large bell high above them wore a thick pullover rolled up to his elbows. Muscular, he was about six feet tall and wore corduroy trousers covering his legs.
His white hair was thick and untidy. His long lean face was bony and Paula guessed his age as sixty. The nose was hooked, the eyes pouched. His mouth was a rat trap, the jaw heavy and aggressive. She took an instant dislike to him. He glanced at them, continued his arduous hauling of the rope.
'The Reverend Stenhouse Darkfield?' Tweed shouted.
'That's me. Need the exercise. Reminds the flock that the church is here for them,' he shouted back.
They stood while he continued his labours. Paula noticed that at intervals he checked his watch. Timing himself? Tweed gazed up at the swinging bell, which seemed enormous.
'They must have heard it now,' he shouted.
'The Lord expects,' Darkfield bellowed back.
'Thought we'd just say good morning.'
'Goodbye!' Darkfield shouted.
They left the tower, made their way to the ancient church. It was a relief to get inside. The walls seemed to muffle the clanging effectively. They strolled down the central aisle towards the altar. Paula started shouting, then lowered her voice.
'Didn't like the look of the vicar a bit. Something sinister about him.'
They had almost reached the altar when she stood stock- still. Her face lost its normal colour and she grasped Tweed by the arm. He also halted, following her gaze. They were looking at the altar.
On the top of it was a horrific sight. A calf's severed head was perched on the altar. A recent execution. The head faced them; blood was spilling down on to the altar, dripping over its edge.
'The cult,' Paula whispered.
'Let's get out of here, collect our things and walk down the track to the car,' Tweed said decisively.
Paula had never packed her things more quickly, cramming her small case without care in a way she'd never packed before. Descending the staircase, she found Tweed, carrying his own case in the hall.
'Should we say goodbye to Mrs Brogan?' Paula suggested.
'No. You've had enough. We'll head down the track now. Get out of this weird place fast.'
'The bell's stopped clanging,' she remarked as they moved quickly through the mist down the track, guided by Tweed's powerful torch. 'That must have been an obscene sacrifice.'
'That cult business is nothing but simple people occupying their time,' he replied.
'I was wondering whether the Reverend Darkfield had been inside the church. Could it be he was the one who beheaded the calf? He looks capable of it.'
'We must concentrate on a double murder case,' Tweed told her abruptly, anxious to get her mind on something else.
'It is possible,' she insisted, 'that someone who could do that to a calf could murder people and strip off flesh from their bodies.'
Tweed paused. 'Stop it, Paula. I've had enough of the subject. So have you. How did you sleep? Any more nightmares?'
'I slept like a babe.' The mist had dispersed and they had paused where the police had ringed the fatal areas with their tape. 'I can't see how Michael passed by this without seeing it.'
'I can,' he snapped. 'I saw his eyes when he was coming back. The same blank stare, the same gaze straight ahead. Now we'll get back to the car and head for London. If that's all right by you.'
They resumed their walk. Paula realized she had irritated Tweed, a rare event in their lives. She focused her mind to try to think of a less controversial subject. Their car was parked where they had left it outside the pub. She kept quiet until they were well past Exeter, then glanced at Tweed, whose expression was placid.
'I gather you were quite impressed with the glamorous Lucinda. She's very intelligent.'
'It's not her glamour I'm interested in. But she could be the key to my learning a lot more about the Voles family and their servants.' Lord, she thought, I've messed up again. But then he went on, 'I'm at the stage of nosing out every bit of information I can, hoping I hit on
His white hair was thick and untidy. His long lean face was bony and Paula guessed his age as sixty. The nose was hooked, the eyes pouched. His mouth was a rat trap, the jaw heavy and aggressive. She took an instant dislike to him. He glanced at them, continued his arduous hauling of the rope.
'The Reverend Stenhouse Darkfield?' Tweed shouted.
'That's me. Need the exercise. Reminds the flock that the church is here for them,' he shouted back.
They stood while he continued his labours. Paula noticed that at intervals he checked his watch. Timing himself? Tweed gazed up at the swinging bell, which seemed enormous.
'They must have heard it now,' he shouted.
'The Lord expects,' Darkfield bellowed back.
'Thought we'd just say good morning.'
'Goodbye!' Darkfield shouted.
They left the tower, made their way to the ancient church. It was a relief to get inside. The walls seemed to muffle the clanging effectively. They strolled down the central aisle towards the altar. Paula started shouting, then lowered her voice.
'Didn't like the look of the vicar a bit. Something sinister about him.'
They had almost reached the altar when she stood stock- still. Her face lost its normal colour and she grasped Tweed by the arm. He also halted, following her gaze. They were looking at the altar.
On the top of it was a horrific sight. A calf's severed head was perched on the altar. A recent execution. The head faced them; blood was spilling down on to the altar, dripping over its edge.
'The cult,' Paula whispered.
'Let's get out of here, collect our things and walk down the track to the car,' Tweed said decisively.
Paula had never packed her things more quickly, cramming her small case without care in a way she'd never packed before. Descending the staircase, she found Tweed, carrying his own case in the hall.
'Should we say goodbye to Mrs Brogan?' Paula suggested.
'No. You've had enough. We'll head down the track now. Get out of this weird place fast.'
'The bell's stopped clanging,' she remarked as they moved quickly through the mist down the track, guided by Tweed's powerful torch. 'That must have been an obscene sacrifice.'
'That cult business is nothing but simple people occupying their time,' he replied.
'I was wondering whether the Reverend Darkfield had been inside the church. Could it be he was the one who beheaded the calf? He looks capable of it.'
'We must concentrate on a double murder case,' Tweed told her abruptly, anxious to get her mind on something else.
'It is possible,' she insisted, 'that someone who could do that to a calf could murder people and strip off flesh from their bodies.'
Tweed paused. 'Stop it, Paula. I've had enough of the subject. So have you. How did you sleep? Any more nightmares?'
'I slept like a babe.' The mist had dispersed and they had paused where the police had ringed the fatal areas with their tape. 'I can't see how Michael passed by this without seeing it.'
'I can,' he snapped. 'I saw his eyes when he was coming back. The same blank stare, the same gaze straight ahead. Now we'll get back to the car and head for London. If that's all right by you.'
They resumed their walk. Paula realized she had irritated Tweed, a rare event in their lives. She focused her mind to try to think of a less controversial subject. Their car was parked where they had left it outside the pub. She kept quiet until they were well past Exeter, then glanced at Tweed, whose expression was placid.
'I gather you were quite impressed with the glamorous Lucinda. She's very intelligent.'
'It's not her glamour I'm interested in. But she could be the key to my learning a lot more about the Voles family and their servants.' Lord, she thought, I've messed up again. But then he went on, 'I'm at the stage of nosing out every bit of information I can, hoping I hit on
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