This United state

26

Paula had the train door open. Newman hurtled up the ramp into the station, dived inside the coach, Paula shut the door as the train started moving. Newman, streams of sweat pouring down his face, sank into a corner seat, stared round. They were now all aboard.

Tweed sat opposite him, next to Marler. Butler and Nield were in seats on the other side of the central corridor. Once again they had the coach to themselves. Gradually Newman's breathing became normal. He took out a handkerchief, wiped his face and the handkerchief was sodden.

He had never run so fast in his life. Not even for the marathon. And all the way it had been uphill. Everyone was staring at him. He didn't like it. He'd sooner have been alone. Paula was the first to speak to him. Quietly.

'I see you got your gloves back.'

He looked down. His right hand was still clutching the motoring gloves he had picked up. He had forgotten about them. He wasn't really in the train carriage at all. In his mind he was back at the Hotel d'Or in St Ursanne. He had been suspicious when he saw the door was half open. He had crept silently up the steps, his Smith amp; Wesson in his hand. When he had walked in, seen what was there, he had automatically closed the door behind him.

He could see it now vividly. Juliette's body hanging from the picture hook like a side of beef. Her body limp, her eyes wide open, lifeless. His training had asserted itself. He had forced himself to search the place first, checking to see if the killer was still there. Then, futilely, he had reached up and checked her neck pulse. She was dead. Dead as anybody could be. He remembered thinking he should have checked her pulse first.

Holstering his gun; he had reached up again, one hand round her body, the other lifting off the hook. He was surprised at how light she had felt. Tenderly, he had placed her on a couch. Finding a knife in a kitchen drawer, he had carefully cut through the hangman's knot, removed the rope from round her neck, which was already swelling up.

He had thought of calling the local police. He had rejected the idea quickly. He could be held there for days. As a witness – more probably as a suspect. And there was work to do in Basel. Tweed needed him. That was when he had seen something lying on the floor under a table. He had picked it up, examined it for only a moment. Then he had known who the brutal killer was.

He had gone back briefly to the couch where she lay. He put a hand on her face. It had felt so cold. Then he had moved like a robot, using his handkerchief to wipe his prints off the handle of the knife, to open the door to the outside world, his gun by his side in his left hand. He hadn't thought he would see the murderer in the street but he had looked anyway. Nothing. Nobody.

He had checked his watch. He would never make the train. He had walked to the _arch, had taken a deep breath, had begun running up the road beyond non-stop. His brain had dulled, all his concentration on running. Now the shock was receding, he was thinking clearly.

'Let's change seats, Paula,' he said in a normal voice. `You like to look out of the window.'

They had changed seats but she hadn't looked out of the window. She was looking at him. Newman didn't realize that his complexion was ashen. Except for Tweed, the others were now being careful not to look at him. They were giving him time.

'You look washed out, Bob,' Tweed said casually. 'Has something happened?'

'You could say that.'

'I'd like to hear about it. When you're ready.'

Aware of Paula beside him, Newman phrased it carefully. He kept it simple. She had gone through enough already with her experience in Eagle Street – and then, more recently, the Umbrella Men.

'It's not good news, I'm afraid.'

'I didn't think it would be,' Tweed said in the same casual tone.

'It's about Juliette Leroy?' Paula whispered.

'When I got back I found her – strangled.'

'Oh, no…'

Paula tightened her lips. Newman had decided to give no details. They could come later. Any description now would be too horrific. He felt in the pocket of his coat. He had the attention of everyone now. He took the coat button he had picked up off the floor, handed it to Marler.

'Recognize that?'

'Can't say I do.'

'For once you slipped up.'

'I'm not with you,' said Marler.

'The killer walked past you before we went into St Ursanne. A fake blind man. Put on a clever show. As think Tweed once said, we're up against professionals.'

'I'm still not with you,' Marler repeated.

'He wore an old coat with unusual buttons. They almost merged with his coat. But I noticed them because the symbol on them is unusual. Couldn't identify it at the time. Look at it again. Looks like the torch held up by the Statue of Liberty outside New York.'

'So it does.' Marler handed back the button. 'Where did you find it?'

'Under a chair in the room where we had a meal at the Hotel d'Or. There must have been a struggle. Or maybe the thread holding it was hanging loose.'

'And we saw him walk past us,' whispered Paula. 'And I thought, poor old thing.'

'Which was what you were intended to think,' Tweed remarked.

'Poor Juliette,' Paula went on. 'She was such a nice kind person. And I was looking forward to seeing her again. Dream village? It's turned into a nightmare.'

She stared out of the window. Sunlight still shone brilliantly on the greening landscape. She wasn't taking it in. Her mind had gone back to their lunch at the Hotel d'Or. Tweed and Juliette had got on well together, their conversation easy. Maybe if they had returned for a holiday the two of them would have struck up a warm companionship. Years before, Tweed's wife had run off with a Greek shipping millionaire. He had never bothered to divorce her.

Tweed was also gazing out of the window, his expression pensive. The sunlight vanished. They had entered the tunnel. When they emerged from the other end Marler spoke.

'A second before the train left I thought I heard a chopper taking off.'

'You did,' agreed Newman.

'Probably the machine which brought the assassin, then flew him out afterwards.'

'That's what I thought/ Newman agreed again.

Arriving back at the Three Kings, Tweed followed Paula inside and stood stock-still. Standing by the reception desk was the last person in the world he expected to encounter. Sir Guy Strangeways.

'Hello, my good friend,' Strangeways greeted him. 'Small world.'

'As you say.'

'I'd appreciate a word with you. The writing room opposite the lift do you?'

'Just for a short time.'

As Strangeways disappeared into the room Tweed joined the others waiting for the lift. He kept his voice down.

'In half an hour's time we have to be in Beck's office across the street. You go on ahead when you're ready. I'll follow you. Guy has something on his mind.'

The door to the small room was closed. When Tweed opened it, shut it behind him, Strangeways was seated at a desk, writing furiously. There was no one else in the room as Sir Guy, hearing the door close, dropped his fountain pen, twisted round in his chair with a worried expression.

'Good of you to come so quickly. Please do sit down.'

'How did you know I was here?' Tweed demanded, still standing.

'That's hush-hush. Sorry, I gave my word.'

'What was it you wanted to see me about? I haven't much time.'

'I have problems.'

'We all have. What are yours, Guy?'

'Rupert, for one thing.' Strangeways grimaced. 'I told you – he owes that casino at Campione a packet. They're turning nasty. They even had the nerve to call me at Irongates.'

'So where is Rupert?'

'I do wish you'd sit down, Tweed.'

'I can only give you a few minutes just now.' 'Rupert's here. With me.'

'In this hotel?'

'Yes. Situation being what it is, thought I'd better keep him under my wing, so to speak.'

'He may sneak off,' Tweed warned. `To borrow more money.'

'He's tried that back home. No one will give him a sou. Didn't know I was going to have to buy three tickets when we came out here.'

'So who is the third party?'

'Basil Windermere.'

'And has he a room in this hotel?' Tweed asked, suppressing his annoyance.

'He has. Not the sort of chap I want within a thousand miles of me, but I hadn't much choice. They're close friends. I know at one moment they'll be snarling at each other, then the next they're bosom pals. I thought Rupert needed someone of his own age to keep him company.'

'Where did you think I come in on this domestic problem?'

'Well.. Strangeways capped his pen, began twirling it between his fingers. 'I thought maybe Bob Newman could phone the boss of Campione, threaten to write an article exposing him.'

'Threaten? He doesn't know anything about the place.' Leaning on the edge of the desk, Tweed folded his arms. He stared down at the worried man.

'I don't think that's the real reason that you – somehow – found out where I was and hopped on a flight to see me.'

'There was something else.'

'I've got a couple of minutes left before I have to go.'

'Morgenstern called me, urged me to come and see him right away at the Embassy. You know what he's like – wants everything yesterday, if not sooner. I drove up for the meeting. His one theme, hammered away non-stop, was that the special relationship between Britain and America must be enormously strengthened. And quickly. He thinks you're a key element in the plan. He said he'd seen you once. Now he wants to see you again. I'm worried.'

'Why?'

'As you must know, recently American companies have taken over electricity companies in Britain. Also water supply companies. Soon they'll control our country. Do we resist – or do we go along with them?'

'Guy, you were in the Gulf War: Did you ever wonder whether to fight the enemy or to go along with him?'

'Put that way, we have no alternative. I'd still like to talk to you about what Jefferson Morgenstern said later.'

'Later, we will. I must go now…'

Tweed had just entered his room, the coat he had taken off earlier over his arm, when someone tapped on his door. It was Paula. He had called her from the reception desk before coming up in the lift. She carried her own fur-lined coat over her arm, had her gloves in one hand, and was wearing knee-high boots. She went straight to a table, poured a glass of water from a bottle on the table, took it to him. She had dropped her coat on a chair and held out the other hand.

'Take this now. We have fifteen minutes. You should have had it earlier. A Dramamine tablet. Don't look out of the window but the river is rough. You know you hate being on water.'

'Thank you.'

He swallowed the tablet, drank the whole glass of water. Then he sat down. Paula noticed he looked grim, sat beside him on the couch.

'Want to tell me about it?'

'First, we can expect Keith Kent very shortly. I phoned him to come over from downstairs. I want to show him what was inside the envelope Juliette gave me which I opened in the taxi on our way from the station.'

'I didn't see what it was. I knew you'd tell me if you wanted to.'

'These were inside. No note. Just these.'

Taking the envelope from his pocket, he extracted two banknotes. He handed them to Paula. She stared at them, examined them, then looked at him with a puzzled expression.

'One English twenty-pound note, one English ten-pound note. I am mystified. Why would Kurt travel all the way to St Ursanne to see his friend, Juliette, just to leave these with her? And then put her details in that little black book Irina extracted from behind the brick in the wall?'

'He was leaving us a secret paper trail for us to follow. I imagine he knew he had a tail. That's a guess. So he evades the tail and goes to St Ursanne.'

'Just to hide two ordinary banknotes? Why?' 'I haven't a clue.'

'Was there anywhere else written down in the little black book?'

'Yes, but we haven't time to follow it up at the moment. Now, I had a chat with Strangeways…'

He told her all about their conversation. She listened, memorizing every word. When he had finished she sat lost in thought before she reacted.

'Something very weird's going on. And I could have told you Rupert is here. He's on the same floor as me.' 'He saw you?'

'No. I dodged back in my room until he'd gone off down the corridor. He definitely did not see me. And how, in Heaven's name, did Strangeways find out you were here? Monica would never tell him.'

'I told you what he said. I don't like his finding me any more than you do. There's a leak somewhere.'

He stopped talking as the phone rang. Paula jumped up, answered it. She called out to Tweed.

'Keith Kent's in the lobby.'

'Ask him to come up immediately.' He checked his watch. 'We have about five minutes before we rush across to Beck. I see Marler remembered what I asked him to do. He must have given it to a maid and asked her to use her pass key.'

He walked quickly to where a canvas holdall was perched by a settee. Picking it up he opened the flap, turned it upside down to, show Paula it was empty.

Wondering what the deuce he was up to, she watched as he unlocked a cupboard, took out a powerful cone-shaped loudhailer, slipped it inside the holdall, closed the flap.

'What do you want that for?' she asked.

'I hope you'll never know. If you do, it will save lives.'

Before she could ask him what he was talking about someone knocked quietly on the door. Paula, shoulder bag over her arm, took out her Browning. She opened the door a few inches, then threw it wide. Keith Kent strolled in.

'Warm in here,' he remarked, taking off his overcoat. 'Don't go out. You'll freeze to death.' He smiled at Paula. 'Normally the service here is first rate. I get a cup of steaming coffee.'

Paula went to the largest table, felt the silver pot, took her hand away quickly. One of the staff must have brought up a fresh pot with new cups when they had seen Tweed return. The service at the Three Kings was first rate. They had noticed the amount of coffee Tweed consumed. She poured a cup for their guest.

'Thanks.' Kent had sat down. He drank half the cup. 'Makes really good central heating. Now, what can I do for you?'

'These mean anything to you, Keith?' Tweed asked. He handed him the two British banknotes. Kent felt them with his sensitive fingers. Standing up, he took them over to the window, held them up to the light. Returning to the couch, he sat down, took an eyeglass from his pocket, screwed it into his right eye, examined the banknotes again. Then he removed the eyeglass, put it back in his pocket.

'I'm sorry, Keith,' Tweed said, 'but we do have to leave here in about three minutes.'

'That's all right. Where did you get these?'

'Can't tell you that. Does it matter?'

'Not really.' He drank more coffee. 'I just wondered.' 'Have you any comment?' Tweed persisted.

'Yes. They're fakes. Paper they're printed on seems OK. Can't imagine how whoever printed them got hold of it. But they are quite definitely forgeries. Some of the best I've seen. But they do have an error.'

'Would it be spotted by a bank teller?'

'Yes. Especially if someone walked into a British bank with a wad of them. As the teller riffled through them the error would jump out at him. If a lot of these were in circulation they'd be detected very quickly. Good as they are.'

'Thank you. It's a breakthrough. Keith, would you mind moving from the Hilton to this hotel? They're more than half empty. Time of the year.'

'I'll go and collect my things now.'

'Thank you again.' Tweed was putting on his coat, picking up the canvas holdall. 'We have to rush now. Book yourself a room here on your way out. Get one overlooking the Rhine, if you can.'

'All mod. cons. I do like the life of luxury,' Kent said.