doesn't want to come into the restaurant.'
Will you excuse me, Diana? I shouldn't be a minute.' `Don't worry.' She waved her cigarette holder. 'I'll hold the main course for you.'
Tweed was puzzled. It was too early for Newman – and he'd have come straight into the restaurant. He walked out into the narrow lobby. A short stocky figure smoking a cigar stood near the exit. Kuhlmann. The man from Wiesbaden gestured towards the street.
`Let's take a short walk. They say walls have ears – although I've never seen walls growing them.'
`It had better be short. I'm in the middle of dinner.' Kuhlmann led the way in silence past the diners at the tables on the pavement. Inside Harry Butler stood up, told the waiter he'd be back in a minute, saw Diana sitting by herself, changed his mind and sat down again.
'How did you know I was here?' Tweed asked.
`The manager phoned me. Don't blame him. I guessed it would be the Jensen when you came back. I leaned on him. No sign of Kurt Franck. Vanished off the face of the earth for about two weeks. Now you're back I've put out a fresh general alert.'
'Thank you. And Dr Berlin?'
`Still gone missing. You're not saying now you're back he's going to reappear?' Kuhlmann suggested.
'I'm saying just that. Not yet, perhaps. But soon, yes.'
'You wouldn't care to enlarge on that?' Kuhlmann suggested. 'No, I wouldn't. Any more of those ghastly murders?'
'No.' Kuhlmann stopped on a deserted section of the pavement to relight his cigar. 'You go absent. Franck goes absent. Dr Berlin goes absent. The murders stop.'
'You wouldn't care to enlarge on that?' Tweed enquired.
'Just a policeman's observation. If you need me, I'm at the local police station. Possehl-strasse 4. 'I'11 write it down for you.' He did so on a small notepad, tore off the sheet, gave it to Tweed. 'If I'm not there, try headquarters at Lubeck-Sud.'
'I may need use of a safe phone again…'
'Use Lubeck-Sud – as before. Always available.'
'And now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to my meal.' 'Just thought I'd let you know I was around.' Kuhlmann paused as they turned back. 'I just made a bet with myself.' 'And what was that?'
'Now you're back peace ends. I'm expecting everything to detonate any time. Enjoy your meal.'
Munzel closed the door of his bedroom at the International, turned the bolt. Taking a bunch of keys from his pocket, he unlocked a small metal box which he extracted from his back-pack. The inside was lined with suede, divided up into small compartments holding various plastic containers. He took out a plastic tube holding yellow capsules.
Holding the small tube in one hand he flicked off the top, tilted the tube, allowed one capsule to fall into the palm of his hand, recapped the tube. Child's play. He put the capsule back inside the tube. Mescaline. A hallucinogenic. One capsule and you were way out in space.
Leaving the hotel, he caught a cab from outside the station back to the Jensen. He sat down opposite Lydia shortly after Tweed had returned to his own table.
`This white wine is glorious,' Diana greeted him. `Won't you join me?'
`I feel like something to pep me up. I wonder if I could get it here.' Tweed called over their waiter. `I'd like a drink, a Margharita.'
`I've never heard of it, sir.'
`It's a mixture of tequila and fruit juice. At least ask the barman. I'll write it down for you.' He wrote on a sheet in his notebook, tore it out, handed it to the waiter.
`That will pep you up.' Diana gave him a certain look, her eyes half-closed. 'This could turn into an interesting evening.' She drank some more wine. 'And I'm getting tiddly. Darling,' she continued, 'you look a bit faraway.'
`I didn't expect to meet that chap who called to see me – at least not so soon. Doesn't matter, he's gone now.'
Tut look what's coming.'
`Your Margharita, sir,' the waiter said. 'We have a new barman. From Italy. He knew the drink immediately. Enjoy yourselves. The main course will be a little longer..
`Take your time,' said Tweed.
`And it's a proper Margharita,' Diana said, peering at his drink. 'It has salt round the rim of your glass.'
Tweed sipped, then took a larger gulp. He set down the glass and beamed, nodding his head with satisfaction. `You may have to help me up to bed.'
`That I would enjoy.'
Across the room Munzel talked to Lydia and watched Tweed's table. He had observed the arrival of the drink. People, their meal finished, were leaving. Other guests, waiting at the entrance, were filling up the tables again. There was a lot of movement. He leaned forward and whispered to Lydia.
`See that chap the other side of the room, the one with a blonde?'
`The one wearing glasses?'
'Yes. I want to play a trick on him. He once beat me to a business deal. He boasts he's never been drunk.'
'Sounds a stuffy type…'
Lydia was merry but still in control of her faculties. She drank just a little more as Munzel went on explaining.
'He is. This is what I want you to do. For a joke.' Under the table he took the plastic tube from his pocket, levered off the top, tipped one capsule into his hand, replaced the top. 'Don't let anyone see this. Hold out your hand when I tell you to. I'll drop a capsule into it. Pretend that we're clasping hands, but don't squeeze it.'
'What's in this capsule?'
'Something harmless – but he'll be rolling like a ship in a storm. You leave the table, pretend you're going to the toilet. As you pass his table you'll have to create a diversion, then drop this in his drink..
'No more instructions,' Lydia broke in. 'I've served behind a bar – as part of my hotel training. This will be fun. I'm ready.'
She reached her hand across the table, turned her palm upwards and he grasped her fingers lightly. She withdrew her hand, holding the capsule, stood up and moved slowly among a crowd of new arrivals. Alongside Tweed's table, she stumbled, put out a hand to save herself and knocked over Diana's half-full glass of wine.
'I'm terribly sorry,' she said in German. She swayed, put out her hand towards the toppled glass. Tweed looked up at Lydia. Her hand passed over his Margharita, dropped the capsule, picked up Diana's glass, mumbling apologies. The wine stained the cloth but missed spilling over on to her dress.
Lydia straightened herself with difficulty, walked on slowly towards the exit, apparently unsteady on her feet. A waiter rushed forward with a napkin, mopping at the cloth.
'Clumsy tart,' said Diana. 'She doesn't know when she's had enough.'
'Nothing on your dress?' Tweed queried. 'Good. You do look absolutely stunning.'
'Thank you, kind sir.'
She glowed with pleasure as the waiter refilled her glass, as Tweed gazed at her. She wore a black velvet evening dress with narrow shoulder straps. In the soft light from the wall lamps her beautifully-shaped shoulders showed to full advantage. She was also wearing jet drop earrings, her lipstick was a pale red, her nail varnish a pale pink. Very nineteen-thirties. Tweed lifted his glass, took several deep sips of the Margharita.
`And I've trimmed my nails,' she said, extending one hand.
`Why?'
`Because I'm learning to type, silly. You can't type with talons. I'm getting pretty good at it. And I've just about mastered shorthand – in English and German. That came easy. The typing's rather a bore. So mechanical…'
Across the room Munzel had summoned the waiter, handed him a one hundred-deutschmark note. 'I may have to leave suddenly – an urgent appointment. That will more than cover the meal.'
`There will be a lot of change, sir…'
