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Authors: Colin Forbes
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another double Scotch on a tray. Bullerton, standing on the terrace, drank half, licked his thick lips and swallowed the rest, dumping the glass back on the tray, which Mrs Shipton took back into the house.
'His third,' Sable whispered to Paula. 'Watch out. And could I come to see you at the Nag's Head?'
'You'd be most welcome. Best to phone me first. Here's my number . . .'
She gave the number to Sable, expecting her to record it in a notebook. Instead, Sable merely glanced at it.
'Got it,' she said and disappeared into the hall.
Paula walked towards the wall of the terrace Bullerton and Tweed were heading for. She studied the large man's walk. Perfectly steady. She joined them as Tweed posed the question.
'Why is it called Gunners Gorge?'
'Ah, sir. There's some history. In the sixteen hun dreds the son of the great Cromwell was fighting with the Parliamentarians. At least, one of his generals was. Royalists were waiting near Worcester for their cavalry to come from here to smash the Parliamentarians. With me?'
'I know a little about the final battle at Worcester.'
'Well' - Bullerton's huge face was becoming red - 'spies had reported to the general that the Royalist cavalry had set a trap in the town here to destroy his
cavalry. Arriving early, the ambushers took up posi tion in the entrances to the caves near the top of the gorge. Cromwell's cavalry outwitted them.'
Bullerton was talking more rapidly, as though enjoying relating the outcome.
'That means,' Tweed speculated, 'they were looking down on the road which passes the Nag's Head.'
'Which was the road the Royalist cavalry would ride along,' said Bullerton, gleefully. 'And they did, sir!'
'What happened?'
'The Cromwellian cavalry rode straight up the stepped alleys. This gave them a commanding posi tion overlooking the caves. Their muskets laid down a murderous barrage of fire, firing point blank into the caves.'
He rubbed his large hands together as though seeing it all with sadistic enjoyment.
'The Royalist ambushers - and their horses - were massacred on that famous day. Dead Royalists - and their horses - fell into the falls and the gorge which was running - streaming - with blood. What a sight it must have been!'
His face was now a mottled red, his eyes gleaming with delight. Paula was appalled.
She saw a green Bugatti driving slowly down the road towards Hobart House. Bullerton glared as the gleaming car parked behind Tweed's Audi.
'He's early, damn him.' Paula immediately recog nized the driver.
It was Archie MacBlade, the oil prospector whose
picture had been in the newspaper. But a very differ ent MacBlade. He'd had his hair cut, his previously bushy moustache was neatly trimmed. He wore leather driving kit. He looked handsome and she was rather taken by him as he leapt up the steps. Bullerton had turned his back on him, was slowly stomping towards the house.
MacBlade was smiling as he approached Tweed and Paula, holding out his hand. Bullerton looked round, saw the gesture and shouted at the top of his voice.
'Don't start jabbering to them. They're only guests. Come in now! '
'I'm coming,' MacBlade called back. A pause. 'When I am ready.
'I am so pleased to meet you,' he went on, 'Mr Tweed and Miss Paula Grey. Such a distinguished couple, if I may say so.'
'You may say so,' Paula replied with a warm smile. 'And both of us appreciate your generous compliment.'
'In that case,' MacBlade suggested, 'may I invite you both to be my guests for dinner in the Silver Room one evening?'
'That would suit us perfectly. We look forward to enjoying the company of the most professional oil prospector in the world.'
'Once.' MacBlade smiled again. 'I am now retired.'
'Really?'
Paula thought she detected a note of scepticism in Tweed's tone. At that moment there was a frustrated roar from Bullerton, waiting by the door.
'Don't make the mistake of thinking he is drunk,' MacBlade warned just before he left them. 'His capacity for absorbing liquor
'His third,' Sable whispered to Paula. 'Watch out. And could I come to see you at the Nag's Head?'
'You'd be most welcome. Best to phone me first. Here's my number . . .'
She gave the number to Sable, expecting her to record it in a notebook. Instead, Sable merely glanced at it.
'Got it,' she said and disappeared into the hall.
Paula walked towards the wall of the terrace Bullerton and Tweed were heading for. She studied the large man's walk. Perfectly steady. She joined them as Tweed posed the question.
'Why is it called Gunners Gorge?'
'Ah, sir. There's some history. In the sixteen hun dreds the son of the great Cromwell was fighting with the Parliamentarians. At least, one of his generals was. Royalists were waiting near Worcester for their cavalry to come from here to smash the Parliamentarians. With me?'
'I know a little about the final battle at Worcester.'
'Well' - Bullerton's huge face was becoming red - 'spies had reported to the general that the Royalist cavalry had set a trap in the town here to destroy his
cavalry. Arriving early, the ambushers took up posi tion in the entrances to the caves near the top of the gorge. Cromwell's cavalry outwitted them.'
Bullerton was talking more rapidly, as though enjoying relating the outcome.
'That means,' Tweed speculated, 'they were looking down on the road which passes the Nag's Head.'
'Which was the road the Royalist cavalry would ride along,' said Bullerton, gleefully. 'And they did, sir!'
'What happened?'
'The Cromwellian cavalry rode straight up the stepped alleys. This gave them a commanding posi tion overlooking the caves. Their muskets laid down a murderous barrage of fire, firing point blank into the caves.'
He rubbed his large hands together as though seeing it all with sadistic enjoyment.
'The Royalist ambushers - and their horses - were massacred on that famous day. Dead Royalists - and their horses - fell into the falls and the gorge which was running - streaming - with blood. What a sight it must have been!'
His face was now a mottled red, his eyes gleaming with delight. Paula was appalled.
She saw a green Bugatti driving slowly down the road towards Hobart House. Bullerton glared as the gleaming car parked behind Tweed's Audi.
'He's early, damn him.' Paula immediately recog nized the driver.
It was Archie MacBlade, the oil prospector whose
picture had been in the newspaper. But a very differ ent MacBlade. He'd had his hair cut, his previously bushy moustache was neatly trimmed. He wore leather driving kit. He looked handsome and she was rather taken by him as he leapt up the steps. Bullerton had turned his back on him, was slowly stomping towards the house.
MacBlade was smiling as he approached Tweed and Paula, holding out his hand. Bullerton looked round, saw the gesture and shouted at the top of his voice.
'Don't start jabbering to them. They're only guests. Come in now! '
'I'm coming,' MacBlade called back. A pause. 'When I am ready.
'I am so pleased to meet you,' he went on, 'Mr Tweed and Miss Paula Grey. Such a distinguished couple, if I may say so.'
'You may say so,' Paula replied with a warm smile. 'And both of us appreciate your generous compliment.'
'In that case,' MacBlade suggested, 'may I invite you both to be my guests for dinner in the Silver Room one evening?'
'That would suit us perfectly. We look forward to enjoying the company of the most professional oil prospector in the world.'
'Once.' MacBlade smiled again. 'I am now retired.'
'Really?'
Paula thought she detected a note of scepticism in Tweed's tone. At that moment there was a frustrated roar from Bullerton, waiting by the door.
'Don't make the mistake of thinking he is drunk,' MacBlade warned just before he left them. 'His capacity for absorbing liquor
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