Inside the phone box Newman had dialled New Scotland Yard. When the operator answered he spoke quickly through a silk handkerchief stuffed into the mouthpiece.
'Get me Chief Inspector Buchanan and 'urry it up. I'm callin' about a new murder on Bodmin Moor. Don't interrupt me. Just get 'im. I'll call back in five minutes and expect to be put straight through or I'll ring off again.'
He replaced the receiver. It was the only way to ensure Buchanan had no time to do what Newman was certain he'd try to do – trace the call. He looked at his watch and dialled the number again in exactly five minutes.
'I called a few minutes back. Put me on to Buchanan. Now! Or forget it.'
'Chief Inspector Buchanan speaking,' the detached voice answered after a moment. 'Who is this?'
'No names, no sorrow. Just listen and take this down. There's a fresh corpse at the western base of 'Igh Tor outside Five Lanes. Servant girl who worked at the manor. Thrown down from the top. And you'll find a big footprint on summit. I s'pose you likes clues.'
Thank you. Now if you'll just give me your name…'
'You're the detective…
Newman put down the receiver. No time to trace that call – even with the sophisticated equipment they had now which could often pinpoint a location in three minutes. Stuffing the silk handkerchief into his pocket he stared across the car park at his Mercedes. Paula and Cardon had company. Drawn up alongside was a Land-Rover: the occupants Jennie Blade and Gaunt.
'A hearty welcome to Ye Olde Port of Padstow,' Gaunt had called out jovially as he stopped the vehicle.
'Hello again, Philip,' Jennie greeted Cardon with a fetching smile. 'We must have a drink together sometime. Oh, Paula, I'm ignoring you,' she went on saucily.
'But then I'm not a man,' Paula shot back.
As they climbed out she noted they were both dressed in sheepskins and jodhpurs. So who had been riding the horse? She got out of the car, stretched, glanced in at the back of the Land-Rover. It was crammed with cool bags, coils of rope and a ship's compass. She was wondering whether there was a pair of studded climbing boots hidden under the heap.
Both new arrivals wore gleaming leather riding boots. Gaunt leaned over into the back, grasped hold of a whip. He straightened up, saw Newman coming.
'I'll take the crop. And who have we here? The famous foreign correspondent. Read your book, Newman. Can even remember the title. Kruger: The Computer Which Failed. Rattling good stuff. And an international bestseller. Must have made you a mint.'
'It did reasonably well,' Newman said.
He didn't mention that he'd made a fortune out of the book – enough to make him financially independent for life. Jennie grabbed Gaunt by the arm.
'Don't forget the parking ticket. They check the cars here regularly.'
'What are you waiting for, then?' Gaunt asked in his most imperious manner. 'You know where the machine is.'
I'll come with you,' Paula said.
She hadn't taken to Jennie up to that moment, but Gaunt's treatment of his girl friend aroused her ire. She asked the question as Jennie fed the machine with coins.
'Why do you put up with him?'
'Oh, he's utterly impossible,' Jennie replied. 'Then he turns on the charm and is utterly irresistible. You must have found out,' she continued as they walked back to the Land-Rover, 'that men are not perfect, to say the least.'
'He's pretty damned imperfect, I'd have said.' Paula looked at Jennie as she went on: 'Incidentally, have you two been taking the fresh air this morning – roving round on the moor?'
Was it her imagination or had Jennie's expression frozen for several seconds? Were these two putting on a big act? Jennie lifted her hand to push back a wave of golden hair from her face and glanced sideways at Paula. She made a throwaway gesture with both hands.
'Floating round the back streets of Padstow. His lordship is trying to kid me he'll buy me a flat here. I don't believe a word of it. What's he on about now?'
'Come on!' Gaunt barked. 'I've just invited our friends to a drink. The Old Custom House. Best bar in town.'
'I can't wait,' Jennie said savagely as she attached the ticket. 'Now you can drink all day.'
'Makes me sound like a real boozer,' Gaunt roared. 'One of the great leg-pullers, my Jennie.'
'Your Jennie,' she said sweetly, 'would like to pull a leg off you. And this time you can buy the drinks for a change.'
'She's a joker, a real joker.' Gaunt slapped her on the rump. 'Likes to make out I'm mean and God knows what else. I like a woman I can cross swords with.'
'If I had a sword I'd stick it in you…'
Gaunt had gone, waving his arm in a dramatic gesture for everyone to follow him. Cardon joined him inside the entrance on the South Quay side. Newman paused until Paula and Jennie had entered. Beyond the doorway Jennie waited for Newman, looped her arm round his.
'Let's get to know each other better.' She gave him a wicked smile. 'I think you and I would make a wonderful team.'
'If you say so,' Newman replied neutrally.
She doesn't waste any bloody time, Paula thought, reverting to her original opinion of Jennie. Paula examined the bar with interest. An inviting place, it had an oak-beamed ceiling, a long bar to her right, and the main area in front of the counter had plenty of tables with comfortable chairs. To her left there was an elevated split-level section behind a wooden railing. Two steps led up to the entrance to the upper level.
The walls were cream-washed stone and the spacious room was illuminated by wall sconces with milky glass shades shaped like bells. A number of customers were already drinking and the atmosphere was warm and welcoming.
'What are you drinking, Paula?' boomed Gaunt. 'And you, Philip,' he said, turning to Cardon. 'And our distinguished foreign correspondent,' he went on booming. 'I suppose you'd like something too, Jennie,' he added as an afterthought. 'This is my round.'
'A gin and tonic,' Jennie snapped. 'If it won't break the bank.'
Her expression suggested she was amazed – that this was the first time Gaunt had stood a round of drinks. Newman frowned at the fair-haired girl behind the counter. He knew she was about to say, 'Your usual, sir?' He did not want Gaunt to know he was staying at the Old Custom House. Quick-witted, the girl kept silent.
'I'll have a Scotch. No water,' Newman decided.
'Make that a double!' Gaunt ordered.
'Very good, Squire…'
That was the first hint Paula had that Gaunt was a well-known customer. She had to admit he cut an impressive figure. Doffing his deerstalker, he turned, spun it across the rail where it landed in a green button-backed armchair in front of a blazing log fire.
He swept off the sheepskin coat he had been wearing and underneath was clad in a check hacking jacket. Very much the country gentleman, Paula thought. He handed her the gin and tonic she had ordered and Paula passed it to Jennie. He frowned, shrugged his broad shoulders, collected another one, handed the second glass to Paula.
'Thanks,' Jennie whispered to Paula. 'He's in one of his roguish moods. I'd have been left to the last. Cheers!'
'Now, this way, ladies,' Gaunt commanded when they all had their drinks. He grinned impishly at Newman. 'You chaps come too – if you must. But I assure you I can cope with two exceedingly attractive females by myself…'
Before Newman could reply Gaunt had marched up the steps, bellowed out cheerful greetings to people at several tables, stood by the armchair where his hat rested and pointed.
'Jennie, you take that chair. Paula, my dear, come and sit by me…
The instructions continued but Jennie outmanoeuvred him. Grabbing Newman by the arm again she led him to one of the green leather couches for two. Gaunt clapped his hand to his high forehead in mock frustration.
'Can't get people organized. I had it all planned so you'd enjoy yourselves. I'm pretty good at assessing who will get on with who.'