The Savage Gorge by Colin Forbes Page B

told me about this place, which was what sent me haring up to Hobartshire. On arrival I described Lisa to the landlord, pretending she'd flirted with me at a party down in London. He identified her as Lizbeth Mandeville.'

'Did Lizbeth tell you the whole story about leaving here?'

'Yes.' Falkirk smiled. 'After a little coaxing. They left to get away from her father. When they were much younger he'd bullied them and the late mother had been a strict disciplinarian. When they told Lord Bullerton he was appalled, gave each of them the sum of forty thousand pounds. They decided Lizbeth should just "disappear". Petra collected her clothes and arranged them neatly on the river bank. So she could have gone swimming and then drowned. They were pretty bitter according to Lizbeth. Well . . .' Falkirk shook his head. 'Not entirely.'

'Did she say what she did when she discovered the corpses?'

'Panicked. Rushed back into her house, locked and bolted the front door, switched off all the lights. That's

when she saw, peering from behind a net curtain, the Rolls-Royce and amiable Mr Neville Guile.'
    'That would be his first of two visits. Actually saw him?'

'Had his tinted glass window down, was peering out. She recognized him from a picture in a glossy magazine.'

'Know much about him?'

'Guile is the cruellest villain in Europe. Most mur derous. Ruthless, callous and brutal. Adopts any method to succeed. Once he kidnapped the daughter of a Belgian banker who refused to sell his oil hold ings. A message was sent to the banker that if he didn't sell within twenty-four hours the daughter would be returned. In pieces. The banker sold the oil holdings through an intermediary. The girl, unharmed but out of her wits with fear, was thrown from a car at the entrance to the banker's villa.'

'A very nasty piece of work,' Tweed commented.

'Yet he has a most remarkable personality, can charm the birds out of the trees, especially the female variety. Operates via third parties, so the police can never link him to his crimes.'

'So at present Lord Bullerton is his front man.'

'That's what I suspect,' Falkirk agreed. 'And Bullerton may have no idea of what is really going on.'

'May,' Tweed emphasized.

At that moment he saw the edge of the envelope Paula had pushed under his door. He opened it, read what she had written and thought for a moment. After
    her traumatic experience at the falls, then seeing the murdered Hartland Trent, she was probably exhausted, would sleep the night through.
    Paula had dropped to her knees to explore the tunnel. When she risked shining her more powerful torch into the darkness the beam faded into blackness a few yards ahead. The tunnel must be endless. She had just entered when the metal buckle on her backpack scraped against the top of the tunnel. She worried about the noise, hauled the pack off her back and dragged it along by the handle. It was not long before the pressure of the unknown crept into her mind. She gritted her teeth, determined to discover the reason for the tunnel.

The tunnel continued its gradual descent. Soon she'd be deep under Black Gorse Moor. Not a pleas ant thought. She was also worried that someone might find the lid entrance removed. Her back was com pletely exposed to attack. She paused frequently to listen.

The absolute silence was worse. It began to get on her nerves. She pressed on, crawling slowly. The hand which dragged her pack also held her powerful torch awkwardly, but she needed at least one hand free in case of emergency. Now the surface of the tunnel, still dropping, began to curve to her right so her torch could not illuminate what might lie ahead. She slowed her progress. Her outstretched left hand suddenly felt
    nothing beneath it. Dante's Inferno was nothing com pared to this.
    Her exploring left hand felt round the rim of noth ing. She let go momentarily of her pack, aimed the torch, which had been wobbling all over the place. She had reached a vertical tunnel descending