed crouched to step over the ledge and ease himself
inside. Butler, followed by Paula, was by his side in
seconds. He put a finger to his lips, whispered.

'It
appears
to be unoccupied,' he warned.

Paula, with Newman by
her
side, studied the ancient
floorboards, the window ledges and the mantelpieces with
a housewife's practised eye. Undisturbed dust every
where. She paused before entering the narrow hall while
Tweed, followed by Newman and Butler, ran lightly up the
bare wooden staircase.

In the hall the floorboards were perfectly clean, dust-free. Paula frowned as she mounted the
staircase slowly.
Every tread was equally clean and a familiar smell was assailing her nostrils. Pleasant, distinctive.

Tweed had entered the front bedroom at the left-hand
side of the house. He took out of his coat pocket Newman's
binoculars, stood in front of the clear glass of the window, focused them. His own
windows in the suite at the Metro-pole seemed amazingly close.

'This,' he said, 'is where someone used a lamp to send a
signal last night.'

'And have you noticed the floorboards?' Paula enquired from behind him.

'No,
I...'

'Men are so unobservant,' she teased him. The room we
came in by at the back had a musty smell and was covered in dust. Look at these floorboards - they've been scrubbed,
probably during the past twenty-four hours. Was the door
closed here?'

'Yes, it was.'

'Which is why the smell of the cleaner used - liquid Flash
- is so strong in here. But you can smell it on the stairs and
in the hall.'

'What's the idea of cleaning up the place so well?' asked
Butler.

'Maybe to eliminate footprints,' Newman said, looking at Paula. 'Footprints with studded soles. Climbing boots.'

'If you say so,' replied Butler, mystified. He turned to
Tweed. 'Want some evidence that you're still a good
detective? Follow me.'

'In a minute.' Tweed was stooping over a corner of the window ledge. 'I'm doing a Sherlock Holmes. There's an intact roll of cigar ash here, a slight burn where the cigar
rested while the smoker operated the lamp. Paula, give me
one of those sample bags.'

Paula unzipped a section inside her shoulder-bag where she always carried several self-sealing polythene wallets.
Tweed had taken out a penknife, used his other hand to
take the wallet from Paula, used the knife to coax the ash
off the edge and inside the bag, which he sealed and
handed to her.

'There are experts who can identify ash. Now who have we seen recently who smokes cigars?'

'You want to see my evidence?' Butler broke in. 'Then
follow me ...'

He led them down the stairs, returned into the back
room where they had entered, climbed out of the window
and walked to a lean-to shed next to the rear wall of the
house. A large new padlock hung loose and dangling from an iron ring.

'I suppose you found it just like that?' Paula asked.

Butler grinned again, took a ring of skeleton keys from
his pocket, jangled them. He edged the heavy wooden
door open with his foot, stood back and gestured for them to enter, handing a small torch to Tweed. Paula wondered
what else Butler might have in the capacious pockets of his
made-to-order coat.

'Satisfying to find you were right,' Tweed commented as
Paula joined him.

He was aiming his torch beam at a large brass signalling
lamp perched on top of a heavy wooden box. Bending down, he examined the lamp without touching it, stood
upright again.

'It has a red filter which can be slid across the lamp. And a green one. Hence the signal flashes I saw from my suite.'

'So all we need to find out is who owns this dump,' Paula
replied.

Tweed and Paula had had enough of the gully path. With
Newman, they started down the sandy track which showed
the ruts of a vehicle's recent passage.

'A four-wheel drive job, like a Land-Rover,' Newman
said.

Before leaving the house with no name, Butler had
donned surgical gloves, had fastened the padlock on the lean-to shed, then closed the entry window. He vanished
from the trio's view along
with Cardon and Nield.

'They're enjoying practising the fieldcraft they've been trained in,' Tweed commented.

He knew the three men were close by but didn't hear one
sound of their progress down the bleak heathland. He
pointed to the channel of water which remained. Waves
were tossing up and down.

'One thing I'm not going to enjoy is the ferry trip back to
Padstow.'

'It may have calmed down by the time we return,' Paula
suggested, not believing a word she said. 'And in summer
time this place must be where the boaty types come.'

In the narrow channel of water a number of craft moored
to buoys were wrapped in blue plastic to protect them against the elements. More were beached on the vast
sandbank stretching clear across the estuary. Several boats
were slowly circling the area where the powerboat had exploded. Paula still found the disappearance of the river
extraordinary.

'It's as though there's a huge plug further out which they
pull out and water just vanishes down it,' she remarked.
She looked at Tweed. 'Was our journey here of any use?'

'Definitely. It's providing me with more pieces of the
vague jigsaw I'm building up in my mind.'

The track fell more steeply and they saw the road leading
to the quarry car park over to their right. Outside a
bungalow a smartly dressed woman was shaking a blanket.
Tweed stopped.

'Excuse me, have you any idea who owns that house at
the top of this track?'

'A man called Gaunt. He lives somewhere way out on
Bodmin Moor.'

'I might be interested in the property,' Tweed lied
amiably. 'It appeared to be empty. I suppose he never
comes near the place, this Mr Gaunt?'

'Someone does. Just occasionally. They did only last
night. I had the TV on but I heard some kind of vehicle
driving up there after dark.'

'Thank you for the information.'

'Wouldn't consider buying that old ruin,' the woman
warned. 'We bought this place in summer. Never do that.
We did - and we'd sell up and get out tomorrow if we
could. It's spooky. Rock is only an old hotel further along the road and a few terrace houses. Nowhere to buy everyday necessities. I have to cross in that beastly old ferry to
Padstow. Keep away from here.'

'You said spooky,' Paula reminded her.

'Every now and then lights appear in that house up there you've just been to see. I don't mean the room lights. More
like someone prowling round with a torch. Gives me the
creeps.'