studied the list of names Tweed had given her. She scooped up the rest of the boiled egg Mrs Brogan had prepared. It had been 11 a.m. when she had descended the staircase from her room. Warily, she had slipped into the kitchen, apologizing for being so late, Mrs Brogan had immediately suggested an egg when she'd asked only for toast. Returning with her breakfast to the dining room, she'd found Tweed, fully dressed, seated at the table. He had handed her the sheet containing the names.
'What do you make of that? Buchanan gave it to me. The only item found on Michael when they thoroughly searched him at the Yard.'
'It's typed badly. The typewriter is an old portable, maybe an Olivetti Lettera. The "e" jumps out of line every time. So if we ever found it — doubtful, I know — it would be evidence. Of what, I'm not sure. It's typed on good paper.'
'Good paper you can buy at any decent stationer's. No way of tracing where it came from. Not even a watermark. It's going to be the devil of a job identifying those names but we'll have to try.'
'Not even any surnames to help us.'
'Which should make the search more interesting.' he said ironically. 'Let's hope it's not a list of victims.'
'Four. I think that's unlikely. Where is Michael?'
'He came down from his room earlier, walked straight out on to the terrace, wearing a blue business suit. Then he marched down the track to Post Lacey, gazing ahead all the way. I watched him from my room through the monocular. He reached Post Lacey., paused, turned round, came back. His posture was the same - stiff-backed as a martinet - the face bloodless as ever, gaunt.'
'The Ghost Man,' Paula said quietly. 'Did he look at those tapes the police must have left round the area of the graves?'
'No. Didn't even seem to notice them. When he arrived back he came upstairs to his room, went inside, locked the door.'
'What on earth was he doing?' she wondered aloud.
'My guess is his old habit of going to the plant at Gantia reasserted itself. Hence the suit. He arrives in Post Lacey and his car isn't there. He forgets what he was going to do, comes back.'
'Everything about this part of the world is strange.'
'I've had a walk while you were in the land of Nod,' Tweed told her. 'I walked along the A382 beyond the wall towards Moretonhampstead. Now I'd like to go the other way. Want to come?'
'Fresh air is what I need. I'll grab my overcoat from the hall.'
'I would. Since Michael came back mist has blotted out just about everything. Dartmoor weather!'
Opening the gate in the wall, Tweed turned left. He warned Paula to keep on the grass verge. The mist was dense and a car coming might not see them in time. At that moment a loud church bell started clanging, its chimes pealing through the mist, which crawled over Paula's face. Combined with the pealing bell, it made the atmosphere unsettling.
'We can visit the church on the way back,' Tweed suggested as they passed the ancient granite-walled edifice. The bell tower reared up apart from the church like a sentinel. Further along the deserted road they passed a long row of thatched cottages, their walls of new stone. Shutters were drawn over every window and each cottage joined its neighbour. Paula pointed.
'It's a solid block of cottages. Is that a Devon tradition?'
'If it is I've never come across it before. That bell is deafening.'
Again the atmosphere was peculiar. Despite the mist muffling the clanging to some extent, it was still a blasting sound. Paula was staring at the cottages, which showed no sign of life, when Tweed began shifting his feet among the gritting which covered this part of the road. He cleared a small area and below was another oil mark.
'We'll start back,' he decided. 'Might as well explore the bell tower first. Pity we haven't brought cottonwool to save our eardrums.'
They opened an old door at the base of the tower, went inside. Paula stiffened. Another 'character'. The man hauling on the rope which activated the
'What do you make of that? Buchanan gave it to me. The only item found on Michael when they thoroughly searched him at the Yard.'
'It's typed badly. The typewriter is an old portable, maybe an Olivetti Lettera. The "e" jumps out of line every time. So if we ever found it — doubtful, I know — it would be evidence. Of what, I'm not sure. It's typed on good paper.'
'Good paper you can buy at any decent stationer's. No way of tracing where it came from. Not even a watermark. It's going to be the devil of a job identifying those names but we'll have to try.'
'Not even any surnames to help us.'
'Which should make the search more interesting.' he said ironically. 'Let's hope it's not a list of victims.'
'Four. I think that's unlikely. Where is Michael?'
'He came down from his room earlier, walked straight out on to the terrace, wearing a blue business suit. Then he marched down the track to Post Lacey, gazing ahead all the way. I watched him from my room through the monocular. He reached Post Lacey., paused, turned round, came back. His posture was the same - stiff-backed as a martinet - the face bloodless as ever, gaunt.'
'The Ghost Man,' Paula said quietly. 'Did he look at those tapes the police must have left round the area of the graves?'
'No. Didn't even seem to notice them. When he arrived back he came upstairs to his room, went inside, locked the door.'
'What on earth was he doing?' she wondered aloud.
'My guess is his old habit of going to the plant at Gantia reasserted itself. Hence the suit. He arrives in Post Lacey and his car isn't there. He forgets what he was going to do, comes back.'
'Everything about this part of the world is strange.'
'I've had a walk while you were in the land of Nod,' Tweed told her. 'I walked along the A382 beyond the wall towards Moretonhampstead. Now I'd like to go the other way. Want to come?'
'Fresh air is what I need. I'll grab my overcoat from the hall.'
'I would. Since Michael came back mist has blotted out just about everything. Dartmoor weather!'
Opening the gate in the wall, Tweed turned left. He warned Paula to keep on the grass verge. The mist was dense and a car coming might not see them in time. At that moment a loud church bell started clanging, its chimes pealing through the mist, which crawled over Paula's face. Combined with the pealing bell, it made the atmosphere unsettling.
'We can visit the church on the way back,' Tweed suggested as they passed the ancient granite-walled edifice. The bell tower reared up apart from the church like a sentinel. Further along the deserted road they passed a long row of thatched cottages, their walls of new stone. Shutters were drawn over every window and each cottage joined its neighbour. Paula pointed.
'It's a solid block of cottages. Is that a Devon tradition?'
'If it is I've never come across it before. That bell is deafening.'
Again the atmosphere was peculiar. Despite the mist muffling the clanging to some extent, it was still a blasting sound. Paula was staring at the cottages, which showed no sign of life, when Tweed began shifting his feet among the gritting which covered this part of the road. He cleared a small area and below was another oil mark.
'We'll start back,' he decided. 'Might as well explore the bell tower first. Pity we haven't brought cottonwool to save our eardrums.'
They opened an old door at the base of the tower, went inside. Paula stiffened. Another 'character'. The man hauling on the rope which activated the
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