`It was for your own protection. That's God's truth. Don't ask me any more – knowledge can kill you when such ruthless and powerful forces are involved. Whatever happens, say nothing to Nagel, your boss…'
`I wouldn't dream of it. Can't you go to the police?' she asked for the third time, then desisted as she caught his look of fear, near-desperation. She saw the time by his watch and eased herself off his lap. 'I simply have to go, Manfred. My job…'
`Don't forget to deposit that case. In your own name.. `Only if you sign this card. I collected it yesterday. No argument, Manfred – or I won't take the case…'
`What is it?'
`A deposit receipt for a safety box. We both have to be able to get access to it. Those are the only terms on which I'll take that case.'
He sighed, signed it with his illegible but distinctive signature and gave back the card. When she had left the apartment he sat there for some time, amazed at his action. A year ago he'd have laughed in the face of anyone who told him that one day he would entrust half a million francs to a young girl. The nice thing was he felt quite contented now he had taken the plunge.
The real effort, he knew, would be to phone Newman.
They were waiting for him when Newman followed Nancy out of the Pavillon. Two men in plain clothes seated in the reception hall who stood up and walked straight over to him. A tall man with a long face, a shorter man, chubby and amiable.
`M. Newman?' the tall man enquired. 'Could you please accompany us.' It was a statement not a question. 'We are police officers…'
`Nancy, go up to our room while I sort this out,' Newman said briskly. He stared at the tall man. 'Accompany you where – and why?'
`To police headquarters…'
`Address,' Newman snapped.
`Twenty-four Boulevard Carl-Vogt…'
`Show me some identification, for Christ's sake.'
`Certainly, sir.' Ostrich, as Newman had already nicknamed the tall one, produced a folder which Newman examined carefully before handing it back. As far as he could tell it was kosher.
`You've told me where – now tell me why…'
`That will be explained by someone at headquarters.. Ostrich became a little less formal. 'Frankly, sir, I don't know the answer to that question. No, a coat isn't necessary. We have a heated car outside…'
`I'm going up to my room. I have to tell my wife where I'm going…'
He found Nancy waiting at the elevator, making no attempt to get inside. With his back to the two men, who had followed him to where they could watch from the end of the corridor, he took out his scratch pad, wrote down the address of police headquarters, and gave it to her.
`If I'm not back in an hour, call this number and set Geneva alight. That number under the address is the registration of the car they've got parked outside.'
`What is it all about, Bob? Are you worried? I am.. `Don't be. And no, I'm not worried. I'm blazing mad. I'll tear somebody's guts out for this…'
Hidden inside the alcove of the doorway, Julius Nagy watched as Newman climbed inside the back of the waiting car with one of the men while the shorter man took the wheel. He hurried to a waiting cab and climbed inside.
`That black Saab,' he told the driver. 'I want to know where they're taking my friend…'
Newman thought Chief Inspector Leon Tripet, as he introduced himself, was young for the job. He sat down as requested, lit a cigarette without asking permission, and looked round the room, his manner expressing a mixture of irritation and impatience. He carefully said nothing.
Tripet's second-floor office, overlooking the Boulevard Carl-Vogt, was the usual dreary rabbit hutch. Walls painted a pale green, illuminated by a harsh overhead neon rectangular tube. Very homely.
'I must apologize for any inconvenience we may be causing you,' Tripet began, sitting very erect in his chair. 'But it is a very serious matter we are concerned with…'
'You are concerned with. Not me,' Newman said aggressively.
'We all admired your handling of the Kruger case. I have met German colleagues who are full of praise for the way you trapped Kruger and exposed his links with the DDR…'
'You mean Soviet-occupied East Germany,' Newman commented. 'Also known as The Zone. What has this to do with my summons here?'
'Coffee, Mr Newman?' Tripet looked at the girl who had come in with a tray of cardboard cups. 'How do you like it?'
'I don't – not out of a cardboard cup. I can get that at British Rail buffets, which I don't patronize.'
'I read your book,' Tripet continued after dismissing the girl who left him one of the cardboard cups. 'One thing which really fascinated me was the way you were able to tap in to the terminal keyboard.
He paused to drink some coffee and Newman had the oddest feeling Tripet was watching him with all his concentration for some reaction. Reaction to what? He remained silent.
'I refer to the keyboard at Dusseldorf where the Germans house their giant computer which has so helped them track down hostile agents. You have come to Switzerland on holiday, Mr Newman?' he added casually.
Newman stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette in the clean ashtray, watching Tripet with a bleak look as he did so. He stood up, walked over to the window behind the Swiss policeman and stared down into the street. Tripet asked was there something wrong?
Newman didn't reply. He continued staring down, being careful not to disturb the heavy net curtain. Julius Nagy was standing in the entrance to the building opposite which Newman had observed when he had arrived. Biblioteque Municipale. Public Library.
`Tripet,' he said, 'could you join me for a moment, please?' `Something is bothering you,' Tripet commented as he stood beside the Englishman.
`That man in the doorway over there. Julius Nagy. He's been following me since we arrived at Cointrin. A friend of yours?'
'I'll have him checked out,' Tripet said promptly and headed for the door out of his office. 'Give me a minute…'
`There's a phone on your desk,' Newman pointed out.
But Tripet was gone, closing the door behind him. Newman lit a fresh cigarette and waited while the comedy was played out. Within a short time he saw two policemen in their pale grey uniforms, automatic pistols sheathed in holsters on their right hips, walk briskly across the road.
There appeared to be a brief altercation, Nagy protesting as the policemen each took an arm and escorted him across the road out of sight into the building below. Newman grinned to himself and was seated in his chair when Tripet returned.
`We are questioning him,' he informed Newman. 'I have told them to concentrate on learning the identity of his employer.'
`Who do you think you're fooling?'
`Pardon?'
`Look here,' Newman rasped, leaning across the desk, 'this charade has gone on long enough…'
`Charade?'
`Charade, Tripet! There was a time not long ago when I was welcome in Switzerland. I helped over a certain matter which has not a damn thing to do with you. Ever since I came in this time I've been watched and harassed…'
`Harassed, Mr Newman?'
`Kindly listen and don't interrupt! I said harassed – and I meant harassed. You drag me over here for a meaningless conversation. You send two of your menials to pick me up publicly at the Hotel des Bergues like a common criminal. You don't even have the decency to phone me first…'
`We were not sure you would come…'
Newman rode over him 'Don't interrupt, I said! Then you pretend you don't know Nagy. You go out of the room to give an order instead of using the phone in front of you – so I won't hear the order you give. 'Bring in Nagy.
