'Let's hope that peculiar name isn't prophetic,' Newman remarked.
Grey Tears was a small single-storey stone dwelling set in a hollow outside the village of Five Lanes. It was almost on the moor and Paul noticed that High Tor reared up as a clear-cut cone against the blue near by. Newman parked the car in another hollow off the road and followed Paula who was lifting a brightly polished knocker carved in the form of a sheep's head and hammering it down.
'That polishing job doesn't look like Celia to me,' she whispered.
The ancient wooden door swung inward to reveal a stooped crone wearing an overall over her flowered dress. Her lively eyes studied the new arrivals.
'We have come by arrangement to see Celia Yeo,' Paula began. 'She told me this was her day off from her job at Tresillian Manor.'
'Not one of we locals will ever work there again. Not after what 'appened yesterday. 'Orrible.' She clamped a worn hand to her lips, the hand of a worker. 'Dearie me, we're not supposed to talk about that to anyone.' She brightened up. 'Still, I 'aven't told you anything, come to think. Celia's gettin' ready to go out.'
'Well, perhaps you wouldn't mind telling her a lady has arrived who'd like a word with her.'
'See what she says…'
The door was closed slowly, not rudely, in their faces. Newman, keeping his voice down, stared at Paula.
'Why didn't you mention your name? Just your first name? There are other Paulas in the world, so it wouldn't have positively identified us.'
'Intuition. I have a feeling Celia may be reluctant to talk to me.'
They waited several minutes. Newman paced backward and forward and Paula bit her lip to stop telling him to for God's sake keep still. Then the door opened slowly again. Newman studied Celia. She had an odd-shaped head, almost misshapen. Not a lot of intelligence and her eyes reminded him of a cow's. Celia pulled the door to without closing it and stood outside with them.
'What was it you were wanting, miss?' Sullenly.
'We agreed to meet today, Celia. There are a few questions I'd like to ask you.'
The servant girl's eyes opened wider. She stared at Paula like a startled fawn.
'It's you, miss. I never recognize you till you spoke.'
Newman glanced at Paula. Wearing ski pants tucked inside the tops of leather boots and a windcheater, she looked very different from when she had arrived at the Metropole. Celia's eyes swivelled to Newman, gazed at the eyes she couldn't see behind the glasses.
'Who is he?'
'My brother,' Paula said quickly. 'Now, about yesterday. That tea towel – the bright red one I saw you bringing back from so-called drying. It was a signal, wasn't it?'
'Information costs money.' Her manner was suddenly truculent. 'I've no boy friends. No man ever looks twice at me, I have to get something out of life, don't I? Like money.'
Newman took out his wallet. He extracted a twenty-pound note, saw her expression, added another one to it. He held the banknotes folded between his fingers.
'First, answer my sister's question, please.'
'You guessed right,' Celia said after a brief hesitation. 'It were a signal. I was paid a hundred pounds just for doin' that after the guests arrived for lunch. Then another…
She stopped in mid-sentence. Celia was dressed for going somewhere. Above her shabby raincoat she wore a bright yellow woollen scarf. Her frizzy hair did nothing to improve her appearance.
'Who paid you to do that?' Paula asked quietly.
'I 'ad nothing to do with those awful murders at the manor!' she burst out. 'So don't you go thinkin' I did.'
'I'm sure you didn't. Who paid you, Celia?' Paula asked again.
'A man…' She hesitated. 'Never seen 'im before,' she went on quickly. 'And I've left a pot on cooker for Mrs Pethick. Talkin' about payment, before I says any more I want me money.'
Newman handed over the forty pounds to her. She grasped the notes eagerly, shoved them deep into a pocket of her raincoat. Glancing back inside the house, she retreated, opening the heavy door wider.
'Before I tells you more I must attend to pot. It will boil over and then Mrs Pethick will throw me out. I need these lodgings…'
The door closed in their faces with a heavy thud. Paula looked at Newman.
Tweed was right. The massacre was diabolically well organized. And I think she does know who paid her.'
'So do I…'
They waited. There were no sounds from inside the small primitive dwelling. Five minutes later – Newman had timed her disappearance by his watch – he voiced the same worry that had entered Paula's head.
'I think she's run off. There's probably a back way – let's check.'
At the rear of the cottage the 'garden' was a miserable vegetable patch. There was also a back door. Closed. Paula took off her glasses, looked towards High Tor, pointed.
There she is. That flash of yellow. She's headed out across the moor.'
'And,' Newman replied grimly, 'she was on the verge of saying her paymaster was going to pay her another hundred pounds today. God knows what she's walking into. We have to catch her up. Before it's too late
…'
Newman began running along a track which led towards the base of High Tor. He could still see the flash of yellow scarf in the sunlight. He was surprised at the speed Celia Yeo could keep up as she ran. Behind him Paula followed. When they were out of sight of the cottage Newman grabbed his. 38 Smith amp; Wesson out of the hip holster.
Paula lost sight of Newman as he kept up a marathon pace, descended into a deep gulley. She came to a fork in the path. Which way? She chose the left-hand path, kept on running, her eyes watching the ground which was uneven, making it easy to stumble.
She was nearing High Tor when she realized she had chosen the wrong fork. Newman was racing up the east side of the tor. No sign of Celia. 'Might as well go on, see where this leads to,' she said to herself.
She paused for breath and the ominous silence of the moor descended. A silence she could hear. Not even a hint of birdsong. The undulating moor stretched away on all sides, in a series of gorse-covered hillocks, cutting her off from any distant view. Paula shivered and then looked up. The view upwards was even less reassuring.
She was close to the west side of High Tor. Unlike the shallow slopes she had associated with it, at this point from the peak it fell sheer into an abyss. At the base she saw a tumble of huge boulders. She was about to resume running when she caught sight of movement at the summit.
'Oh, God, no!'
She spoke the words aloud. Even at that height Celia was easily identified by the yellow of her scarf. She stood perched on the edge of the fearsome drop. Why? Seeing her – and what happened next – took a matter of seconds.
Celia seemed to push out her stomach and Paula realized there was someone – out of sight – immediately behind her. One moment she was poised there. The next moment she plunged into space, her body cartwheeling in mid-air as she fell and fell and fell. Her scream of terror echoed over the moor as Paula watched in horror. The scream was cut off suddenly. It might have been her imagination, but Paula thought she heard the dreadful thud as her body hit the boulders. The silence of the moor returned like a threat.
Paula ran like mad, heading for the point where Celia had landed. Once, she glanced up briefly, but saw no one.
Whoever had shoved Celia into eternity had kept well hidden. Paula slowed down as she saw what remained of the servant girl.
She was sprawled, face up, over a boulder of massive size. Paula shuddered as she thought of the impact. She kept running until she stood by the boulder. Celia's spine was arched over the rock, her neck twisted at an angle. Blood and brains which had oozed from her skull were already drying in the sun. Without hope, Paula bent down, checked the carotid artery. Nothing.