about..
Nield, driving his Ford Sierra, appeared a few minutes later. Tweed was waiting for him outside the car and gestured for him to stop. Nield jumped out swiftly, leaving his engine running.
`Trouble?'
`Not yet.' Tweed smiled. 'Pete, a mile or two back a lane leads off to the left going back the way we've come. That's where Paula and I had our little encounter with the mobile concrete mixer. It's the only turn-off for miles. I'd like you to go back and drive down that lane to see what — if anything — is happening. I think you studied the map route to Buckler's Hard with Paula. Drive back here as fast as you can later and try to catch us up.'
`All clear. And I'm carrying that route in my head. See you soon...'
Before Tweed had closed the door of the Mercedes Nield had turned round over spare ground and was speeding back. Tweed settled himself again.
`Are both of you armed? I should have checked earlier.'
`I'm carrying my.38 Smith & Wesson Special in a hip holster,' Newman replied as he drove on, accelerating.
`And I have my Browning in my shoulder-bag,' Paula reassured Tweed. 'Pete has a Walther. Are you worried this could be a risky trip? This is the New Forest.'
`And we were nearly murdered yesterday evening …'
7
They had left the Forest — and after that a flat area of barren heath — behind them when the vintage Bentley overtook Newman, travelling like a demon.
Newman was driving down a curving hill at the approaches to the small town of Beaulieu with the river on their left. He was moving at a safe speed when the ancient open touring car, green in colour with running boards and gleaming old-fashioned headlamps, roared past at insane speed.
Behind the wheel of the four-seater crouched the driver clad in an old crash helmet and huge goggles. Paula had only a glimpse but saw his bright scarf was wrapped round the lower half of his face, presumably to muffle him against the cold.
`Crazy so-and-so,' Newman muttered.
`We turn right in a moment,' Paula warned. 'Don't go on into Beaulieu. Oh, my God! Look at the idiot!' `I'm looking,' Newman observed nonchalantly. `And he's going to Bucklers Hard — if he ever makes it
alive...'
`Actually, he's an expert driver, even if a bit of a show-off,' Newman remarked.
To turn up another steep hill leading to Buckler's Hard the driver of the Bentley had to swing through an angle of about a hundred and fifty degrees. He hardly slowed as he spun off the main road and then accelerated up the hill and out of sight.
In the back of the car Tweed was taking no notice of this demonstration of macho driving. He was twisted round, staring through the rear window, then he switched his gaze to the side window as Newman swung round the same tortuous bend.
`There's a chopper floating round behind us,' he told them. 'A private machine with no markings. Odd, that.'
Newman drove on up the steep and winding hill. At the top he manoeuvred them round a series of bends along a lane with hedges on either side. Then they were on the level. The Bentley had disappeared despite the long straight stretch ahead.
`Lord!' Paula commented. 'He must have moved.' `Souped-up engine,' Newman told her.
`That chopper is flying on a course parallel to us now,' Tweed reported from the back.
`You seem very intrigued by it,' Paula replied over her shoulder.
`Give me the map,' Tweed said.
A few minutes later, in lonely open country with fields spreading away, Newman reached a private road leading to Buckler's Hard. He was about to turn down it when Tweed called out again.
`That chopper's landing well ahead of us. From the map I'd say it's coming down somewhere on the west bank — on the land owned by Lord Montagu.'
`Just a chopper,' Newman said as he began turning left.
`Should we be going down here?' Paula asked. 'I think this is probably only for use by people who own a boat.'
`Then we own a boat,' Newman rapped back. Seahorse IV , if anyone wants to know. And in my rear-view mirror I