The Power (14 page)

She was about to close the eyes, staring sightless up at
the summit where Celia had started her death plunge,
when Paula decided not to touch anything. She wasn't sure at that moment why she took this decision.

She was breathing heavily when she glanced up again at
the summit. Newman stood on the edge, staring down. She beckoned to him. Cupping her hands round her mouth, she
called up to him.

'Comedown, Bob.'

Her words echoed round the moor, recalling that ter
rible scream.

Newman's legs had never stopped moving since he started
to climb High Tor. Boulders and smaller rocks were
scattered across the surface above him. He couldn't see the
summit and he had long since lost sight of Celia as he followed the twisting path.

As so often happens with climbing heights, he reached
the summit suddenly. Flat-topped, it had more rocks -
some perilously close to the edge, he saw in time. With the
gun still in his hand, he
walked slowly to the brink, gazed
down. He sucked in his breath at what lay below.

He could see the bright yellow scarf
now. A
small flash of
colour on the tiny crumpled form lying across a huge
boulder. He was startled to see Paula looking up, her right
hand raised as she beckoned, then cupped both hands
against her mouth.

'Come down, Bob.'

Her cry was faint but he heard the words clearly. He
waved to acknowledge he had heard her. Had Celia
thrown herself over? Seemed most unlikely. Newman stood where he was for a moment, looked round. Just
behind him was a patch of grey sand. Clearly imprinted in it
was the outline of a large fresh footprint. Much larger than
Celia's small feet. And, he recalled, she had worn flat-
heeled walking shoes. The imprint showed small indent
ations inside the outline. Studded climbing boots. Celia
had been brutally murdered - shoved over the precipice.

The view from the summit of High Tor was panoramic
and he could see over the moor for miles in every direction.
Newman took a small pair of field-glasses out of his coat pocket, removed his dark glasses, began to scan the moor. He must have missed the murderer by minutes.

Through the lenses he saw how rough the country below
was. Deep gullies where a horseman could ride unseen.
Stretches of dense gorse which could mask sunken paths. Avoiding the footprint, he walked to the four points of the compass to look down the slopes. No sign of anyone, but
there were boulders the size of houses. He decided he must
hurry back to join Paula.

9

'I really hated leaving her like that,' Paula said. 'And I wish
I'd closed her eyes.'

'Don't worry about it,' Newman said. 'You did the right
thing.'

They had hurried back to the car from High Tor and
were now driving back towards Padstow along the A30.
Cardon stirred in the back.

'I make the body count ten now,' he observed. 'Eight
wiped out in the massacre at Tresillian Manor. The
postman at Five Lanes. Now this Celia Yeo is number
ten.'

'All right,' Paula said edgily. 'Now we know you can add up.' She returned to the previous subject, which was gnawing at her nerves. 'We can't just leave Celia lying out there. Supposing it rains tonight? I know that must sound silly...

'Not at all.' For a moment Newman drove with one
hand and put an arm round her, gave her an affectionate
squeeze. 'I had two reasons for not touching her. They
have an advanced fingerprint technique these days which
can sometimes take a print off flesh. You'd have had to touch her eyes to close them. But my main reason is we should leave everything for the police without disturbing
anything.'

'When they eventually find her,' she snapped.

'Oh, they're going to find her today. When we get
back to Padstow my first job is to call Buchanan from
that phone box outside the Old Custom House. I'll
disguise my voice. That's another reason for handling it
this way - if Buchanan knows we were there when it happened Lord knows how much more time would be
wasted while he questions us. Maybe several days. And I
suspect time is something Tweed is short of.'

'You've made me feel better,' she said. 'But why are
we visiting Tresillian Manor?'

'Can't you guess? I think it might be significant to find
out whether Gaunt and Jennie Blade are at the manor. Bearing in mind what happened at High Tor.'

* * *

Spiky hedges lined the section of the side road leading to
the manor. At one point where the fake
diversion had been
set up Paula pointed to an open gate leading on to the
moor.

'We told you last night about the ambush, Bob. I think
they hid their vehicles inside that gateway.'

Tweed took a chance crashing through,' Newman com
mented.

'What would you have done, then?' Paula challenged
him.

'Exactly what Tweed did ...'

No one was about as they entered the drive to the
manor. As it came into view and they drove closer Paula
noticed the curtains were closed over the dining-room
windows. Again they left Cardon to mind the car while
Newman and Paula climbed the steps to the terrace,
walked into the large square porch. Paula pressed the bell and quickly the door was opened on a heavy chain. Cook peered out. Behind her loomed a shadowy figure.

'Well, what do you want?'

'It's me.' Paula swiftly took off her glasses, whipped off
her scarf. 'We talked yesterday.'

'Lordy me, never recognized you.' She released the
chain, opened the door wide. 'Cousin Jem is here with his
shotgun. Come in and have a good strong cup of tea.'

That's kind of you. This is my friend, Robert,' she
introduced Newman. 'I was hoping Squire Gaunt was
here.'

'Been gawn 'ours. Both of 'em. One took the Land-
Rover, the other a horse. Not sure which took which. I was
out back in kitchen. There's a proper upset 'ere. Two girls never came for work - don't expect as we'll ever see them again, considerin' what 'appened yesterday. I 'as to serve
meals in the Great Hall for the master and Miss Blade. The
police said they 'ad to seal the dinin' room ...' It was all
pouring out in a torrent as though Cook was glad to talk to

someone she could trust. 'But Wendy's turned up - worth the other two of 'em, she is. Police said they'd be comin'
back later.'

Thank you, Cook. I wonder if you'd mind not men
tioning our visit? It's a surprise for the Squire. And I don't
think we have time for that cup of tea, but thank you.'

'We've been told not to say a word to a soul. I hope
Celia's keepin' her mouth shut. She'll be back tomorrow.
Don't worry, dear. I won't say a word to anyone about
your visit.' Her ruddy face creased into a grin. 'Me, I likes secrets

Newman said nothing until they were heading back
along the drive. The reference to the police returning had
alarmed him. He made his remark when they were driving
back to the A30.

'That was interesting. Both Gaunt and his girl friend
could have been on the moor near High Tor.'

'But not the one in the Land-Rover,' Paula pointed out.
'We'd have heard it. Pity we don't know which one was on
horseback. . .'

Newman swung out on to the A30. He was just about to
drop out of sight down a steep slope when he saw a car a long way off in his rear-view mirror. A patrol car turning off down the road to Tresillian Manor.

That was a damn near run thing,' he commented, 'which Wellington remarked after Waterloo. Now, Padstow, here
we come, so I can make my phone call to Buchanan. And
Cook little knows that poor Celia is keeping her mouth
shut,' he said grimly. Tor ever. . .'

Paula waited with Cardon in the Mercedes in the car park
opposite the Old Custom House. It was the most impres
sive building in Padstow, a solid block of an edifice, three
storeys high. From the roof projecting up was a large
dormer with two closed wooden doors. Paula pointed to it.

'At one time, ages ago, they must have hauled cargo
up there from the street.'

'It's ancient history,' Cardon agreed. 'I wonder how
Bob is getting on .. .'

Inside the phone box Newman had dialled New Scot
land Yard. When the operator answered he spoke
quickly through a silk handkerchief stuffed into the mouthpiece.

'Get me Chief Inspector Buchanan and 'urry it up. I'm
callin' about a new murder on Bodmin Moor. Don't
interrupt me. Just get 'im. I'll call back in five minutes
and expect to be put straight through or I'll ring off
again.'

He replaced the receiver. It was the only way to ensure Buchanan had no time to do what Newman was certain he'd try to do - trace the call. He looked at his watch and
dialled the number again in exactly five minutes.

'I called a few minutes back. Put me on to Buchanan. Now! Or forget it.'

'Chief Inspector Buchanan speaking,' the detached
voice answered after a moment. 'Who is this?'

'No names, no sorrow. Just listen and take this down.
There's a fresh corpse at the western base of 'Igh Tor
outside Five Lanes. Servant girl who worked at the
manor. Thrown down from the top. And you'll find a big
footprint on summit. I s'pose you likes clues.'

Thank you. Now if you'll just give me your name . . .'

'You're the detective...

Newman put down the receiver. No time to trace that
call - even with the sophisticated equipment they had now
which could often pinpoint a location in three minutes.
Stuffing the silk handkerchief into his pocket he stared
across the car park at his Mercedes. Paula and Cardon had company. Drawn up alongside was a Land-Rover:

the occupants Jennie Blade and Gaunt.

* * *

'A hearty welcome to Ye Olde Port of Padstow,' Gaunt
had called out jovially as he stopped the vehicle.

'Hello again, Philip,' Jennie greeted Cardon with a
fetching smile. 'We must have a drink together sometime.
Oh, Paula, I'm ignoring you,' she went on saucily.

'But then I'm not a man,' Paula shot back.

As they climbed out she noted they were both dressed in
sheepskins and jodhpurs. So who had been riding the
horse? She got out of the car, stretched, glanced in at the
back of the Land-Rover. It was crammed with cool bags,
coils of rope and a ship's compass. She was wondering
whether there was a pair of studded climbing boots hidden
under the heap.