The Greek Key

'That reminds me.' Paula sounded excited as she delved inside her handbag. 'I found this in a pocket in my suitcase when I was packing to come down here. A brochure I picked up at The Luttrell Arms.'

She handed him a coloured brochure headed Take the West Somerset Railway to Minehead. Below was a picture of an old-fashioned steam train. He opened it up and looked at the map inside as Butler peered over his shoulder.

The steam train started at Minehead, ran along the coast through the port of Watchet and later turned inland over the Quantock Hills, ending at Taunton. It began running on 29 March and shut down for winter on 29 October.

' Endstation. ' said Paula. 'That clue Masterson gave you inside the cigar box he posted from Athens. He was drawing your attention to that old privately run railway.'

'And which is Endstation?' Tweed asked. 'Minehead or Taunton?'

'No idea. Don't you think I'm right?'

'Maybe.' Tweed folded up the brochure, handed it back to her. 'Hang on to it. It goes through Watchet, I see. The port where Anton probably came ashore from that Portuguese freighter.'

'Except he didn't,' Butler said. 'I checked that out. A two-storey building looking straight down on the harbour there is Customs and the harbourmaster. I followed him into a pub and got chatting. Told him a cock-and-bull story about how a friend had boasted he'd come ashore from that freighter without being spotted. The harbourmaster said bullshit. They keep a sharp lookout for suspicious characters trying to sneak ashore. It's this drugs problem. He was a solid ex-seaman type. Said it was impossible. I believe him.'

'Another theory gone down the drain. Let's wander west along the coast a bit. Looks pretty lonely.'

Butler led the way back across the footbridge and they walked down a road a short distance. It stopped abruptly and they had to pick their way across a treacherous surface of pebbles and small rocks.

'It really is the end of the world out here,' Tweed remarked.

'Maybe that's what Masterson meant when he wrote Endstation,' Butler suggested. Wearing a thick woollen pullover as protection against the damp sea mist drifting in, he walked with his hands inside his trouser pockets. There's an old dear back in one of those cottages who says she's seen ghosts – and lights flashing late at night. The barman told me so I called on her. A Mrs Larcombe. In her late seventies, but sharp as a tack.'

'I don't think you're right,' Paula objected. ' Endstation is one of those two terminal stations on that railway -Taunton or Minehead.'

'What's got into him?' Butler asked her.

Tweed was striding ahead, peering at the ground, his Burberry collar buttoned to the neck. He seemed totally absorbed in his thoughts.

Paula told Butler about the death of Jill Kearns. He listened as she explained Monica's anxiety about Tweed becoming obsessed. 'And now his mind is full of three deaths,' she went on. 'Masterson's, of course, and Sam Partridge and Jill.'

'Don't see how they link up. One in Greece, one on Exmoor, one in London.'

'That's what he's trying to do – link them all together. Drop the subject, he's coming back…'

'I found traces of a wheeled vehicle,' Tweed announced. 'In a patch where sand showed.'

'No vehicle would cross that terrain,' commented Butler.

'And on the way back, could we call on Mrs Larcombe if she's at home? I'd like a word with her…'

The cottage was built of stone, roofed with red tiles mellowed by the years. Swagged lace curtains draped the windows, the front garden was barely three feet wide but the lavender borders were trimmed and there was not a weed in sight.

Approaching the cottage, Tweed noted there was an end window facing west where he had walked. Butler raised the highly polished brass knocker shaped like a dolphin and rapped it twice. A nameboard on the picket gate carried the legend Dolphin Cottage.

A tall sharp-faced woman opened the door. Her nose was prominent, she was long-jawed, her eyes alert, her mass of hair grey neatly brushed. Butler spoke to her for a moment, then gestured for Tweed and Paula to enter. Mrs Larcombe led them into what she called 'the parlour', invited them to sit down and Butler made the introductions.

'What can I do for you, Mr Tweed?' she asked, seating herself in a chintz-covered armchair.

'I'm in insurance. No, I'm not trying to sell you any policy. I'm Chief Claims Investigator for my company. A holidaymaker called Burns disappeared here a few weeks ago. Last seen late at night walking that way.' He twisted in his chair, pointed west. 'We've had a claim on the basis presumed dead. Since no body has been found I'm puzzled.'

'Funny goings-on round here.' Her eyes glistened, bird-like. 'No one believes me. They think I'm seeing ghosts. I know what I saw and heard.' She sat more erect.

'Could you tell me a little more?' Tweed asked quietly.

'It would be a few weeks ago – about the time your Mr Burns disappeared. Can't fix it exactly. Yes, I can. About the time the Customs at Watchet practically took that Portuguese freighter apart. Didn't find anything except a lot of cork. The rumour was it was carrying drugs.'

'What did you see and hear?'

'Close to midnight it was. I don't sleep well. I was looking out of my bedroom window which faces the way you pointed. I saw a light flashing out at sea. Like someone signalling. Then another light flashing from the shore. There was a ship at sea, a fairish way out.'

'You had your bedroom light on?' Tweed enquired.

'No, I didn't. I'd got out of bed in the dark and put on my dressing gown. I know where all the furniture is. I had the window open. It was a sticky night.'

'This ship you saw – it had navigation lights? Which is how you came to see it?'

'No, it didn't. But my sight is very good. No glasses, as you see. I saw it as a vague silhouette. I thought that was funny. What you've just mentioned. No navigation lights.'

'And that was all?'

She stiffened. She wore an old-fashioned black dress with a lace collar pinned with a brooch. 'You don't believe me?'

'Yes, I do. Because your night vision would be good -since you hadn't put a light on. Was there something else?'

'I went back to bed, leaving the window open for some air. I fell asleep quickly. Then I was wakened by a noise. I felt fuddled but I got up again. It was the engine noise of some vehicle approaching – from the same direction. I thought that funny. No cars drive over those pebbles. By the time I got to the window it was passing my gate. No lights. I ran to the front window because the noise stopped. I was worried – it sounded to have stopped by my front gate. I made a racket opening the front window-the thing sticks. A. S I looked out the engine started and the vehicle disappeared towards Porlock.'

'Without lights?' Tweed asked gently.

'No. As it passed the harbour the lights came on. The red ones at the back and dimmed headlights in front. Then it was gone.' She leaned forward, her eyes shrewd. 'Could it have been your Mr Burns?'

'Possibly,' said Tweed. 'No way of telling for sure. Could you describe what sort of vehicle it was? Even in the dark?'

'An odd-looking beast.' She frowned with concentration. 'High up off the ground. Behind the cab it was squarish. At a guess, canvas-covered.'

'Colour?'

'Couldn't tell.'

'White or cream?' Tweed suggested.

'Definitely not. It would have shown up more. A darkish colour. No idea who was driving – I was looking down on it, you see.'

Tweed stood up, took his glasses case out of his pocket, fumbled, dropped it on the dark floral-patterned carpet. The room was dim. He put his hand behind him, stopped Paula searching for it. He almost knocked over a vase of dried flowers. Mrs Larcombe stepped forward, took hold of the case, handed it to him.

'You'll be lost without this.'

Thank you. And thank you for giving us your time. Your help is greatly appreciated.'