The Savage Gorge (10 page)

'We would,' Tweed replied.

'I'm Bert Bowling, I own this place,' he explained as
Tweed signed the register in their correct names.
Tweed then asked his question.

'Could you tell me how to get to where Lord
Bullerton lives?'

'Go back along the road you came in on. Just before
you reach the Village there's a turn-off on your left,
takes you right to his estate.'

'Thank you.'

'Poor old basket,' the landlord continued. 'He's had
a lot of bad luck. Dines here quite often in the Silver
Room . . .'

'What sort of bad luck?'

'First his wife slips over the edge of Aaron's Rock at
the top of the falls. Plunges right down the gorge. Old
Mrs Grout saw her go - down the hundred-and-fifty-
foot drop. Mrs Grout comes rushing in here, so I
charge out, dive into the river. I can see her body
floating half below the surface with her wings flat on

her back. I bring her ashore and a quack staying here
tries to bring her round. No good. She's gone.'

'Did you say "wings"?'

'A very intelligent and balanced lady she was. But
we all have our quirks. Used to say she could fly, but I
know she didn't really believe it.'

'How long ago was this?'

'Over six years ago.'

'You did say,' Tweed began thoughtfully, 'Lord
Bullerton had a lot of bad luck. Was there something
else?'

'Well, yes. About a year ago his two - no, three -
eldest daughters walked out on him. Stupid people
spread nasty rumours that he used to beat them up.
There are people who don't like him.'

'Did he ever hear from them?'

'Just a postcard from Nancy, who went to Canada.
Another from Petra, who pushed off to Australia. Nothing from Lizbeth. You would like lunch in the Silver Room? I'll organize it. . .'

The Silver Room was on the first floor, as were their
suites. The room could have graced a good London
hotel with its oak-panelled walls and tables set well apart, covered with expensive white tablecloths. A
cheerful waitress with chubby red cheeks appeared as
soon as they were seated.

'Mr Bowling,' she informed them, 'said you were
important and I must look after you especially well.'

'Don't know about being important,' Tweed said
with a smile. He took one of the menus she offered as
she handed another to Paula. 'We're the only ones
having lunch,' he remarked. 'Have you anyone else
staying here?'

'Just one gentleman by himself in Room One. Lean and restless he is. Never a smile. Never looks at me.
Has something on his mind, I'd say. And I saw that
Inspector Reedbeck in the hall. Used to be in charge
of our police station. Saw him studying the hotel reg
ister late last night when Mr Bowling was down in the
cellar. Cheek, I thought. Doesn't belong in Gunners
Gorge any more. Sorry, I'm chattering too much but
there's something about you which makes folk want to
talk to you. Back in a minute when you've had time
to decide . . .'

'She's fallen for you,' Paula teased him.

'Let's get on with lunch. I want to call on Lord
Bullerton.'

They were downstairs about to leave when the land
lord appeared full of apologies.

'I'm afraid I misled you about His Lordship. He still
has two younger daughters living with him at Hobart
House. And a twenty-year-old son called Lance. He'd been trying for years to get a son to carry on the line.
Now he seems to have lost his enthusiasm for the idea.
And I fear I also misled you about Lizbeth.'

'In what way?' Paula enquired.

'She didn't walk out with her elder sisters. They
think she was drowned swimming in the river. Water
was rough that day but Lizbeth was a strong swim
mer.' He pushed a lock of grey hair away from his
face. 'Odd thing about that. She was untidy, just
threw her clothes off her swimsuit. Yet they were
found neatly piled on the grass.'

'And her body was never found?' suggested Tweed.

'Could have been swept miles downstream. Time
flies. Checked my diary. I told you it was over six years
ago when Lady Bullerton went down the gorge. It was
nineteen years ago. A year after the birth of Lance.
Sorry about that.'

'Forget it. Doesn't matter.'

'There's a path across the grass opposite this hotel.
Leads to a stone His Lordship personally had erected.
Chose the wording himself. Mustn't hold you up like
this.'

'What do you think of all that?' Tweed asked as he drove the Audi back the way they had come in.

'My head's in a whirl. All that information surging
in. And Mrs Grout said Lady Bullerton had gone
down the falls six years ago. Now Bowling, having said
the same thing, corrects it to nineteen years ago.'

'Mrs Grout has most of her marbles but at that age
memory can play tricks . . .'

'Funny that Bowling also said six years ago to start
with.'

They had entered the Village and Tweed turned left
down a lane bordered by high impenetrable hedges. No sign of Hobart House. There was a sudden loud
report and the glass of the window next to Tweed was
starred - but the glass remained intact.

'That was a bullet,' Paula hissed. 'Aimed at you.'

Tweed accelerated, risking that there was nothing
round the next bend. Paula already had the Browning
from her shoulder holster gripped in her lap. She
twisted round, stared through the rear window.

'Thank God for Harry's armoured glass. That
bullet, the starred glass is in direct line with your
head.'

'I was driving slowly,' Tweed remarked calmly, 'so it
wouldn't take a top marksman to aim at me.'

'You look pleased,' she snapped. 'Can't imagine
why.'

'That bullet is significant. Shows we came to the
right area. Someone doesn't like us poking round
here. Or,' he suggested amiably, 'maybe it's Lord
Bullerton's way of saying welcome to Hobart House.'

SEVEN