The Savage Gorge (33 page)

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 break
fast. 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 forward. A tall thin man with a crooked walk, his
head was long with warm eyes, his manner pleasant.

'Welcome, madame, and you, sir. I am Edwin
Cocker.' He smiled again. 'I am the wood-carver of
every item you see. You've seen the notice,
"no obli-

gation whatsoever to buy".'

'You can carve just about anything,' said Tweed,
looking round at the vast array.

He wandered over to a shelf where six beautiful
chess pawns stood next to each other. He picked one
up, turned to Cocker.

Paula sucked in her breath as she ran her fingers
over its perfect smooth surface. Tweed was paying.
Cocker opened a drawer and withdrew a polished
mahogany box with a snap-shut lid. Opening it she
saw it was lined with pink silk. Cocker very carefully
placed the pawn inside, closed the lid, presented it to
Paula with a brief bow.

'I can't thank you enough,' Paula began.

'There is something else, Mr Cocker,' Tweed said.
'I hope it won't spoil this very pleasant interlude, but
I need to see your register of clients.'

He began to pull out his identity folder. Cocker
stopped him with a smile.

'Mr Tweed, don't look so surprised, I should think
everyone in Gunners Gorge knows you by now. I am

sorry but no one can see my register. Clients know
that is completely confidential. I am sorry, but no one
can make me break my word.'

'If you were brought before a London court the
judge could - and would - insist you produced that
register. I apologize for having to say that.'

'I do understand.'

'One more question, if I may. Could you, with your
extraordinary skill, produce a complete set of chess
pieces?'

'Yes . . .' Cocker paused. 'It would take time.'

'It really has been a unique pleasure knowing you.'
Tweed held out his hand and Cocker grasped it.
Tweed lowered his voice. 'There will be no order for
you to appear before any judge.'

'I was shocked by your threatening him with a court
order,' Paula commented.

'On a murder investigation I use any method to get
information.'

Marler met them outside. He seemed in an excep
tionally good mood.

'Better get back to the hotel. Everyone, including
Harry, has to be in the dining room for breakfast by
3.30 a.m. The landlord was very cooperative.'

'3.30 a.m!' echoed Paula. 'What on earth for?'

'I told you, breakfast. Then we drive along the High
Street so you can see the battlefield. Harry has kindly
let me drive his inconspicuous grey Fiat. . .'

Entering the deserted lobby, the buoyant Marler
slapped Paula very gently on her rump.

'Sleep well,' he said. 'It will be a quiet day.'
'When someone predicts that,' she snapped back,
'the day turns out to be anything but quiet.'

TWENTY SIX

The pallid grey dawn transformed Gunners Gorge as
they drove slowly out of the garage. Marler was
behind the wheel with Tweed alongside him. Paula shared the back with Harry.

'I don't know how you managed it,' Paula said.

'Managed what?' Harry growled.

'Breakfast. You had a three-egg omelette, crispy
bacon and fried potatoes.' She chuckled. 'You'll put
on weight.'

'No, he won't,' Tweed called back. 'Had his annual
check at the beginning of the year. The doctor said he'd never seen a fitter man.'

Paula was peering out. The town looked weird as
the dawn light spread over it: more like a frightening ghost town. The streets had recently been hosed down
by night workers. Not a soul to be seen.