raged. 'Stop being so obsessed with money. You should be worried about how this terrible experience has affected the staff.'
'It hasn't,' Tweed assured her. 'The police brought a doctor with their team. He examined your staff, said all they'd suffer from were temporary headaches. Celia, the new girl, was tapped only lightly on the head.' He saw Paula watching him, startled by his recent slip of the tongue. He covered it, looking at Gaunt. 'The reason I know about the forensic business is the chief inspector - a man called Buchanan - explained to me why they needed the cars. Incidentally, he said he would need to talk to you.'
'He won't be welcome, I can tell you that.'
'You said,' Jennie began, to ease the tension, addressing Tweed, 'that this fake postman delivered a parcel which poor Mounce was still clutching when the police examined him. I wonder what it contained?'
'A technician opened the package outside in the gar den,' Tweed told her. 'You'll never guess what it con tained. A box of Sp r ü n gli truffle chocolates.'
'I find that rather beastly,' Jennie commented.
'Spr ü ngli?' repeated Gaunt, who had sat down again. 'A firm in Zurich - where Amberg came from.'
'I don't think Buchanan overlooked that,' Tweed remarked drily. Checking his watch, he stood up. 'I think we really ought to be going. Thank you for your hos pitality.'
'It was nothing,' Gaunt said gruffly.
Jennie looked at Cardon. 'I live in Padstow in a rented flat. Here is a card with my phone number. It's a strange port-located on the estuary of the River Camel. Greg and I go there quite often. At this time of the year it's so gloriously quiet and hidden away. If you're down that way do come and see me, won't you?'
Tweed kept a blank expression. Padstow was their real destination.
The door to the hall had been left ajar as though Gaunt was expecting a phone call. The bell began ringing at that moment. Gaunt walked briskly out of the room. He was back again, almost at once, looking rather annoyed.
'It's someone for you, Tweed. Wouldn't give a name. People are so rude these days. No manners at all...'
Tweed closed the door behind him, crossed the hall, picked up the phone. All the staff had gone home - Jennie had explained they arrived early in the morning and cycled home again in the evening.
Tweed here.'
'Hoped I might catch you,' the familiar voice said, deadpan. 'I'm back at the Yard - flew to London from St Mawgan Airport. Exeter has been on the line. I wondered how someone got hold of a postman's outfit. Now we know.' Buchanan paused, waited.
'All right, you want me to ask how. So - how?'
'They stole the uniform of the genuine postman from his cottage at Five Lanes.' He paused. 'They've just found his body, throat slashed open from ear to ear.'
6
Tweed drove the Ford Escort with headlights undipped as he followed the lonely road in pitch darkness across the moor, heading back to the A30. Paula, acting as navigator, sat beside him while Cardon was alone in the back. Behind them Nield, driving the Sierra, had Butler sitting alongside him. He used the red lights of the Escort to warn him of oncoming bends. His own headlights were dipped to avoid a blinding glare in Tweed's rear-view mirror.
'Why are we going to Padstow?' Paula asked.
To go underground until I've identified the enemy.'
'Not like you to run,' she probed.
'A tactical retreat. We may be up against the most
powerful and dangerous enemy we've ever confronted.'
'What makes you think that?'
'First, Amberg begs me to join him at Tresillian Manor. With a lot of protection. Maybe we were the targets for the killer as much as he was.'
'And second?'
'Within a short time of the massacre a massive bomb destroys Park Crescent. Diabolical synchronization?'
'Not plausible,' she argued. 'I still maintain that no one could have timed the two events so close together.'
'I suspect the whole plot was triggered off by the arrival of Joel Dyson two days ago from the States.
'It hasn't,' Tweed assured her. 'The police brought a doctor with their team. He examined your staff, said all they'd suffer from were temporary headaches. Celia, the new girl, was tapped only lightly on the head.' He saw Paula watching him, startled by his recent slip of the tongue. He covered it, looking at Gaunt. 'The reason I know about the forensic business is the chief inspector - a man called Buchanan - explained to me why they needed the cars. Incidentally, he said he would need to talk to you.'
'He won't be welcome, I can tell you that.'
'You said,' Jennie began, to ease the tension, addressing Tweed, 'that this fake postman delivered a parcel which poor Mounce was still clutching when the police examined him. I wonder what it contained?'
'A technician opened the package outside in the gar den,' Tweed told her. 'You'll never guess what it con tained. A box of Sp r ü n gli truffle chocolates.'
'I find that rather beastly,' Jennie commented.
'Spr ü ngli?' repeated Gaunt, who had sat down again. 'A firm in Zurich - where Amberg came from.'
'I don't think Buchanan overlooked that,' Tweed remarked drily. Checking his watch, he stood up. 'I think we really ought to be going. Thank you for your hos pitality.'
'It was nothing,' Gaunt said gruffly.
Jennie looked at Cardon. 'I live in Padstow in a rented flat. Here is a card with my phone number. It's a strange port-located on the estuary of the River Camel. Greg and I go there quite often. At this time of the year it's so gloriously quiet and hidden away. If you're down that way do come and see me, won't you?'
Tweed kept a blank expression. Padstow was their real destination.
The door to the hall had been left ajar as though Gaunt was expecting a phone call. The bell began ringing at that moment. Gaunt walked briskly out of the room. He was back again, almost at once, looking rather annoyed.
'It's someone for you, Tweed. Wouldn't give a name. People are so rude these days. No manners at all...'
Tweed closed the door behind him, crossed the hall, picked up the phone. All the staff had gone home - Jennie had explained they arrived early in the morning and cycled home again in the evening.
Tweed here.'
'Hoped I might catch you,' the familiar voice said, deadpan. 'I'm back at the Yard - flew to London from St Mawgan Airport. Exeter has been on the line. I wondered how someone got hold of a postman's outfit. Now we know.' Buchanan paused, waited.
'All right, you want me to ask how. So - how?'
'They stole the uniform of the genuine postman from his cottage at Five Lanes.' He paused. 'They've just found his body, throat slashed open from ear to ear.'
6
Tweed drove the Ford Escort with headlights undipped as he followed the lonely road in pitch darkness across the moor, heading back to the A30. Paula, acting as navigator, sat beside him while Cardon was alone in the back. Behind them Nield, driving the Sierra, had Butler sitting alongside him. He used the red lights of the Escort to warn him of oncoming bends. His own headlights were dipped to avoid a blinding glare in Tweed's rear-view mirror.
'Why are we going to Padstow?' Paula asked.
To go underground until I've identified the enemy.'
'Not like you to run,' she probed.
'A tactical retreat. We may be up against the most
powerful and dangerous enemy we've ever confronted.'
'What makes you think that?'
'First, Amberg begs me to join him at Tresillian Manor. With a lot of protection. Maybe we were the targets for the killer as much as he was.'
'And second?'
'Within a short time of the massacre a massive bomb destroys Park Crescent. Diabolical synchronization?'
'Not plausible,' she argued. 'I still maintain that no one could have timed the two events so close together.'
'I suspect the whole plot was triggered off by the arrival of Joel Dyson two days ago from the States.
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