Doctor Who: The Seeds of Doom by Philip Hinchcliffe Read Free Book Online

sufficient for the Doctor to take in the quarry. A large sandhopper with a raised platform lay to their right. He changed direction towards it, shouting instructions to Sarah as he did so.
    A few moments later the panting gunman arrived beneath the hopper. His captives had vanished—into thin air! To his left was an old pile of gravel, enough for a hiding place. He crept towards it, finger on the trigger. Suddenly, there was a noise behind him. He spun round and fired.
    Twenty feet above his head the Doctor crouched on the hopper platform, poised to leap. He could see Sarah plainly behind the gravel pile. She picked up a second pebble and threw it in the air. The chauffeur turned and fired again, then took a pace forward, bringing him directly below the Doctor.
    The Doctor eyed the drop one more time, noted the position of the revolver and launched himself into space. Thud! The chauffeur crumpled like a rag doll as the Doctor’s fifteen and a half stones slammed into him. Sarah dashed out from behind the mound. The Doctor picked himself up and was about to administer a straight left when he realised his dive had laid the gunman out cold.
    â€˜He isn’t dead?’ said Sarah fearfully.
    â€˜Unconscious. It seems news travels fast from the South Pole.’
    The Doctor gathered up the revolver and hurled it out of sight. ‘Let’s search the car.’
    They ran back.
    Clearly the limousine did not belong to the World Ecology Bureau. But who did own it? There appeared to be no clues inside the car.
    Sarah suddenly called the Doctor to the boot. She was holding up a framed painting of a flower. In the corner was a signature.
    â€˜Amelia Ducat,’ read the Doctor, puzzled.
    â€˜An original as well,’ exclaimed Sarah excitedly. ‘Must be worth something.’
    â€˜You think so?’
    Sarah eyed the Doctor with disdain. ‘You mean to say you haven’t heard of Amelia Ducat? She’s one of the country’s leading flower artists.’
    The Doctor glanced in the direction of the sandhopper. ‘Hardly a passion for a gunman,’ he said with a grin. ‘Still, let’s see if Miss Ducat can throw any light on the subject.’
    He leapt into the driving seat and, scarcely allowing Sarah time to climb in, accelerated off towards the main road.
    â€˜Ah yes... a perfect example of Fritillaria Meleagris.’
    The speaker was an eccentric little lady in her sixties, dressed in heavy tweeds; a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles dangled on a chain round her neck and a large cigar jutted from the side of her mouth. She held the painting at arm’s length admiringly. ‘Rather good, don’t you think?’
    The Doctor smiled indulgently. ‘We’re trying to trace the owner, Miss Ducat.’
    â€˜You mean it isn’t yours?’
    â€˜No. We found it in a car boot.’
    â€˜In a car boot?’ Miss Ducat looked horrified. ‘How insensitive! ‘
    â€˜So was the driver,’ chipped in Sarah. ‘He tried to kill us.’
    â€˜Good gracious! Whatever for?’
    The Doctor leant over the top of Miss Ducat’s easel, which held a half-completed painting. ‘Miss Ducat,’ he said, in his friendliest and most coaxing tone, ‘do you remember who bought this painting?’
    Miss Ducat stared, a little puzzled, at the painting in front of her. ‘Nobody. It isn’t finished yet.’
    â€˜No, this one, Miss Ducat,’ explained Sarah. ‘Fritillaria Melewhatsit.’
    â€˜Ah... oh... let me see now...’ Miss Ducat took a couple of good puffs on her cigar and coughed violently ‘It was six or seven years ago...’ She closed her eves in deep concentration. ‘Lace?... Mace?... Paice?... Race?...’ Miss Ducat struggled manfully.
    â€˜Brace?’ said Sarah.
    â€˜Grace?’