`The rendezvous is 11.5o; she reminded him.
`So I arrive five minutes early and wait to see who does come into that room. Warner could have been followed.'
'He was always extremely careful,' she observed.
`He is now extremely dead…'
In Munich the wide avenue of Maximilianstrasse leads straight as a ruler from Max-Joseph-Platz to the Bavarian state Parliament on an eminence overlooking the river Isar. To reach the east bank it passes over two bridges as it crosses a large island. The body was found trapped on the brink of one of the giant sluices below the first bridge.
It was discovered about two hours before Martel sat down to fortify himself at the Metropol in St. Gallen with a considerable breakfast. A lawyer on his way to work glanced over the parapet as he crossed the bridge. In the river a series of giant steps like four great weirs carried the swift flow of the water. At each step there is a series of square cement pillars at intervals. The corpse was folded round one of these pillars, snagged by chance.
The Kriminalpolizei arrived with a doctor to supervise retrieval of their evidence when a frogman had reported the man had been shot in the head. A preliminary examination was carried out inside an ambulance by the riverside. Chief- Inspector Kruger looked at the doctor after a few minutes.
'Surely you can tell me something? I have a pile of work on my desk a mile high and my wife is beginning to ask questions about my secretary when I arrive home.'
'Get a less attractive secretary,' the doctor suggested. 'Shot three times in the head. Powder burns visible. Likely time of death – but don't hold me to it – within past twelve hours. And no signs of rope abrasions on the wrists so they didn't tie him up to murder him. ,
'I can at least check through his clothes for identification? That really is most kind of you, Doctor.'
Kruger searched quickly with expert fingers while his deputy, Weil, carefully said nothing. He could tell from his chiefs expression that he was not pleased. He completed the search without producing one single item from the waterlogged body's pockets.
'No means of identification,' Kruger announced. 'That's just what I need. I can see what kind of a day this is going to be…' 'His watch,' replied Weil.
He lifted the corpse's left arm which seemed to weigh a ton and unstrapped the watch which had stopped at 0200 hours. He showed Kruger the back plate of the watch which was made of steel and had a single word engraved on it.
'One hell of a lot of help,' commented Kruger.
The word engraved in the plate was Stahl.
On their way to the Embroidery Museum Martel and Claire walked arm in arm. It was Martel who had made the suggestion. 'A couple is far less conspicuous,' he commented.
'If you say so…
He bridled. 'Use your head. Two groups may be hunting for us. Delta for me – so they will search for a single, man. Arnold's mob for you – so they'll look for a single girl…'
'Logical, I suppose,' she said indifferently.
'And never let emotion cloud your judgement. I make it 11.30, fifteen minutes before I have to be inside that museum. That wallplate says Vadianstrasse
`The Embroidery Museum is at the far end on the left-hand side – and I've decided, I'm coming with you…'
'Not inside the place. I'll find somewhere nearby to park you.'
'I'm not a bloody car!' she flared up. She played her part well, hugging his arm and staring up at him with lover's eyes as she hissed the words. 'You're expecting trouble – you brought a silencer for your Colt.'
'I told you – nothing so far has been what it seemed and I have an idea the trend will continue.'
During their walk Martel had observed that St. Gallen was located inside a deep notch or gulch. Hemmed in on two sides by vertical hill-slopes, the shopping area had been built on the floor of the gorge. Stepped up on the hillsides, one above another, were large solid-looking villas erected in the previous century. -
The weather was again clammy with a heavy overcast and there was a hint of a storm in the air. Martel walked more slowly as they came closer to the entrance, his eyes scanning the area for signs of danger. He stopped again to look in a shop window but no one followed his example. On the surface the area was clean – only women shoppers, smartly dressed, strolling along the street.
'The police station isn't near, is it?' he murmured.
'As a matter of fact it is. Stadtpolizei is at Neugasse 5 – the first turning off to the left from that street over there…'
`Great! How far away on foot – walking fast? The Swiss police can walk fast.'
`Less than five minutes – two if they use a car. Why?'
`I like to know where all the pieces on the board are – in case of emergency.'
They had left the shop and walked the full length of the building containing the museum. Claire pointed to where the Old Town started while Martel searched for a convenient cafe to leave her. They should have allowed more time.
`Looking for somewhere to park the car?' she enquired. `Well I've found the ideal place – and I can watch the entrance to the museum without anyone seeing me…'
She was pointing across the wide street to an orange booth with a black curtain pulled back revealing a metal stool. In large letters over the booth were the words PRONTOPHOT PASSFOTOS.
`I'd better grab the seat before someone else decides they want a passport picture,' she said. `Good luck. Don't forget to collect me on your way out. I don't want to sit there all day taking my picture – the results are lousy…'
Martel took one final look-round. He couldn't rid himself of the feeling something was wrong about the atmosphere. Shrugging his shoulders, he crossed Vadianstrasse, opened the door and went inside.
It was exactly as Claire had described: a wide flight of steps leading up into a large entrance hall. At a ticket window he paid a woman two francs fifty for a ticket like the one he had in his pocket, the one Warner had purchased. While buying it he held a handkerchief over his face and blew his nose incessantly. The woman behind the window would never be able to identify him later.
A notice indicated that the museum was on the first floor. He climbed two longer flights of steps. There was no one else about, the atmosphere was hushed. He could see why Warner had chosen this place and this time for meeting his Delta contact. On the wall outside the front entrance a plate had given the opening hours. 10.00 – 12.00 and 14.00 – 17.00. When the place closed at midday who else would arrive at 11.50?
To his left along the wide landing were a pair of double doors leading to the library. Very quietly, his soft- soled shoes making no noise, he walked to the library and tried the door. It was locked. He crossed back over the landing quickly and tried the Embroidery Museum door. It gave way under his pressure. He stepped inside, closed it and scanned the silent room.
The exhibits were in glass cases standing in various positions in a large room with windows overlooking Vadianstrasse. Before he was convinced the place was empty he checked several alcoves. Then he extracted the Colt from his shoulder holster and screwed on the silencer. His watch registered precisely 11.50 when he saw the handle of the door turning slowly.
He watched, fascinated, the Colt held behind his back, as the turning handle completed its revolution and then remained in that position without the door opening. It was a good ten seconds before the door began moving slowly inwards. Martel stepped back out of sight.
Because his hearing was acute he heard the slight click – the release of the door-handle after closing. He controlled his breathing. The silence in the museum room was so complete the patter of a mouse across the wood-block floor would have been heard.
Soon the new arrival, Stahl, would come into view. Was he checking to make sure he was alone? Or did he – as Martel would have done in his place – sense a presence in that silent archive of the ages, the repository of craftwork by people who had died centuries earlier…?
It was a man in a light overcoat and smart trilby. Very like a businessman. Like the men who had flooded out of the Rolls and the Mercedes in Bahnhofstrasse. Under the hat a bleak white bony face. In his lapel a silver triangular badge, the symbol of Delta.
