Precipice

20

In Paula's suite at the Hotel des Bergues the three of them had just finished an excellent dinner brought in by waiters wheeling two tables which they put together.

'That sole was wonderful.' Paula said. 'I feel a new woman.'

'The food was superb.' said Archie. 'Thank you very much.'

He produced the half-smoked cigarette from his pocket and tucked it into the corner of his mouth. Philip had wondered whether he would eat his meal with the stub still in place.

'Let's sit on that long couch to drink our coffee.' Paula suggested.

She waited until they were settled, then produced the copy of the photograph of Marchat from her shoulder bag. She handed it to Archie.

'I don't suppose you've any idea who this is?'

Archie studied the photo, held it under a lamp on the coffee table. He stared at it for almost a minute. He doesn't know, Paula thought. Nice try. Archie handed back the picture to her.

'Is he important?' he asked.

'He could be very important.'

'I see.'

Archie picked up his cup, sipped coffee with his cigarette still in his mouth without spilling a drop. He put the cup down carefully. Paula had already observed all Archie's movements were deliberate. He used a napkin to dab at his mouth.

'Something wrong?' asked Philip.

'Is the man in the picture in danger?' Archie asked.

'He could be in great danger. He was supposed to have been burned to death in the fire at Sterndale Manor in Dorset – as were General Sterndale and his son, Richard. Also the only remaining relative who would have been there but was indisposed.'

'I see.' Archie said again.

'No hurry.' Paula assured him. 'Take your time. I mean that.'

'Anton Marchat.' Archie said suddenly. 'A Swiss. He lives with his wife in the Valais.'

Paula was briefly stunned. She had not expected a positive reply.

'The valley?' she repeated. 'Which valley?'

'I meant the canton of the Valais. Well to the east of where we are sitting.'

'How stupid of me.' Paula said, annoyed at herself. 'I do know French but we've been speaking English. He disappeared from England. We know he flew to Geneva, but that was all.'

'Rugged country, the Valais.' Archie ruminated. 'The people are hardy. They have to be to live there -especially now in winter. It will be at its worst.'

'Will he have gone back there, do you think?' Paula pressed.

'Was he frightened?'

'I'd say he was scared stiff.' Philip told him. 'An assassin tried to murder him but got the wrong man.'

'Then if he flew to Geneva…' Archie paused, working it out. He sat up straighter, the dead cigarette wobbled. 'If he flew to Geneva.' Archie repeated, 'it's more than likely he boarded one of the international expresses at Cornavin Station. Then he'd get off in the Valais and go home and stay there.'

'You wouldn't know his address?' Philip asked casually.

'Is someone going to visit him, to protect him?'

'I am.' said Philip.

'We are.' said Paula.

'I know what happened outside Les Armures.' Archie said slowly. 'One of the waiters crouched behind a table where he could see. He said there was just one woman and one man. Imagine those two finishing off that gang of murderous thugs.'

He glanced first at Paula, then he glanced at Philip.

'You had a pretty grim time when that motorcycle gang attacked.'

'Let's say we had a lively evening.' Philip replied cautiously.

That seemed to be answer enough for Archie. He took a hotel notepad off the table, tore off a sheet, turned the pad over and began writing with the pencil which had lain next to the pad.

Paula noted how he wrote very lightly. No pressure which could imprint something of what he was writing on the cardboard back of the pad. He held the sheet after dropping the pad back on the table.

'Sion.' he said.

'Where?' asked Paula.

'Sion.'

'It's deep in the middle of the Valais.' Philip told her. 'The international expresses from Geneva, bound for Milan, make only three stops in the Valais. At Martigny, Sion, and Brig.'

'The weather will be terrible.' Archie warned them while still holding the sheet of paper. 'Heavy snow, a lot of ice. It's rugged country, the Valais. Anton Marchat lives in an old house on the edge of the town. It lies under a great hunk of rock, a grim hill like a small mountain with the castle – or is it the cathedral? – perched on top.

You can see that precipitous hill as the train approaches Sion. Here is the address.'

He handed it to Paula, who showed it to Philip. Archie sat thinking some more, clenched his cigarette.

'If you go you had better be armed…' His eyes twinkled at Paula. 'But then the two people outside Les Armures had weapons. One important point. If you go. If you meet Anton Marchat or his wife, you must mention my name. Otherwise you get the door slammed in your faces.'

Philip kept the sheet, folded it, put it in a secret pocket in his wallet. Archie stood up, looked round for his coat.

'You're not going out tonight?' Paula asked anxiously. 'I found a couch here – that one over there – and it turns into a bed. That way you can sleep here overnight and there'll be no trace in the hotel register that you were ever here.'

'I must go now, but thank you for the invitation.' Archie was putting on his coat, helped by Paula, who had brought it from her bedroom. 'My work never ends. I have to catch a night train.'

'Where to?' enquired Philip. 'Or shouldn't I ask?'

'There is going to be great activity in a certain city tomorrow. I must be there to see what happens. Perhaps you should be there, too.'

'Where then?' Philip persisted.

'Berne.'

Monica, who had answered the phone when it rang, looked taken aback. Everyone in the room noticed – they had never seen anything throw her off balance.

'General and Cumbria Assurance.' she had said.

'Good evening. I apologize for the late call. This is Carson Craig,' the voice continued courteously. 'Mr Brazil has asked me to see if we can arrange a meeting between himself and Mr Tweed. At Mr Tweed's convenience, of course.'

'Please hold on. I may be a minute. I'm not sure you have got the right number…'

'Please do not think I am being impolite, but I know I have the right number. I will hold on. There is no rush.'

Masking the phone with her hand, Monica told Tweed what Craig had said. She looked at Newman and Marler.

'I thought he was a roughneck. He sounds like a highly educated man.'

'I'll talk to him.' Tweed said to everyone's surprise.

He gestured for Monica to hand her phone to Newman so he could listen in.

'Good evening, Mr Craig. Tweed speaking. I don't believe I've had the pleasure of making your acquaintance,' he said smoothly.

'That's true. But it's a small world, as they say, Mr Tweed. I hope we can remedy that situation one day. Mr Brazil has flown to Bonn to meet the German Chancellor. I gather he also works late hours. But Mr Brazil will be back in the morning early.'

'May I ask where you are speaking from?'

'Of course. My apologies. I am in Mr Brazil's office in his villa on the Kochergasse, Berne. Mr Brazil has thought over his earlier offer to meet you and thinks you may not wish to take up his offer to travel in the executive jet he was prepared to put at your disposal. If you prefer to make your own way to the rendezvous he is quite happy with that idea.'

'I do,' said Tweed. 'So what rendezvous are you suggesting?'

'We now feel it might be more courteous if you told us where you could meet him. Wherever that might be Mr Brazil will travel there.'

'Zurich.' said Tweed.

'Certainly…' There had been a brief pause before Craig agreed. 'Could you possibly tell me the location and the time?'

'At the Hotel Schweizerhof…' Tweed paused and saw Newman give the thumb's-up sign, indicating his full approval. 'It's opposite the main station – in the Bahnhofplatz. Do you know it, Mr Craig?'

'I most certainly know where you mean, although I've never been inside that particular hotel. Had you a specific time in mind?'

'Yes. Seven tomorrow evening. Swiss time. I will be waiting for Mr Brazil in the lobby.'

'Mr Tweed, I can tell you Mr Brazil will not only be pleased, he will be greatly relieved. I doubt if I will be with him, but I hope to meet you for a drink, even for dinner, at a time and place at your convenience.'

'Thank you for calling. Good night, Mr Craig…'

'Was that Craig?' Tweed asked Newman when he had put down the phone.

'Yes. Most definitely.' Newman looked bemused. 'Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. I met the evil Hyde in Dorset, you've talked with the suave Jekyll a moment ago. It's quite incredible. I've never encountered such a dual personality.'

'Anyone want to let me in on this?' enquired Marler.

'You saw – and heard him – during the fracas at the Black Bear.' Newman had twisted round in his chair to address Marler standing against a wall. 'How would you have described him?'

'A rough, foul-mouthed, brutal thug.'

'Not the sort of chap to invite to your club,' Monica commented, mimicking Howard's upper-crust voice.

'Something like that.' Marler agreed. 'So?'

'Well, on the phone just now.' Newman continued, 'he was the polished, well-educated businessman. Courteous and deferential to Tweed.'

'Why did you select Zurich?' Monica wanted to know.

'Because,' Newman answered her, 'I think Tweed recalled how well we know that area.'

'Tweed is still here,' said Tweed. 'We have to get moving. We'll probably be here all night. Monica, book tickets for the earliest flight tomorrow to Zurich. For myself, Newman, Marler, Butler, and Nield. Then book us rooms at the Hotel Schweizerhof – that is for myself and Newman. Then book rooms for Marler, Butler, and Nield at the Hotel Gotthard.'

'Which is just behind the Schweizerhof.' said Monica.

'Exactly. And I'd better repack my case in that cupboard over there with cold-weather clothing.'

'I can do that.' urged Monica.

'No, you can't. Get on with booking the flights and hotel reservations. This is the development I have been waiting for. Brazil's patience has cracked. Which means that whatever project he has planned is about to be put into action. Remember in a previous phone call to me he used the word "catastrophe"? The balloon is going up…'