No Mercy (44 page)

'That could be difficult.' she commented.

'No, it won't. We'll see the huge bulk of Hooked Nose Tor
now it's moonlight. That tor is close to the east side of the mansion.'

'So you see, Paula.' Marler joked, 'we've been plotting
while you were in the land of Nod.'

They soon arrived at the ancient town of Moretonhampstead. Paula gazed out. The streets were deserted at
that hour, the shops all closed. There were lights in
residential houses.

'It's attractive.' she said. 'A lot of character. Looks as though it's been here for ages.'

'It has.' Tweed told her as they took the road for Abbey
Grange.

They were soon well clear of the town and Dartmoor
closed in on both sides. Even in the moonlight it looked forbidding and bleak. She stared ahead as Marler slowed
down, parked. The silhouette of Hooked Nose Tor stood out
sharply in the moon's glow. The strange similarity to a man's
head had a sinister look seen in profile. Harry's Land Rover
parked a dozen yards behind them. Tweed got out, ran back.

'You all stay here until you see me again. You can get out
to stretch yourselves, but walk away from Abbey Grange.'

He ran back and Paula was waiting for him in the silent
road by the high wall round the mansion. Marler peered out
to speak softly.

'You want me to stay here to keep an eye on the vehicle?
Good. See you sometime . . .'

28

'It's very quiet,' said Paula as they approached the double-
gate entrance. 'No one about. A bit creepy.'

'It's Dartmoor,' Tweed replied as he opened the left-hand gate leading to the path round the end of the mansion to the
terrace.

They had reached the end of the path when Lucinda
appeared on the terrace. She was very smartly dressed in a
pair of white slacks with razor-edge creases and a thick
woollen white polo-necked jumper.

'Well,' she called out, smiling, 'the great detective is back
again. Come to find another murder?'

'I hope not. Where is everyone?'

She ticked them off on her fingers. 'Michael is floating
about somewhere on the moor; Larry has arrived, not sure where he is; and the superior Aubrey is probably inside having a drink - not his first, I'm sure.'

She hugged them both and Paula noticed that her long
blonde hair was perfectly brushed, a golden cascade. As they
reached the French windows leading inside, Mrs Brogan
appeared with her normal disapproving expression.

'More of 'em,' she grumbled. 'So how many am I
supposed to cook for? No advance warning, of course.'

'We shan't be eating,' Tweed assured her. 'I'm going for a
stroll by myself.' He gazed along the terrace, beyond it. 'Is
there a path up Hooked Nose Tor?'

'Two paths,' snapped Mrs Brogan. 'One up, one down.

Don't advise you to go up there.' Wearing an apron, she
raised one meaty arm, pointed at the tor. 'Paths are narrow.
You go up there, slip off the top, then you falls 'undreds of
feet, end up as spiked meat at the bottom.'

'Thank you for the warning,' Tweed said with a smile. 'I
have done a little mountaineering in the past.'

'Do you want the bathroom, Paula?' asked Lucinda. 'Top
of the stairs, then third door on your left.'

'I could do with a quick shower,' Paula admitted.

'Don't hurry,' Tweed urged her. 'I'm not sure how long
it'll take to scale this fellow.'

He descended the steps from the terrace. The windows
facing the moor were a blaze of lights. He kept his gaze away
from them to preserve his night vision, then took out his
torch. He reached the base of the giant, had the choice of
two paths, chose the one on the left, which looked less steep.

He held the torch in his left hand so the right was free to
feel his way along the steep rock surface. The path was
narrow and curved continuously round the massive rock. He
had a motive he had not mentioned for his climb. He
guessed the view from the top would be panoramic, well above the roof of the mansion and with a clear sight of the
church tower, the church - and the Nowhere Village
beyond, as Lucinda had nicknamed it.

Looking up, he saw above his path a wide ledge which, he guessed, was the second path leading downwards. There was
a light breeze blowing from the west and the air was
refreshing. Not relying on the moonlight, he beamed his
torch on the path. On his right the granite wall rose steeply.
He was very high up now. Glancing down, he saw far below
at ground level large pointed rocks. Hence Mrs Brogan's
remark about 'spiked meat'.

Leaning back against the rock, he took out his
monocular and focused it on the church tower. There was a
light on behind a Norman arched window. Curious, at this
hour. He glanced down again. The killing height he had
reached did not worry him. Affected by any trip, on the sea,
Tweed had never been bothered by vertigo.

The huge hooked nose of the tor was only a few feet ahead
of him. He focused the monocular on the church. No lights.
He then switched his focus to Nowhere Village, then to the
road in front of the line of cottages. Large black oil marks,
two lines, well apart and recent. He frowned.

He was vaguely aware of a white shape behind him as a
strong hand rammed into his back, unbalancing him,
swaying him to the brink of the precipice. He forced himself
to lurch forward, his right hand clutching for something to
hold on to. His gloved hand grasped the lower part of the
projecting nose as he felt dizzy. He leaned his body against
the wall of the tor, his hand still grasping the nose. He felt
helpless, disarmed. The Walther was tucked into a hip holster
on his left side. No way could he reach for it with his right
hand, which was the only chance of getting his balance back
and not falling off the ledge.

He concentrated on repeating the letters of the alphabet
from A to Z. The pain from the blow against his back was
subsiding. His legs, which had felt like marshmallow, were
stiffening. He determined to test his legs, standing first on
the right one and bending the left at the knee. Then he
reversed the process. They were holding firm.

He found himself reluctant to release his grip on the nose.
'I can't stay up here all night,' he said aloud. Clenching his
jaw, he took his right away from the support, began to take
short steps along the path winding its way round the tor.
The steps became longer, but only by a few inches. The
dizziness had cleared, he felt more normal. He rounded a
corner. The path split into two sections, one continuing
upwards - presumably to the summit - the other section descending. He chose to go down.

Descending was surprisingly tricky. His calf muscles
ached with the strain. He still kept his body leaning against the tor's wall to help maintain balance. He didn't look down
once. Not a good idea at this stage of his ordeal. Just concentrate on not making a single mistake.

It was a surprise when he arrived at ground level. He sat
on a large flat stone to take stock. He was glad now he had
made the attempt. From high up he'd glimpsed a faint light
in Nowhere Village. He'd also seen the light in the bell
tower, which struck him as odd. Time to get moving again.

He was walking below the terrace towards the steps when Larry appeared, as though he had just walked up the track.
Tweed stared. Larry was dressed in a smart white suit: white
jacket, white trousers, white shirt, white tie and white handmade shoes.

'Tweed, of all people,' Larry greeted him with his usual
warm smile. 'You can join our party,' he went on as they
mounted the steps side by side. 'You will be most welcome.
I'll have someone intelligent to talk to instead of being bored
to death by Aubrey.'

At the open French windows Lucinda appeared, a glass of
champagne in one hand.

'Tweed is going to join our party,' Larry called out
buoyantly.

'That's great. . .' Lucinda began.

'I'm afraid not,' Tweed said firmly. 'I have another appointment.'

'Did you do it?' Lucinda wanted to know.

'Do what?' Larry asked as Lucinda handed him a
champagne glass she had grasped from a tray on a table just inside.

'Climb Hook Nose Tor, of course,' Lucinda said gaily,
addressing Tweed.

'Yes, I just about managed it,' Tweed replied.

'What!' Larry sounded appalled. 'Climbing that thing in
daylight
is bloody dangerous. At night it could have been
suicide.'

'I managed,' Tweed repeated.

Paula appeared, holding a champagne glass, which Tweed
noticed was nearly full. For appearance's sake she.had just
been sipping it. She was sparkling, her eyes fully alert, then
she saw Tweed clearly. Her expression changed. Placing her
glass on the table she jumped on to the terrace.

'Your right coat sleeve is covered in rock dust.'

She began using her hand to brush it off after putting a
glove on. Her head was shielding Tweed from Lucinda and
he frowned at her, warning her not to ask any questions. Larry leaped athletically into the living room, then turned round.

'Do join the party,' he said cheerily. 'Be a sport. Excuse
me. Must go upstairs and freshen up.'

'Lovely idea,' Lucinda purred. 'You can sit next to me with Paula on my other side.'

'Please thank Larry for the invitation,' Tweed replied, 'but
as I told him I do have another appointment. May I ask,
what is the party celebrating?'

'Come along the terrace for a moment,' Lucinda
suggested, taking him by the arm. 'You, too,
Paula,' she
called over her shoulder. She lowered her voice. 'It's called
a White Party. Hence we're all dressed the way we are. Every
now and again Larry has this irritating idea of holding a
party for all the chief executives to reward them for their
dedicated service. His words, not mine. Larry insists it has
a theme, so this is the White Party. Last time it was the New
Orleans Party, which was hell. I had to mug up how they
dress in the Quarter, as they call it over there.'

'Where's everyone else?' Tweed enquired casually.

They heard slow footsteps corning up on to the terrace
from the moor. It was Michael, clad in what looked like a
white dinner suit, except he wore his normal shoes. Lucinda called out, 'Where have you been?' Then she swore softly. 'I
still make the mistake occasionally, saying something to him
and forgetting he still hasn't spoken one word. That awful
amnesia.'