The Savage Gorge (32 page)

The three-course dinner was so good they ate
almost in silence. Talk would have ruined their savour
ing the chef's excellent food. Then Archie signalled
the waiter, who brought over a bottle he carried with
extra care. Tweed stared at the label.

'Archie, that's the king of clarets. Costs a fortune!'

'Sip it first,' he advised. 'Now I'll tell you why we
are here. About Black Gorse Moor . . .'

From a canvas satchel perched on the seat beyond

Paula, Archie lifted out a tightly capped plastic canis
ter. Paula had seen him clutching it when she'd hauled
him out of the hellhole. He first used large serviettes
to create a concealing cloth tent. The table had
already been cleared except for their glasses.

On their side of the 'tent' he placed the canister. He
looked at Paula.

'Tell me what you see.'

'Four different levels of dissimilar liquids, separated
by thick glass dividers.'

'An excellent start. Go on.'

'Bottom level is black as pitch, very murky. The
level above is less dark with bits floating in it. Still
pretty murky. How am I doing?'

'Fine so far. Now go on!' he urged.

'The liquid in the third level is lighter, but still very
murky. The top level,' she concluded, 'is the purest brown-black. Almost has an oily texture
—'

'Not almost,' Archie broke in. 'It is oil - of the finest
quality, once treated in a refinery. Black Gorse Moor
is sitting on top of endless deposits of oil. Forget
Texas. I calculate there's at least enough oil there to
last all Great Britain's needs for the next hundred
years at least. We can forget Saudia Arabia and the
rest of the OPEC blackmailers. How is the claret?'

TWENTY FIVE

After more valuable conversation with Archie, Tweed
left the table and headed with Paula for the garage.
Once inside he sat behind the wheel and stared ahead
without moving.

'Billions and billions, Archie said the moor is worth,
and Neville Guile offers Bullerton one million. He
must have been furious when Archie sent him a
phoney report by courier - and returned the huge fee
Guile had paid him.'

'Which is why he tried to kill Archie on the moor.
He spotted the fake. We'll now drive over to Hobart House. I want a word with Lord Bullerton.'

'He'll be asleep at this hour,' she protested.

'No, he won't. He told me he catnaps, then comes
downstairs again and plays a game of chess against
himself.'

She kept quiet until they reached the turn-off at the
beginning of the Village. She leaned forward and
chuckled.

'First time I've seen Mrs Grout not scrubbing her
steps.'

As they approached the hole in the hedge Harry
appeared, his arms waving.

'No trouble so far. Earlier there were couriers from
London.'

'We know about them. Stay put. Very much on
guard.'

'How else would I do that job!'

Most of the lights were still on in Hobart House.
Mrs Shipton, dressed in a coat to go out, opened the
door. Her hat was tilted slightly to the right. A woman
in a hurry.

'What on earth do you want?' she demanded. 'At
this hour!'

'To see Lord Bullerton,' Tweed replied. 'I under
stand he has a catnap, then comes down to play chess against himself.'

'Library.'

'Just a moment. Where on earth are you going at
this hour?'

'None of your damned business.' She paused. 'This
is the only time I can drive round and enjoy the fresh air. All the skivvies are out of the place long ago.
Everything is ready for the morning. Anything else for
your case book?'

On which note she turned to leave. But Tweed

wasn't finished with her yet. He called down the
steps.

'I see there's an unmarked police car parked behind
yours . . .'

'Observant, aren't we?' She clutched her Gucci
handbag under one arm. 'Sergeant Marden has
arrived with Lizbeth. Since his Lordship was asleep,
they went straight up to her suite. Marden has excel
lent manners - better than some police officers I could
name.'

She slipped behind the wheel of a brand-new
Renault, slammed the door shut. She drove too fast
up the winding road to the lane. Tweed turned to find Lance standing in the doorway. He made an off-hand
gesture, looking out at the night rather than his visi
tors.

'The library,' he said in a superior tone.

'We know,' Tweed snapped, brushing past him.

This is getting to be familiar territory, Paula
thought as Tweed knocked politely, turned the handle
and descended the steps. In his smoking jacket
Bullerton sat crouched over a table occupied by a
chess game in progress. He frowned.

'My dear chap, welcome. And also to you, Paula. The frown was my being puzzled by the state of the
game. Join me for a few moves, Tweed?'

He waited patiently while Tweed toured the board,
checking it from all angles. Sitting opposite Bullerton,
he moved one of his pawns. Bullerton looked per
plexed.

While waiting, Tweed picked up the imposing
Queen. He used a clean handkerchief to wipe off her
waist a tiny mark. Then he placed her back on the board.

'She's a heavy lady,' he remarked, 'but so she should
be. She dominates the entire board.'

Bullerton moved one of his pawns. Tweed immedi
ately moved one of his. Bullerton stared.

'Checkmate!' said Tweed quietly.

'You're dangerous,' Bullerton said good-
humouredly. 'I never saw that coming.'

'Archie MacBlade has told me the whole position,'
Tweed explained. 'You're sitting on top of a world-
class oil field. Guard it well.'

'I have already acted very quickly. I contacted my
top lawyers in London. They worked incredibly fast
composing an iron-clad oil trust, then two of them
flew up here to the private airfield just the other side
of Black Gorse Moor. I signed the document with the
lawyers as witnesses. Next bit is very confidential.
Trust is registered in the Bahamas where no British
government can ever reach it with taxes. The registra
tion will move tonight to another tax haven I won't
name.'

'That ties it up forever.' Tweed stood up. 'I was
hoping you'd moved fast. You have.'

'I gather Lizbeth has arrived under armed guard,'
Paula said.

'A wonderful moment when I hugged her and she hugged me back.'

Paula could have sworn there were tears in his eyes.

He used a coloured handkerchief and smiled.
'Your Sergeant Marden is an excellent fellow. Gets
on well with Mrs Shipton, who had laid a table out
side Lizbeth's door and served him a slap-up
supper.'

'Must have a way with women,' Tweed said with a
smile.

'One more favour, please,' he said as he approached
the door. 'Who will carry on the title?'

'Since Lance refuses point-blank to be the next
Lord Bullerton, I have decided Margot will be the first
lady to occupy the post. In many ways she will do the
job better - very brainy, superb manners and so pop
ular, but wary of the aristos. Everyone in the house knows her, but no one outside.'

'Thank you for your time and information,' Tweed said, grasping the handle without yet turning it. 'One more thing. Are there two separate beds in Lizbeth's
suite?'

'Yes, tons of room. Why?'

'Do me a favour. Let Margot sleep in Lizbeth's suite
tonight and tomorrow also. Lizbeth had a bad time of
it and I think she'll welcome Margot's company.'

'Chap thinks of everything,' agreed Bullerton, wink
ing at Paula.

In the lane they were stopped briefly by Harry, who
indicated he had news. Tweed lowered his window.

'Bob Newman has surfaced again,' Harry
reported. 'Wants to see you urgently in the hotel
garage . . .'

'More trouble,' Paula commented cheerfully as they
drove out of the lane.

Entering the garage quietly, Tweed saw Marler
standing by his Maserati. No sign of Newman. A well-
built figure appeared, clad in a tropical-drill outfit; his
wide-brimmed straw hat was pulled down over large
dark glasses. For a moment Tweed didn't recognize Newman as he alighted.

'Several items you should know about,' Newman
began. 'I called my pal in the East End of London. All
the dangerous scum have left, including the three
killers who escaped conviction in the courts on a tech
nicality thanks to brilliant lawyers.'