The Power

31

'I expect the Vosges to be an area of maximum danger,' Tweed announced to the gathering in his bedroom at the Drei Konige.

Newman and Paula shared a couch, Butler and Nield sat in armchairs and Marler adopted his usual stance, leaning against a wall and smoking a king-size cigarette.

Marler, a member of the SIS and the deadliest marks man in Europe, had been summoned to fly from London to Basle when Tweed had phoned Monica. Of medium height and light build, he had fair hair, was in his early thirties and wore a smart check sports jacket and razor-creased slacks. He spoke in an upper crust drawl and was always crossing swords with Newman.

'Is this intuition on your part?' Marler asked. 'Or have you solid data to base your warning on?'

'Does it make any difference?' Newman snapped.

These two men were hardly mutual friends. But if it came to a firefight each knew they could rely on the other to the hilt.

'Yes, it does, old man,' Marler replied patronizingly. 'Is there any solid data?' he asked Tweed.

Since his arrival Tweed had brought Marler up to date on everything that had happened. Marler, with his fresh eye, might notice something significant they had missed.

'There is some data,' Tweed told them. 'Beck phoned me and reported that a man whose description sounds very like Joel Dyson's was held up outside the Zurcher Kredit here.'

'Held up?' Paula queried.

'Yes. An American shoved a gun into Dyson's back as he left the Zurcher Kredit. Fortunately a patrol car turned up, the American with the gun fled, and if it was Dyson he'd asked a Mrs Kahn at the bank where Amberg was. Beck never overlooks a thing – he phoned the bank, spoke to Mrs Kahn. She confirmed what Eve Amberg told me – that the banker is at the Chateau Noir.'

'You said if it was Dyson,' Paula commented. 'Not like you to accept an identification without proof.'

'Which is why,' Tweed told her, 'I sent Cardon to show the photocopy of your sketch of Dyson to Mrs Kahn…'

There was a knock on the locked door. Newman opened it and Cardon strolled in. He winked at Paula who made a moue.

'It was Dyson who called at that bank here in Basle,' Cardon addressed Tweed. He handed back the envelope containing the photocopy. 'She recognized him at once from the sketch. Beck is helpful – he had a detective waiting there to escort me into Mrs Kahn's office. She didn't hesitate to talk to me.'

'All of which confirms my warning about danger waiting for us in the Vosges. That American who held up Dyson and then escaped probably asked him where Amberg was. We shall have company – unwelcome company – in Alsace.'

The phone rang. Paula picked it up, listened, said she would tell him, put down the receiver and looked at Tweed with an amused smile.

'You already have company waiting for you in the lounge. More welcome company. Jennie Blade is anxious to talk to you.'

'She didn't mention Gaunt?' Tweed asked, frowning.

'Not a word.'

'When I spoke to Monica she told me she'd added to her profile on Mr Gaunt. At one time he was an officer in Military Intelligence. Intriguing…'

Jennie Blade sat upright in an armchair. She was dressed in ski pants tucked into smart leather ankle boots and a blue silk polo-necked sweater which hugged her figure. Folded neatly on a nearby chair was a fur-lined jacket.

When Tweed stepped out of the lift she was smoothing down her blonde mane with one hand, checking her appearance in a compact mirror with the other. The moment she saw Tweed she snapped the mirror shut, put the compact inside a Gucci handbag with a shoulder strap.

'Long time no see,' she greeted him.

She tilted her head, held up her right cheek. He bent down and kissed it, perched himself on the arm of her chair. It was an unusual place for him to sit but he sensed she was putting herself out to be seductive. Her long legs were crossed.

'Not so long since we had a drink in the Hummer Bar in Zurich. Where is Gaunt?' Tweed asked.

'Oh, the Squire? God knows. He's a pain in the proverbial. Disappears for hours, days. He told me he'd seen you here. I have the strong impression you're a very reliable man – by which I mean a man a woman can rely on.'

'Depends on the woman, the circumstances.'

'And I thought you liked me.'

She twisted round – as she had on the stool in the Hummer Bar – clasped her strong slim hands and rested her forearms on his leg. She gazed up at him pleadingly.

'Let's say I do like you,' Tweed suggested. 'What comes next?'

'I'm frightened. I'm being followed by someone. They appear when I'm least expecting it. As I'm leaving a shop just before closing time when it's dark outside. When I'm getting my keys out to enter the apartment Gaunt has near Bankverein. It takes a lot to scare me but I admit I'm really worried about this shadow man.'

'Describe him.'

She took hold of his right hand. Holding it between both of hers she continued gazing up at him.

'I said describe him,' Tweed repeated in a hard voice.

'Wears a black wide-brimmed hat, tilted down over his face. About five foot six tall. I might be wrong about his height. He also wears a long black overcoat and a woollen scarf.'

Without showing it, Tweed was taken aback. Jennie had just given almost exactly the same description of the man seen leaving Klara's apartment in Rennweg after she had been garrotted. Her words were almost precisely those used by Old Nosy who occupied the ground-floor apartment in the Altstadt building where Klara had been murdered.

'You are talking about Basle?' he checked. 'This man is following you here in Basle?'

'Yes. The Shadow Man.' She shivered. 'It's getting on my nerves. Which is ridiculous considering the jobs I've had.'

'What jobs might those be?' he asked gently.

'I had a training as an accountant. Found it frantically boring. Then I got a big job with a huge firm in New York. They checked up on the financial stability of firms all over the world for a fabulous fee. Also on prominent individuals. I had to bluff my way into offices and private apartments to check on the lifestyle of certain individuals. That's how I saved quite a packet. I left them when one target threatened me with a gun. Felt my luck was running out. I came back to Britain, to London.'

She was interlacing her fingers with Tweed's as she spoke. He thanked Heaven that Paula wasn't there to see him. She'd pull his leg unmercifully.

'And then you met Gaunt?' he suggested.

All the time she told him the story of her life she was gazing at him, her glowing eyes almost hypnotizing him. Watch it, he warned himself.

'No, Gaunt came later,' she went on. 'Back in London I got a job with a private investigation agency. That lasted six months and was sordid work, but it led me to Gaunt.' She paused.

'Go on, I'm still listening.'

'You make a good audience. My last job at the agency was to check up on Walter Amberg.'

Again Tweed was taken aback. Again he maintained a poker-faced expression, but stared back at her to try and penetrate her character. Her voice was soft and soothing, which added to the hypnotic effect. Gaunt was mad not to grab her. For the first time since his wife had left him years ago for a Greek millionaire Tweed wondered about throwing overboard his solitary life. He pulled himself up sharply. This was a job he was working on, the most dangerous he'd ever encountered.

'Who asked the agency to check on Walter?' he enquired.

'Julius Amberg. He came to the London office once with Gaunt – which is how I met Gaunt.'

'When you were checking up on Walter Amberg what aspect were you looking for? Did you come to Switzerland?'

'Yes to the second question. As to what I had to check on, Julius was very precise. Had Walter an expensive apartment in another city? Now what else was there?' She played with the string of pearls looped over her sweater with her free hand. 'I remember. Was he keeping a mistress? If so, was she expensively dressed and had she her own car? Had Walter any other cars which he kept in other cities? Stuff like that. I drew a blank -except for his visits to a girl in Basle. I never reported that because I'd had enough. There was another reason. Gaunt asked me to come and live with him. I love Cornwall, the sea and the cliffs.'

'I'm going to ask you some more questions. I want you to answer them quickly. Your jobs must have made you unusually observant. First question, describe the face of the Shadow Man.'

'Can't. Never saw it.'

'How did he walk, move?'

'Body language. Can't say. He was always motionless.'

'But you saw him several times.'

'I did. Looked up, saw him, paid for what I'd bought. Then he'd gone.'

'Outside the Bankverein apartment, finding your keys?'

'He stood at a corner. When I looked again he was gone.'

'You're saying you never actually saw him move?'

'Never.'

'Ever see him in Zurich?'

'No. Always here in Basle.'

'How many times have you seen him?'

'Five. Six. No more.'

'Within what space of time?'

'Couple of days.'

'Is his surveillance on you getting more frequent?'

'Yes, it is, Tweed. What the hell am I going to do?'

'You're staying at the Bankverein apartment with Gaunt?'

'Yes. He's not always there. As I told you.'

'You're going back there now. I'll get a taxi for you. Stay inside until Gaunt returns. Tell him about the Shadow Man.'

'You have to be joking. He'd say it was a figment of my imagination.'

'I'll get that taxi…'

The concierge, who had just returned on duty, phoned and a taxi arrived in five minutes. Tweed accompanied Jennie outside into the icy cold – it seemed even more Siberian. She kissed him on the cheek before leaping inside.

'We must see each other again,' were her last words.

Tweed remained standing outside on the pavement for a short time. He wanted to be sure no one was following Jennie. He was also beginning to think she was telling the truth. Her story about the Shadow Man bothered him. He was turning to go inside when a white BMW appeared, pulled up in front of the hotel with a jerk and screeching brakes.

Gaunt jumped out. He handed the car keys to a porter who had come out through the revolving doors.

'Park my car for me. I'm staying here. Gaunt is the name.' He clapped Tweed on the shoulder.'What a splendid welcome. You guessed I was coming! Brrr! It's cold out here. Forward march to the bar. The drinks are on me…

Two double Scotches,' he told the barman when they were comfortably seated in an otherwise deserted bar. 'And hurry them up. Need some internal central heating, my good man.'

'No Scotch for me,' Tweed said firmly. 'Mineral water.'

'Can't cope with alcohol, eh? A man of your experience. Shame on you, sir.'

'You ought to take more care of Jennie,' Tweed told him bluntly. 'She's scared out of her wits – someone is following her, someone I don't like the sound of.'

He waited while Gaunt doled out money to the barman and added a meagre tip. Gaunt raised his glass.

'Here's to survival of the fittest. Down the hatch.'

'I said Jennie is being followed by an unknown man. He's tracking her, prior to something pretty unpleasant happening, I fear.'

'Stuff and nonsense! She gets these fancies. She's an attractive-looking filly. Of course men notice her, try to get to know her.'

'Gaunt!' Tweed hammered his glass down on the tabletop. 'Keep quiet and listen. In Zurich a girl called Klara was foully murdered – her head was damned near severed from her neck. Garrotted. Someone saw the murderer leaving. Their brief description fits the man following Jennie. Don't you care a fig?'

He watched Gaunt closely. His visitor had worn a camel-hair coat which now lay thrown across a chair. He was clad in a check sports jacket, a cravat with a design of horses' heads, corduroy trousers and hand-made leather shoes. His sandy hair was windblown. His grey eyes above a strong nose stared back at Tweed. His mood had suddenly become serious and his firm mouth was tightly closed. Tweed thought he glimpsed the ex-Military Intelligence officer.

'Think I read something about that murder in the paper. Before I left Zurich. Can there really be a link-up between that murder and this man who is supposed to be following Jennie?'

'Who is following Jennie.'

'How do you know all this?' Gaunt asked brusquely. 'Has Jennie phoned you?'

'She's been here. Was telling me about it not five minutes before you turned up. Hadn't you better get back to your apartment near Bankverein? Make sure she's all right? Now, I suggest,' Tweed said emphatically.

'She'll be safe.' Gaunt stared hard at Tweed. 'We leave early tomorrow morning for Colmar in Alsace. We'll be out of Basle by daybreak.'

'Why Colmar?' Tweed asked quietly.

'Because that's where Amberg's gone to. Place called the Chateau Noir. Up in the Vosges. I've just come from a brief visit to Mrs Kahn, his assistant at the Zurcher Kredit here in Basle. Had to put a bit of pressure on her to get that information. Thought maybe you'd like to know. Amberg must know something about his twin brother's last visit to Tresillian Manor. No one kills a guest in my house and gets away with it. I'm going now. Remember what I said. Survival of the fittest.'

Gaunt stood up, shoved his arms into his coat, walked out. Tweed sat thinking before returning to his room. Gaunt didn't strike him as a man who ladled out information without a purpose. And had there been a hint of a threat in his last remark?