Precipice

Kent, despite the cold, wore a check shirt rolled up to his elbows and a pair of old corduroy trousers. He was chopping wood, slicing up a tree trunk. His arms were sinewy and he swung a heavy axe high into the air without any apparent effort. The axe thundered down, split a huge log into two. He was lifting the axe again when he saw his visitor.

'Hello, Tweed.' He greeted him in an upper-crust accent which was entirely unaffected. 'Good to see you. I'd stay where you are for a moment. Wood chips can fly off at an angle and do you no good at all.'

The large axe was whipped up in a fresh arc, brought down with great speed, sliced straight through a huge log. Interesting, Newman was thinking to himself. Kent laid down the axe, turned to greet his visitors with a broad smile.

A slim man, of medium height, he was in his late thirties, early forties. Clean-shaven, he had thick dark hair, neatly trimmed, and shrewd grey eyes. He shook hands after wiping them on his trousers while Tweed made introductions. Suddenly aware that someone was standing close behind him, Tweed turned to find Eve waiting with a bleak look.

'Oh, and this is Eve Warner, a friend of Philip's. Keith Kent.'

Eve held out her hand after Kent had extended his own with an apology.

'Hope my mitts aren't sticky. Welcome to Bradfields. Excuse the attire. We ain't given to puttin' on nice duds down 'ere,' Kent explained with a grin as he mimicked a Cockney. 'Coffee, everyone? I could drink a litre. Come inside…'

The old house was built of brick covered with whitewash and with a thatched roof above the first floor. Inside Kent ushered them straight into a large living room with ancient leather armchairs scattered about, invited them all to sit down.

'I'll just make the coffee. How do you like it?'

'Black for me.' Eve chimed in quickly. 'No sugar.'

'I'll give you a hand,' Paula said, following Kent. She noticed Eve had sat down in a chair with her legs crossed, obviously with no intention of giving her host any aid. She heard Tweed say something which struck her as odd because she had seen him complete the task.

'Don't think I locked the car. Be back in a moment.'

With all the others inside he hurried down the path into the road. Butler was perched astride his machine just out of sight of the property. Tweed walked briskly up to him.

'I hoped you'd come out.' Butler said. 'I left my car hidden down a track near Studland. I'd like to go back there now and retrieve it.'

'Do that. Then go back to the Black Bear and I'll be in touch. Where did you get the Fireblade?'

Butler explained what had happened briefly when he had seen the escorted limo with tinted windows pass him after coming over via the ferry.

'You did well. Very well. Look after yourself…'

When he returned to the house he made for the kitchen. It struck him as odd that there was no sign with the name Bradfields. Paula was pouring coffee from a large jug into cups on a tray.

'Look,' she said, 'Wedgwood. Keith has some lovely chinaware.'

'Keith indulges himself when he can't afford to,' Kent said and grinned. 'If you can put some work my way it would be welcome.'

'Investigate where Leopold Brazil gets all his money from.' Tweed whispered. 'It's urgent.'

They went into the living room with Kent insisting on carrying the heavy tray. Paula served coffee, not looking at Eve as she filled her cup. Not that Eve noticed: she was too busy chatting up Bill Franklin. Philip didn't look too happy at her enthusiasm.

Tweed sat in an armchair, sipped his coffee, and let the others do the talking. He noticed Philip's annoyance but he also noticed that he was scanning the room, looking for clues to Kent's personality and interests. He was doing his job.

Newman appeared relaxed, glancing first at his host and then at Franklin and was unusually quiet. Along one wall were shelves crammed with books from floor to ceiling. He had just seen that a number dealt with the history of old British banks when the house shook. Thump! Thump! Thump…! Six times altogether.

'What on earth is that?' Eve cried out. 'It sounded like thunder but then again it didn't.'

'Not to worry.' their host assured her. 'It's the tank range at nearby Lulworth practising. Gunfire from the tanks. At Bovington Camp, to be precise.'

'I wouldn't like to live here.' she said tactlessly.

'Oh, you get used to it. Like living near a railway line.'

Tweed leaned across, laid a finger on Kent's arm to attract his attention. He kept his voice low while the others continued chattering away.

'Keith, could we go for a short walk? I'd like to stretch my legs and get your opinion on an insurance problem.'

The reference to insurance was for Eve's benefit. Already Tweed suspected she had the gift of listening to one conversation and eavesdropping on another. Kent asked her, as he stood up, had she got a good job in London.

'A very good job.' Her eyes gleamed. 'In security. I can't give you any details. I had to sign a piece of paper.'

The Official Secrets Act? Tweed wondered. He stood up as Kent prepared to leave, opening a cupboard and taking out an expensive suede jacket which looked as though it had not been worn before. He apologized as he slipped it on.

'Hope you don't mind my leaving you for a few minutes. I am the host, I know…'

'I'll look after everyone,' Paula said quickly.

'Then I'd like some more coffee,' Eve said casually.

As they walked down the path from the house Kent gestured towards the land on either side, scruffy grass which was waterlogged.

'Step off this path and you're into a quagmire. I hear it's been raining solidly for a week. Dorset is under water. Lucky I've got that stone patio near the house or I wouldn't have been chopping logs. Now, what is it you really want to talk to me about?'

'You've heard about Sterndale Manor going up like a torch?' Tweed asked.

'No, I only got down here from Heathrow soon after the crack of dawn. You were lucky to catch me.'

'Heathrow? Been on your travels again, Keith?'

'Just a short trip to Paris. Waste of time. My potential client wouldn't give me enough data to go on. I insisted he paid my expenses. Bloody nuisance. I came back on the first flight and hared down here to get away from it all. But you've something on your mind. Is it to do with my checking on Leopold Brazil?'

'Yes. Of course you know about bearer bonds?' Tweed enquired.

'Usually issued by the big international oil companies. Other large conglomerates, too. They're a way of moving – or storing – really large sums of money. A single bearer bond can be worth a huge amount of money. The weakness is you have to guard them like gold – they have nothing on them to show the owner. So they're totally negotiable anywhere in the world. One bond could be worth six figures in pounds. You know this. Why are they significant?'

'Because General Sterndale, who perished in the inferno along with his son, Richard, kept the bulk of the bank's capital in a large old safe in his house.'

'God! Does that mean Sterndale will go bust if the bonds have been reduced to ashes?'

'No. Apparently he kept enough funds at his different branches to keep them solvent.'

'How do you know this?'

'Someone I trust who was close to him told me. But I'm wondering if the bonds were no longer in that safe. A number of other private banks in Europe have had bearer bonds stolen, especially in France and Switzerland…'

That's true.'

'Check out what form their capital was in.'

'This is concerned with my checking out Leopold Brazil?'

'Yes. Where did he get all this money from is the big question. And watch your back.'

'Will do. I'd better warn you this is going to cost you.'

'Bill me.'