The Savage Gorge (12 page)

'He really doesn't want that,' Sable's cultured tones
broke in. 'He's told you that enough times.'

'No, he doesn't,' Bullerton agreed after Lance had
left. 'I think now you'd make a better job of it. You're
competent, controlled, don't mind responsibility -
which Lance does. And you're popular with the
people who count.'

'Let me make one thing clear,' Sable said firmly. Tm not asking for it or assuming anything. You do change your mind quite often.'

'True enough,' he agreed. 'But I've been thinking
about the whole business.'

'Time we left,' Tweed suggested. 'It has been inter
esting. I think you've got the gem of a house. A real Georgian.'

I’ll come out on the terrace with you. Sable, join
us, please.' As he walked out with Tweed, Mrs
Shipton appeared with another double Scotch on a
tray. Bullerton, standing on the terrace, drank half,
licked his thick lips and swallowed the rest, dumping
the glass back on the tray, which Mrs Shipton took back into the house.

'His third,' Sable whispered to Paula. 'Watch out.
And could I come to see you at the Nag's Head?'

'You'd be most welcome. Best to phone me first.
Here's my number . . .'

She gave the number to Sable, expecting her to
record it in a notebook. Instead, Sable merely glanced
at it.

'Got it,' she said and disappeared into the hall.

Paula walked towards the wall of the terrace
Bullerton and Tweed were heading for. She studied
the large man's walk. Perfectly steady. She joined
them as Tweed posed the question.

'Why is it called Gunners Gorge?'

'Ah, sir. There's some history. In the sixteen hun
dreds the son of the great Cromwell was fighting with
the Parliamentarians. At least, one of his generals was.
Royalists were waiting near Worcester for their cavalry
to come from here to smash the Parliamentarians.
With me?'

'I know a little about the final battle at Worcester.'

'Well' - Bullerton's huge face was becoming red -
'spies had reported to the general that the Royalist cavalry had set a trap in the town here to destroy his

cavalry. Arriving early, the ambushers took up posi
tion in the entrances to the caves near the top of the
gorge. Cromwell's cavalry outwitted them.'

Bullerton was talking more rapidly, as though
enjoying relating the outcome.

'That means,' Tweed speculated, 'they were looking
down on the road which passes the Nag's Head.'

'Which was the road the Royalist cavalry would ride
along,' said Bullerton, gleefully. 'And they did, sir!'

'What happened?'

'The Cromwellian cavalry rode straight up the
stepped alleys. This gave them a commanding posi
tion overlooking the caves. Their muskets laid down a
murderous barrage of fire, firing point blank into the
caves.'

He rubbed his large hands together as though
seeing it all with sadistic enjoyment.

'The Royalist ambushers - and their horses - were massacred on that famous day. Dead Royalists - and
their horses - fell into the falls and the gorge which
was running - streaming - with blood. What a sight it
must have been!'

His face was now a mottled red, his eyes gleaming
with delight. Paula was appalled.

She saw a green Bugatti driving slowly down the
road towards Hobart House. Bullerton glared as the gleaming car parked behind Tweed's Audi.

'He's early, damn him.' Paula immediately recog
nized the driver.

It was Archie MacBlade, the oil prospector whose

picture had been in the newspaper. But a very differ
ent MacBlade. He'd had his hair cut, his previously
bushy moustache was neatly trimmed. He wore
leather driving kit. He looked handsome and she was
rather taken by him as he leapt up the steps. Bullerton
had turned his back on him, was slowly stomping towards the house.

MacBlade was smiling as he approached Tweed and
Paula, holding out his hand. Bullerton looked round,
saw the gesture and shouted at the top of his voice.

'Don't start jabbering to them. They're only guests.
Come in
now!
'

'I'm coming,' MacBlade called back. A pause.
'When I am ready.

'I am so pleased to meet you,' he went on, 'Mr
Tweed and Miss Paula Grey. Such a distinguished
couple, if I may say so.'

'You may say so,' Paula replied with a warm smile.
'And both of us appreciate your generous compliment.'

'In that case,' MacBlade suggested, 'may I invite
you both to be my guests for dinner in the Silver
Room one evening?'

'That would suit us perfectly. We look forward to enjoying the company of the most professional oil
prospector in the world.'

'Once.' MacBlade smiled again. 'I am now retired.'

'Really?'

Paula thought she detected a note of scepticism in
Tweed's tone. At that moment there was a frustrated roar from Bullerton, waiting by the door.

'Don't make the mistake of thinking he is drunk,'
MacBlade warned just before he left them. 'His
capacity for absorbing liquor is limitless. He is just play-acting . . .'

Paula pursed her lips as she watched MacBlade
walk casually to the house.

'We have just seen the real Pit Bull,' she said grimly.

EIGHT

'I'd like to go for a walk on the moor,' Paula decided,
'to get that horror story Bullerton revelled in out of my
mind. There are more steps at the end of the terrace.'

'
I’ll come with you,' said Tweed. 'There's stony
ground higher up. I'll get our motoring gloves out of
the car. Then if we trip up we won't rip our hands . . .'

They walked a long way across recently trimmed
grass, then the slope began. So did the rough ground,
littered with stones of different colours. Paula, wearing her gloves, reached the edge of the moor first.
Behind her, Tweed, who had a very sensitive nose for
odours, pulled a face.

Paula eased her way along a narrow path between tall
gorse bushes with blackened stems. There were few
yellow blooms and even they were drooping. There was
something unpleasant about the atmosphere.

'Not like the Yorkshire moors,' Tweed commented.

He used his gloved hand to grasp a handful of
gorse, raised it to his nose. The gorse had a greasy
feel. They pushed on through the winding path until they reached the top. Along a flat stretch ran a
narrow-gauge railway.

'What's this?' Paula asked.

She had bent down to where the last gorse bushes
enclosed the path on both sides. She hauled out a long
thick steel rod with a wide flat steel top. Tweed peered
over her shoulder.

'That,' he told her, 'is like the pillars they once used in
coal mines to support the roofs in deep tunnels. And
beyond that little railway there are deep runnels in the
ground - as though made by heavy trucks.'

'That nauseous smell. What is it?' she wondered.

'Probably from an industrial plant beyond the ridge
over there. Belching out pollution, which it shouldn't.'

'I don't like this place. It's creepy.'

Tweed didn't hear her. He was returning downhill
along the path at an incredible rate. She followed
slowly, watching her footing. Near the bottom of the
path she noticed dead gorse piled up in a large heap.
Bending down, she carefully removed the branches
and foliage. Reaching the ground level she stared.

She had exposed the entrance to a large tunnel. It comprised a new steel pipe at least three feet in dia
meter. Taking out a torch, she shone it into the tunnel, which gradually went lower and lower. The metal was
perfectly clean.

She rearranged the concealing gorse over the
entrance. As she stood up she noticed a large boulder
near the end of the path. A marker?

Tweed was far below, heading for Hobart House.
The moment she reached the grass her legs flew to
catch him up. Out of breath, she arrived to find him
standing at the Audi. She was on the verge of men
tioning the tunnel when she saw his absorbed
expression.

They were driving back up the curving road when
she looked back to catch a glimpse of the beauty of the
Georgian house. It had the outward appearance of a dream house.

'I sensed deceit and evil inside that house,' she
mused.

'They do say that the family can be the bloodiest
battlefield,' he replied as though his mind was on
something else.

'I noticed that Sable decided not to come out onto
the terrace. I suspect she sensed her father's change of
mood.'

'Possibly. The strange thing is this case started out
with the bestial murder of two women in London.
Which is why we came up here. Now I wonder.'

'You wonder what?'