by Colin Forbes
Lower down still Newman walked next to Paula, carrying out Tweed's command. Tweed sucked in his breath, glanced down at the overcoat thrown over his shoulders like a cape. Its colour was very similar to the raincoat he had given Paula and which she still wore over her shoulders. Like a cape.
Oh, my God, he thought. I wasn't the target at the brink of the precipice. Seen as a blurred shape in the mist my back view would look like Paula's. She was the target. Shall I tell her? She's gone through so much. The horror at Bray, the second horror in Maine, her experience down on the quai when she recognized Abraham Scale. Her nightmares. I'll talk it over with Newman first.
Then he saw someone he could hardly believe he was seeing. Sam Snyder striding down the slope. He hadn't seen him on the train, but the coach had been crammed. And Snyder could have been hunched down in his seat.
Coming closer to the platform he saw Pete Nield standing at one end of the train, Harry Butler at the other end. They had stayed behind to make sure the train wasn't sabotaged. They rarely missed a trick.
'Didn't know you were with the party, Sam,' he said, catching up with Snyder.
'I'm everywhere.' The hawk-like faced creased into its peculiar grin. 'That's my job. I've got some good shots looking down that fearsome drop.' He patted the compact camera slung by his side. 'And one earlier which is worth a packet if syndicated.'
'Which one is that?'
'A perfect shot of Professor Seale, headless in the body bag. Just before a policeman shot out that TV light. It really is a beaut.'
'Charming.'
'We're occupying the front coach going down,' Arbogast called out in his throaty voice. 'It's cost enough to get up here. Any shopping women who come aboard can use the rear coach.'
'In that case,' said Paula as Tweed caught up with them, 'I'm grabbing the front seat. Straub may be Vice-President but he can't hog the best seat every time.'
She dived into the front coach the moment the doors opened. As she did so Russell Straub came off the mountain. On the platform Ed Danvers stood, hands on his hips, not pleased. Tweed and Newman were close when Danvers voiced his complaint.
'Goddamnit, sir, I lost you in the mist. Couldn't see you anywhere.'
'Ed,' Straub gave his famous facing-the-audience smile, 'I had better remind you. The cabin boy doesn't hang on to the skipper's tail night and day. And someone's in my seat.'
'Choose another one,' Danvers snapped, apparently extremely annoyed.
With everyone aboard, the train started its slow descent. Paula was delighted to see beyond the driver's window an uninterrupted view of the spiralling line ahead as the train driver kept down its speed. Tweed had guided Newman into a seat with no one behind or in front of them. He quietly told him what had happened, the similarity between what he had been wearing and Paula's garb.
'Tell her,' Newman said firmly when Tweed had finished.
'I'm not so sure . . .'
'Tell her. She's become very tough. It's your duty to warn her.'
'I'm not sure. If you say so.'
'I do say so.'
As Tweed and Newman got out of the limo outside Le Montreux Palace a figure grabbed Tweed by the arm led him along the promenade away from the emerging crowd. Arthur Beck, Chief of Police.
'Heard where you'd gone. Waited for you to get back. We've searched Abraham Scale's room at the Eurotel. Inside a case we found this collection of cartridge papers. As you'll see they're perforated near the top.'
Tweed recognized the paper Scale had been working on as he had sat on the steps leading up to the ACTIL building in London. They had been leaving when Tweed had spotted Scale, had stopped to have a word with him. He told Beck about the incident. A dangerous place to indulge in such an activity.
He quoted Scale's words to Beck, said that Scale had explained his hobby was genealogy, the creation of family trees. Beck handed him the sheaf of cartridge papers for him to examine. Tweed held up the sheaf, looked closely at the top sheet. The sun was shining brilliantly even though it was a cold morning.
'I can see a complex diagram of straight lines,' he mused. 'Scale would have pressed hard to draw the diagram of the Arbogast family tree he was creating. But someone has torn off the top sheet which would have the names. You can see the rough edge. Pity we can't see the names.'
'I noticed that,' Beck agreed. 'The Arbogast family? So it looks as though a member of that family is involved. Abraham Seale is now in an ambulance, should soon reach Zurich for the autopsy. You tell me Seale used the word "dangerous". Now he is headless. He used the right word.'
'Yes, he did,' Tweed said, handing the sheaf back. 'And you might like to know that Blackjack Diamond is a cousin of the Arbogasts.'
Tweed went inside the hotel and straight up to Paula's suite. When he knocked on the door it was opened by Newman who winked at him. He was taking Tweed's order to guard Paula very seriously.
'I'm on my way,' Newman said and left.
Paula was standing in front of a mirror, brushing her hair. She gave him a big smile as she put down the brush and turned round. She gestured towards a chair but Tweed preferred to remain standing as he took off the overcoat from his shoulders.
'I have something to tell you that happened up at Rochers de Naye.'
'Oh, what was that?' she asked as she sat in a hard-backed chair.
He told her everything, starting with his searching for the brink of the precipice. She frowned, stood up as he completed his story. Her reaction took him completely off guard. She rushed at him.
'You bloody fool! Taking such a risk. Standing at the edge of that precipice! Why? Just because that's what you did years ago. A bloody repeat performance. I know your theory that it could have been me. But for God's sake, it could have been you After what happened to Foley, to Holgate. And now to Seale. You could now be a battered hunk of smashed bones six thousand feet down. How could you?'
She was thumping him on the chest with her clenched fist. Then she burst into tears, sobbing nonstop. He put his arms round her. She buried her head in his chest, sobbing her heart out. He stroked her hair, used soothing words. She had her hands round his neck. He had a large handkerchief ready when she suddenly recovered. She took it, mouthed, 'Thanks,' began wiping her eyes, her face.
Then she stood back, glanced in a wall mirror. She dabbed her face again with the handkerchief. She managed a smile. From a carafe he poured her a glass of water. She drank the lot. He refilled the glass and she sat down. She managed another smile, a more normal one.
'I wish you'd sit down,' she said. 'You're standing there like a sentry. I'll be back in a minute.'
She went into the bathroom to wash her face. Tweed sat down. He was upset because he had so upset her. He felt guilty. It had not been a good idea. But he'd had to tell her, to warn her. When she came back she was wearing a blouse and skirt.
'Those trousers were too hot in here,' she explained. 'I'd turned down the heating but it takes a while to work.' She went to the drinks cupboard, took out a balloon glass, poured brandy, took it to him. 'You look so miserable. Drink this. It will buck you up.'
She sat in an armchair close to him as he took a sip, then another one. She was right. She was always right. He began to feel better. Her voice was calm, normal, when she spoke.
'I'm so sorry I broke down. I've never done that before. Not like that anyway. I'm OK now. You were right to tell me I was the target. Absolutely right. I'm very grateful to you. We can always trust each other.'
'True.' He hoped his voice was normal. Talk about something else. 'Beck grabbed me as I got out of the car. On his way to Zurich now.'
He told her about what Beck had found at the Eurotel. She nodded as he explained in detail his conversation with the police chief. She crossed her very good legs, perched one elbow on them, placed a finger at the side of her face, not saying a word until he had finished.
'Maybe there'll be information from Monica at the police station in Zurich. You did ask Monica to leave a message with
Beck.'
'I know. I think the next thing we do is we all travel by train to Zurich.'
'I'd say that was the best idea.'
'Just remind me,' he suggested, 'how many people we know have travelled to America. We have heard a bit of that data here and there.'
He was so relieved they were talking normally again. He also realized how very fond of Paula he was. What surprised him was that the affection seemed to be reciprocated. She used her fingers to count off who had travelled to America.
'In no particular order, Marienetta, now and again. Sophie flies out more frequently. Roman has been there. Aboard the Gulfstream, the one they keep hidden away at Heathrow, I imagine. Black Jack darts off there, probably when the whim strikes him. You can visualize him lighting up New York - or Boston. We know Sam Snyder goes there. Poor Abraham Seale went there a lot on lecture tours. Russell Straub, of course, is over there most of the time. Now he's over here, has been for days. No one seems to know why.'
'And he evades his bodyguard, Ed Danvers, a lot. Why, I wonder?'
'No idea.' She frowned. 'Could Danvers travel back to the States every now and again?'
'No idea.'
'Did you know Broden, Roman's security chief, was on the mountain?'
'I most certainly didn't. Are you sure?'
'Certain. He travelled somewhere on the train wearing a heavy fur coat, a fur hat and huge dark glasses. He was the last one to come down. I saw him emerge from the mist. Recognized him because of the way he walked. Body language. That awful phrase.'
'Was he anywhere near Roman?'
'No. Broden came down a long time after Roman was near the station. So he wasn't acting as bodyguard to his boss. Just like Ed Danvers wasn't. Are we getting anywhere?'
'I'm waiting for a signal, maybe an observation, which will pinpoint someone. As we go along we learn more and more.'
'Well, no more murders, I hope.'
'Don't count on it.'
20
Zurich, the powerhouse of Switzerland. They would soon be landing. In Montreux Tweed had changed his mind about using the train, which involved changing expresses. Checking an air timetable he calculated they could be driven back to Geneva by hotel limos, have time for lunch at Cointrin Airport, then take an internal Swissair flight to Zurich. Marler was in the seat next to him while Paula and Newman occupied the seats behind them. At one stage aboard the plane she had tapped Tweed on the shoulder.
'Look out of the window. I thought I saw Rochers de Naye.'
'No, you wouldn't,' Tweed replied, staring out of his window.
To the south reared the majestic range of the highest mountains in Europe, the Bernese Oberland. Their crests were snow-tipped at high altitude. He saw the Jungfrau, pointed it out to Paula. The Bernese Oberland loomed like a giant mountain wall, which is what it was. The sun sparkled on the snow. Paula thought it one of the most awesome sights she had ever seen.
'Rochers de Naye,' Tweed explained over his shoulder, 'is a southern projection of that massive range. And in any case not high enough to be seen from here.'
'Thank God there wasn't snow on Rochers de Naye,' Paula said under her breath, thinking of Tweed perched on the edge.
They lost more and more height. As the machine canted to the left prior to landing he had a clear view of Kloten Airport. He leaned over Marler and stared. Paula gripped his shoulder, kept her voice down.
'What is it?'
'At an isolated spot near the outside of the airport I saw a big Gulfstream plane. It could be Arbogast's. If so, what is he doing here?'
'Will Beck have arrived yet?' she wondered.
'He will,' Marler replied. 'He took off in a chopper to get here. I saw something curious while you were way up on the mountain. A photograph taken by Newman's pal, Sam Snyder.'
'No pal of mine,' Newman growled from behind.
'You don't know how to handle Snyder,' Marler told him. 'With me Snyder knows I'll stand no nonsense, so he doesn't try it on.'
'What was the photograph?' Paula asked.
Marler took a stiffened envelope from his coat pocket, handed it back. Paula opened it, took out a cellophane envelope and the photograph inside it. She gazed at it in astonishment.
'Where was this taken? Looks like somewhere near the quai in Montreux.'
'It is. Let Tweed see it.'
Tweed took the photo, was if anything more taken aback than Paula had been. He studied the picture of the woman who was smiling grimly, as though she'd had the satisfaction of being proved right. The picture of Mrs Elena Brucan.
It was a colour print and she was wearing the same pale green overcoat, the same green fut hat that she had when she visited Tweed in his office at Park Crescent. Marler had been in the room at the time, he recalled.
'Why do you think Snyder took this picture?' Tweed wondered. 'I get the impression she was in a crowd, looking down at the body of Abraham Scale.'
'She was,' Marler confirmed. 'Snyder was struck by her unusual appearance, thought it made a good shot, which it does. He introduced himself and she said she was Elena Brucan. She said she was following a murderer. He thought she was batty. You all went back to the Montreux Palace and I brought up the rear. Ahead of me -I hadn't seen the photo then - and as you went to your rooms, I saw someone ahead of me, entering the hotel. Mrs Elena Brucan.'
'She was staying at the hotel then?' Tweed asked.
'No.'
'Marler,' Paula said impatiently, 'you're talking far more than you usually do. I get the feeling something else happened. Do get on with it.'
'Patience, my dear. I was curious. I lingered in the hall, pretended to be looking at a brochure. The receptionist was holding two air tickets. He called out to one of the staff to take these tickets from Geneva to Zurich to Mile Sophie Arbogast's room. If she wasn't in take them to M. Diamond's room. And it was very urgent.'
'So they were flying together to Zurich, just as they flew out here together,' said Tweed thoughtfully.
'There's more,' Marler continued. 'While this was going on Mrs Brucan was pretending to study a picture on the wall. She was actually eavesdropping. When the chap with the air tickets had gone she turned round, saw me. I went over to her and she recognized me, so I introduced myself, said maybe we could go for a walk. She was pleased, said she was on her way back to her hotel. It was the Eurotel.'
'Where Abraham Scale was staying,' Tweed recalled.
'Is there a connection?' Paula speculated.
'Time will tell.'
'Haven't finished yet,' Marler drawled. 'In the reception hall I offered her coffee. She pointed out where I should go, then hovered by reception. I left her, stayed just inside the entrance to the lounge. I heard her ask the receptionist to book her on the next flight from Geneva to Zurich. She then dashed up to her room, ditching me.'
'She was in a rush to pack and get to Geneva,' Paula said.
'I'm sure she was,' Marler agreed.
'Food for deep thought,' Tweed mused. 'She was following a murderer. Her exact words to Snyder.'
'So,' Newman decided, 'it looks to be either Sophie or Black Jack.'
'Maybe yes. Maybe no,' Tweed replied. 'Perhaps she was tracking the Arbogast clan.'
The plane touched down, an exceptionally smooth landing. As they waited for the lights Butler and Nield, who had sat well behind them, came up the aisle. Tweed looked up at them, spoke in a clear whisper.
'First, we get cabs from the airport straight to Beck at his police headquarters here. After that, on to the Baur au Lac - I booked rooms for all of us before we left Montreux.'
Paula loved Zurich. She gazed out of the window as they were driven into the ancient city, across the bridge over the River Limmat which divided the city. Large modern blue one-decker trams trundled past, traffic sped when it could.
Nield and Butler preferred to wait outside the large stone building which is police headquarters. Beck was waiting for them in his usual office with its windows looking out across the river to t
he massive University building on the opposite bank.
'Welcome,' he said with a warm smile and again hugged Paula. 'My favourite Englishwoman. Anna,' he said to a uniformed girl, 'coffee for everyone. Cream for Robert Newman here.'
'I left Nield and Butler outside,' Tweed remarked.
'I'll see them afterwards,' Anna responded, smiling seductively at Tweed.
'Anna likes you,' Beck said when she had gone. 'I think she is after you. Now to work. Sit down, please. Saafeld has reacted quickly. A courier arrived from him this morning.' He handed a thick envelope to Tweed. 'Addressed to you. Feels as though it's stuffed with films and photos.'
Beck had a new table. Oblong and large, its surface was covered with a sheet of glass hinged in the middle. The edges were rounded so no one could get hurt. As Tweed carefully opened the well-wrapped package, Beck, seated, tapped the table top with the palm of one hand.
'This cost a fortune. I can lift half of it and place it on the other half. Easy to place material under the glass. The accountant in Berne nearly went mad when he had the invoice. I should care.'
Tweed had extracted latex gloves from his pocket, put them on before he took out films and photos. Saafeld had sent films and photos not only of Adam Holgate - he had also included the material sent to him by his medical examiner friend in Boston, the films and photos of Hank Foley, late caretaker at the asylum in Pinedale. Beck added photos, X-rays from Zeitzler's autopsy.
