This United state

25

'Back of beyond out here,' Tweed remarked as they alighted on the deserted platform.

'Nobody else has got off except us,' Paula observed. 'Who would? At this time of year? At this time of day?' Marler replied.

Tweed was hurrying. They followed him as he went down a ramp and started walking along a narrow road alongside the station. The road led steeply downhill with a high rock wall on one side. No traffic. They turned a bend and for a moment Tweed stopped and pointed.

`St Ursanne.'

Paula almost gasped with pleasure at the beauty of the scene in the sunlight. In the distance, where Tweed had pointed, way below them, an ancient village was huddled inside a valley, the old houses close together, with the spire of a church spearing up amid the dwellings which must have existed like this for centuries. It was idyllic. To their left, beyond the empty road, the ground fell steeply for quite a depth. At the bottom a small river meandered through meadows until it passed the edge of the village. Paula gestured down.

'Any idea which river that is?'

'The River Doubs,' Tweed told her. 'It figures in. the famous and controversial novel, Le Rouge et Le Noir – The Red and the Black, by Stendhal. Now we must keep moving. I have a growing sense we have very little time left.'

Almost before he had finished speaking Tweed was hustling ahead down the road which had become even steeper, his legs moving like pistons. The others had to increase pace to keep up with him.

'Where's the fire?' called out Nield.

Tweed didn't reply. He seemed intent on reaching their destination in the shortest possible time. Lower down there was a pavement on the left side but he ignored it, keeping to the road. Paula caught up with him. If she had to move any faster she would be running. It was only when they were very close to the village, and old houses appeared to their right, each with plenty of land and perched on a slope, their entrances small gates in their garden walls positioned well below them, that Tweed stopped.

'We'll be cautious now,' he said as the others arrived.

'Well, at least the chopper has vanished,' Paula remarked. 'And I am wondering whether we ought to have phoned Juliette Leroy before coming all this distance.'

'That would have been a mistake. Like Irina, I think Leroy has to see us before she will talk.'

'Hear it?' Marler asked. 'Behind us?'

Tap… tap… tap…

It was a weird sound in the serene silence of the sunny afternoon. As one, they all turned to look back. A man was emerging from one of the gardens they had passed, his stick tapping on the stone steps leading down from the house. Arriving at the gate, he fumbled with the catch, opened it, came out slowly, closed the gate and came trudging slowly towards them.

Tap… tap… tap…

He wore an old coat, which Paula thought must be too heavy for a sunny day. But he was old. He wore a floppy brimmed Swiss hat and beneath it very dark glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose, his head bent. In his right hand he carried a white stick, ringed at intervals like a bamboo cane. It was tipped with a rubber at the end. He was tapping the stick against the edge of the pavement.

'Poor devil. He's blind,' Paula whispered.

'Better let him pass us, Tweed suggested. 'We'll move out of his way.'

They crossed to the far side of the road and waited. The man with the dark glasses trudged on. They kept quiet as he passed them, seemingly unaware of their presence.

The handle of his white stick was curved like a shepherd's crook. Paula noticed it was flexible, moving in the hand which gripped it as the cane tapped. Immediately ahead of him was an ancient stone tower with an archway below it, high and wide enough to let a farm cart pass through. They watched the man raise his. stick to tap at a side wall of the archway, then make his way through it.

'Must be a local,' Paula mused. 'Probably knows his way about the place better than we ever shall.'

They waited while the man tapped his way carefully along the street beyond. He was some distance away when he paused with his back to them. Taking an old pipe out of his pocket he half-turned, used the side of a lighter to tamp the bowl, then lit it. He resumed his slow progress away from them.

'Let's get on with it,' said Tweed.

Walking through the archway, Paula noticed the street ahead had a plate on the side of a wall. Rue du 23 juin. Tweed had stopped by her side, looking to his left.

Steps led up to the Hotel La Couronne. The door at the top was closed.

'We might enquire here,' he suggested.

'I don't think so.'

Paula pointed to a small notice in the window near the door. It had a simple message. Ferme. Closed. Tweed shrugged. Paula was gazing down the main street, fascinated. On either side ancient houses, joined together, had tiled roofs at different heights. Like something out of a child's fairytale. The walls were covered with plaster, each house painted a contrasting muted colour – yellow, ochre, cream and other attractive tones.

'It's like Paradise,' she said. 'And so quiet. Apart from that blind man there's no one about anywhere. I wonder how we're going to find that street?'

'La Ruelle. Look at that plate on the wall over there. It's in this side street.' He peered down it. 'There's the Hotel d'Or. Not twenty yards away.'

They walked down the street and Paula followed Tweed up stone steps to a landing on the first floor. It had a door with a window masked by net curtains. Tweed pressed a bell by the door's side. The door opened and a tall attractive slim woman in her -fifties stood looking at them, as she quickly removed an apron.

'Do you speak English?' Tweed enquired.

'I do, Monsieur. How can I help you?'

'I have come from the late General Guisan, so to speak.'

'Please to come in.' She peered down the steps. Newman was, waiting with the others, not wishing to crowd the flight of steps. 'Those are your friends?' she asked.

'You are Juliette Leroy?'

'I am.'

'Yes, they are my friends, but there are rather a lot of us.'

'Please to ask your friends to join you.'

They walked into a large room which was obviously a dining room with a bar at the back and the kitchen in the rear. The walls and ceiling were covered with pinewood, which gave the place a cosy atmosphere. Extending close to the kitchen area paintings of scenes in the Jura hung from hooks and with very heavy-looking gilt frames. One long table was laid for a meal with ten places but the other tables were bare of cloths.

'I have waited for you,' said Leroy. 'I have something for you from Albert.'

'Albert?' The surprise showed in Tweed's voice. 'My friend is called Kurt.'

'Please to excuse me. That was a little test. I will get it for you now.'

She hurried to the kitchen, hauled out a drawer full of cutlery. Balancing it on a work surface, she detached an envelope taped to the underneath. She handed it to Tweed.

'There you are. You will see Kurt signed it on the back with his Christian name. You are hungry?'

'We can't impose on your hospitality…'

'I ask if you are hungry.' Her blue-grey eyes held his and he had the impression of a forceful personality. At the same time she gave him a radiant smile. 'You like Filets des Perches with the pomme frites? Most Englishmen do. The table is already laid, as you see.'

'For someone else, I suspect, Mademoiselle.'

'I am a widow. The table is laid for a group of farmers – they will not be here until this evening. I have plenty of food for them and for you and your friends.'

Tweed glanced at his watch. He suddenly felt terribly hungry. And what she had offered was one of his favourite dishes.

'We have to leave in an hour at the latest – to catch a train back to Basel.'

'Then please sit down, everyone. You have plenty of time.'

She was already' returning to the kitchen. She produced several pans, opened the large fridge-freezer. Everyone was sitting down when Paula noticed the entrance door had not been closed properly. She went to shut it and thought she caught sight of someone moving in the street.

Opening the door wider, she went out on to the landing. There was no sign of anyone. Nearby several narrow alleys led off the street. Must have been my imagination, she thought. She closed the door and sat next to Tweed at the table.

The plates of food, which smelt wonderful, were placed before them more quickly than Tweed had expected. Juliette sat down opposite him, noticing he had already broken some crusty bread. She smiled.

'You were hungry. You have started eating the bread.'

'It's some of the best bread I've ever tasted,' he answered honestly. 'This is very good of you, Madame Leroy.'

'I enjoy this.' She looked round the table at Newman, Nield, Butler and Marler, then at Paula. 'It gives me much pleasure to watch you eating. You are all most hungry.'

What a nice woman, Paula thought. She radiates good humour. She loves to see people having a good time. What a pity there aren't more like her in the world.

'I fear we must go now,' Tweed said a short while later. 'I don't want to but, as I said, we have to catch that train. Something important waits for us in Basel.'

They stood up from the table, their plates cleared of food. Then Tweed had a friendly argument when he insisted on paying. He became emphatic.

'You are running a business here. I must pay.'

'You come here for holiday with me. All who can. All, I hope.' She laughed. 'Then you pay through the nose. Is that correct?'

'Perfect English.' Tweed reluctantly put away his wallet. He could argue all night and she wouldn't give way. He made a gesture of resignation.

'Madame Leroy-'

'Juliette. Please.'

'Juliette, we will come here on holiday – to your beautiful village. To sample your superb cooking. You gave us a meal to remember.'

'Go and catch your train. And may God go with you.'

When they reached the archway under the ancient tower Paula paused and they waited for her. She was looking back at the beauty of St Ursanne. She wanted to be able to visualize the village later when they were gone. Then she forced herself to turn round and they started to hurry up the road which seemed steeper climbing it. They were halfway to the station when Newman stopped, swore under his breath.

'Something wrong?' asked Paula.

'I've left my gloves, my motoring gloves in the restaurant. I'm going back to get them. They're the ones you gave me for Christmas, Paula.'

'You'll miss the train,' Tweed warned.

'No, I won't. Remember, I came in the first ten in the London marathon'

He began to hare off down the hill. Paula paused briefly to take one last look at St Ursanne. Soon the sun would drop behind a nearby mountain and the village would be swallowed up in shadows. At the moment she could see every detail in the crystal-clear light.

'It's a dream village,' she said as she resumed climbing upwards alongside Tweed. 'I'm looking forward to a wonderful holiday.'

'So am I,' Tweed agreed.

Behind them Newman, running, was about halfway to the old stone tower. His right foot slipped on a large stone and he sprawled full length. He, took the worst of the impact on his forearms. When he began to get up he realized his right ankle was hurting. He sat up in the road, pushed down his socks, examined it. Wiggling his foot, he was relieved to realize he had neither broken nor sprained it. The only sign of his minor accident was a faint bruise.

He stood up, tested the foot. When he glanced back up the hill the others were tiny figures approaching the bend below the station. He was glad they hadn't seen him fall and he found he could move at a brisk pace back to St Ursanne.

Tap… tap… tap…

Juliette Leroy frowned as she heard the strange sound corning closer and closer, mounting the steps outside. She went to the door and opened it. A man with very dark glasses, holding a white stick, stood motionless.

'I am sorry to disturb you,' he said, his accent American. 'I am very thirsty. I have walked a long way. Could you give me a glass of water?'

'Of course. Please come in.'

Juliette was disappointed. She had just found a pair of gloves on a chair. She had hoped it was one of her new friends returning to collect them. At the same time she felt sorry for the blind man. He had looked so lonely. It must be awful to go through life like that.

Tap… tap… tap…

She turned and saw her visitor coming across the room, his stick guiding him between the tables. She remembered reading somewhere that the blind developed a keen sense of hearing. He must have picked up the sound of her footsteps walking across the floor to the kitchen.

With her back to him, she took a clean glass from a cupboard. She wiped it carefully on a clean cloth although it had been washed recently. Juliette was a stickler for all forms of hygiene. She turned off the tap when the glass was three-quarters full.

Behind her, Leo moved swiftly. Reversing his stick, he held it close to the tip. Elevating it, he hooked the flexible handle round her neck and throat, pressing a button which tightened the grip remorselessly. Juliette dropped the glass, tried to scream. Her air supply was cut off and she managed no more than a gurgle. The rubberized handle tightened. She reached up with both hands, trying to insert her fingers inside it. This was the moment when Leo jerked her backwards.

She toppled, hit the side of her head on the edge of a wooden working surface, sagged to the floor. Leo pressed the button again, releasing the grip of the handle. Bending over her unconscious form he checked her pulse. It beat steadily. He swore foully.

He glanced round, saw the heavy framed pictures hanging from the wall. Moving with great speed, he lifted one of the pictures, surprised at its weight. But that meant the hook left on the wall as he propped the picture against a cupboard was more than strong enough for his purpose.

From his pocket he pulled out a coil of thin strong rope – as strong as wire. Holding on to one end, which had a small wooden handle, pencil-thin, he whipped out the rope. The other end had a curved hook firmly attached. Bending down, he fashioned the first end into a loop with a hangman's knot. Slipping the loop over the unconscious woman's neck with the knot at the back, he used one strong arm to lift her. When he had her pushed close to the wall he slid the curved hook over the hook high up on the wall which had held the picture. Then he let go.

He had calculated the length of the rope perfectly. She was hanging with her feet well clear of the floor. That was when consciousness briefly returned to her. Leo stood back as her eyes opened, her heels thudded against the wall, then the rope tightened round her neck. The thudding of her heels ceased. Her eyes stared out of her head. She hung motionless.

Leo grabbed his stick, twisted a band round it, closed it with a telescopic motion, thrust it down inside a pocket. He opened the door slowly, peered out. No one anywhere.

He ran down the steps, along the street. Reaching the archway exit he paused, looked round. it. He saw Newman running towards him, then collapse, stretched out in the road. He waited. He chose the moment when Newman glanced back up the road to dart across the arch, then down a side street opposite La Ruelle.

Above this part of St Ursanne a steep slope climbed behind the buildings. Its crest was topped with a dense palisade of leafless trees. The helicopter which had brought Leo had landed on a wide secluded plateau. From there he had found a way into a large garden of a house which, appeared unoccupied. He knew he must not go back the same way. At the end of the street he found a footpath climbing up. It should not be difficult to find the plateau where the chopper was waiting to take him back to Basel airport.