it?'
`No. Not until you tell me what you want me to do – and maybe not then.'
`I need someone I can fully trust who has access to the Berne Clinic. I have no reason to go there myself – and I don't want to tip my hand. I have not a shred of evidence – even in the case of Hannah Stuart. Only the gravest suspicions. I need to know exactly what is going on inside that place…'
`I would have thought it was the chemical works at Horgen you needed to investigate. Especially in view of this story about tracing this Seidler…'
`Hannah Stuart died at Thun,' Beck replied sombrely. `Now, that envelope…'
`I work on my own or not at all. I'll keep the envelope for the moment…'
`I have to warn you you are up against men with unlimited power. One more thing. I have found out that the Gold Club people have secretly allocated the enormous sum of two hundred million Swiss francs for Terminal.' He held up a hand. 'Don't ask me how I discovered that fact, but the Americans are not the only ones who go in for what they call creative book-keeping.'
`Who controls that money?' Newman asked.
`Professor Armand Grange. Every franc of it…'
`And Grange is also a part-time member of the Swiss Army – another of those officers you mentioned?'
`At one time, yes. Not any more. You must take great care, Bob. I know you are a lone wolf, but on this one you may need help.'
`Is there anyone powerful enough, any individual, who can stand up to Grange and his fellow-bankers?'
`Only one man I know of. Dr Max Nagel, the Basle banker. He is also on the board of the Bank for International Settlements, so he has world-wide connections. Nagel is the main opponent of the Gold Club…'
`This Manfred Seidler – you are really looking for him?'
`I am trying to find him before the counter-espionage lot get to him. All the cantonal police forces have been alerted. I think that man could be in great danger…'
`From counter-espionage?' There was incredulity in New- man's tone. 'You really mean that?'
`I didn't say exactly that aloud…'
`And this Englishman, Mason, who is checking on Grange. Where does he come in?'
`Frankly I have no idea who he is working for. I am not sure yet who is working for who. But I also believe Mason could be at risk. Remember, we have lost track of Lee Foley, and he is a killer. Never forget, you are walking in a minefield…'
It was nine o'clock at night when Newman reached the luggage locker section at the Bahnhof. He had walked through the silent city from, the Taubenhalde, doubling back through the network of arcades until he was certain no one was following him As-he had guessed, the key from Nagy's envelope fitted the numbered locker which corresponded to the number engraved on the key.
Unlocking the compartment, he stooped to see what was inside. Another envelope. Again addressed to himself at the Bellevue Palace in the scrawly hand-writing which was becoming familiar. Pocketing the envelope, he walked to the station self-service buffet. He was thirsty and famished.
He chose a corner table in the large eating place and sat with his back to the wall. As he devoured the two rolls and swallowed coffee, he watched the passengers who came in through the entrance. No one took any notice of him He took out the envelope and opened it.
M. Newman. I don't know I can last much longer. The first two photos I took outside the Bahnhof. Chief Inspector Tripet (Geneva) told me follow you. That was when I came off the Zurich train. I was beat up inside a lavatory on the train. The thug gave me money and told me follow you. The phone number on the bit of paper you took off me in the alley is the number I had to call to tell them what you was doing. The car number was a Mercedes waiting outside the Bahnhof. The man I think is the thug's boss got into the car. That's the first two photos. The third photo is the same man who got into the Mercedes. I saw him back here in Berne just before dark. Don't know the man he's talking to. I saw the first man by chance near the Bellevue Palace. Which is why I took the photo. These are very tough people M. Newman
He felt slightly sick. He had a vivid memory flash of Julius Nagy being pinned against the wooden door by Foley's walking stick. The reaction was swiftly replaced by an emotion of cold fury. He sat working out what must have been the sequence of events after Nagy had walked away down the Finstergasschen.
The little man must have caught a tram – maybe even splashed out on a cab fare-to the Bahnhof. Quite possibly he had scribbled his message – Newman had had difficulty deciphering some of the words – in this very buffet. He must have then hurried to the luggage lockers, slipped the envelope inside, put the key into the second envelope with the shorter note also scribbled in the buffet – or wherever – and shoved it inside his coat pocket. The mystery was why Nagy had then hurried back to the Munstergasse.
Newman calculated the little man could have carried out these actions by 6.30 pm if he had hustled. By the time he arrived back at the Munstergasse someone had been waiting for him. Who lived in that district? The only person he could think of was Blanche Signer-which reminded him it might be worthwhile calling her.
He was inside one of the station phone booths when it occurred to him maybe he should first call Nancy. He dialled the Bellevue Palace with a certain reluctance. He had to wait several minutes before they located her. It was not a pleasant conversation.
`It's a bloody good job I didn't wait for you for dinner,' she greeted him. 'Where are you, for Christ's sake?'
`In a phone booth..
`I suppose you expect me to believe that…'
`Nancy…' His tone changed. `… I came to Berne to help you find out what was happening to Jesse. The whole evening has been spent with that very objective. I have not enjoyed it overmuch.'
`Well, that makes two of us. I waited so long for dinner I was beyond enjoying it when I eventually decided I'd better eat something. May I expect to see you sometime tonight? Or will your investigations keep you out till morning?'
`Expect me when you see me…'
He put down the phone and dialled Blanche's number. She answered almost at once. When she heard his voice she sounded excited.
`Bob! I'm so glad you phoned – I've got those photos for you. My friend stayed late to develop and print them. Considering the poor light they've come out very well. All three of them. Are you coming over?'
`I'll be there in ten minutes…'
On his second visit to the apartment in the Junkerngasse she showed him straight into the sitting room, a small, comfortably-furnished place lit only by table lamps. On a low table by a large sofa two glasses stood on place mats.
Blanche was dressed in a pleated skirt and a black cashmere sweater which showed her figure without making her look tarty. It had a cowl neck, which she knew he liked. Her long mane of titian hair glistened in the half-light.
`I may have traced Manfred Seidler,' she announced, tut more of that later. Have you eaten? I'll get the Montrachet from the fridge…'
`No food, thank you. I can't stay long…'
She vanished into the kitchen. Newman wandered over to look at a silver-framed photograph of a serious- faced officer. in Swiss Army uniform. He was staring at it when she returned and filled their glasses from an opened bottle.
`Your stepfather?'
`Yes. I hardly ever see him. We're simply not on the same waveband. Cheers!'
She sat alongside him on the sofa, crossing her long shapely legs encased in sheer black nylon. Clasped under one arm was a large, cardboard-backed envelope she tucked between herself and a cushion. Newman reflected that this was only the second time in the whole ferocious day he had felt relaxed. On the first occasion they had been in another room in this same apartment.
`Manfred Seidler may be in Basle,' she said, putting down her glass on the table. 'I've been on the phone almost the whole time since you left – except for rushing out to get the photos. I'd almost given up when I phoned a girl friend in Basle who is in banking. There's a girl called Erika Stahel who works in the same bank. Erika has let drop occasional rueful hints that she only sees her boy friend, Manfred, when he's in town, which isn't often. This
