died? Gaunt gave a perfectly horrific description, but he's not known for his subtlety; He thinks finesse is a French pastry. Do smoke if you want to, Mr Newman. I saw your hand reaching towards your pocket. May I call you Bob?'
'Please do.'
Paula had taken an instant dislike to Eve Amberg at first sight. Now she was changing her mind about her: she was only human after all, had shown genuine distress at the manner of her husband's death. Newman reached down for a crystal glass ashtray on the lower shelf of a small table.
Inside it was a crushed cigar stub. Gaunt must have spent some time with Eve to have smoked a whole cigar. Which reminded him of the cigar ash sample which Paula and Tweed had left at police headquarters for analysis – the sample Tweed had collected off the window-ledge in the no-name house at Rock in Cornwall. Eve jumped up, brought him another ashtray.
'That one is messy.'
She returned to her place on the couch beside Tweed. She was smoking her own cigarette in a long ivory holder and waved it to make a point. Her other hand clasped Tweed's and squeezed it.
'It really was very sweet of you to come here to tell me about Julius's tragic death. It just happened Gregory Gaunt got here first. I'm grateful to you. Now I am wondering whether po-faced Walter knows. Hardly ever see him but I'll have to call him.'
'I've saved you the trouble,' Tweed informed her. 'We visited him at the Zurcher Kredit…'
'Ah! And rather than come to see me himself he agreed you should perform the horrid task. Typical of him. But Walter and I are practically strangers.'
You catch on quick, Paula thought. You have got all your marbles. Julius was a fool to play around with other women. They chatted for a little longer, then Tweed said they must go. Eve accompanied them to the door, her arm looped through Newman's.
'Please do come and see me again before you leave Zurich. Promise.' She looked at Paula. 'That invitation does include you, Paula. I'm sorry that I haven't paid you the attention a perfect hostess should have done.'
'Think nothing of it,' Paula assured her. This really is the most difficult time for you.'
The maid said you came by taxi,' Eve recalled suddenly. There aren't any as high up as this. I'll phone for one. Be here in no time
…'
As the taxi was driving them away from the villa Tweed glanced back through the rear window. The BMW was still parked further up the hill and there were two people inside. He had told the cab driver to drop them on the Limmat quay, close to the Rudolf bridge.
The sun was still shining out of a clear blue sky as he led the way across the Rudolf-Brun-Brucke. Looking back to the Altstadt – the Old Town on that side of the river – Paula drank in the ancient stone buildings, the green spires of churches which had once been gleaming copper. Butler's black Mercedes was just turning on to the bridge.
'We're going first to police headquarters again,' Tweed told them. 'Let's hope Beck is in this time.'
'Talk of the devil,' Paula said a? they turned right up a steep incline. 'There is Philip – staring at police headquarters.'
'You must be psychic,' Tweed told Cardon as he joined them. 'Where have you been?'
'Exploring Zurich, sniffing the atmosphere. You might be interested that the city is crawling with Americans who appear to be drifting round to no purpose. I stress the word 'appear'. All of them men and all carrying handguns. In this weather in a tight overcoat – topcoat as they call it – a holster is a giveaway.'
'Significant,' Tweed commented, and left it at that.
Arthur Beck, whose Federal HQ was in Berne, had an office in the solid four-storey building which is Zurich Police HQ. His large first-floor room overlooked the Limmat and the university perched high up on the opposite bank. He greeted Tweed and his three companions gravely and smiled briefly at Newman.
Paula sensed Beck's change of mood as he squeezed her arm, escorted her to a chair at a table. Cardon sat beside her. Newman and Tweed were seated as Beck took his place at the head of the table. The atmosphere was tense. Beck unlocked a drawer, took out a certificate signed by himself, a Walther with ammo, pushed everything across to Cardon including a hip holster.
'I fear you are all in great danger,' Beck began. 'And I have to warn you I cannot guarantee your protection. You have been followed by armed men since you left the Gotthard this morning. Your unknown adversary appears to be employing American gunmen – many dressed in Swiss clothes. They work in teams which alternate frequently. Only a very smart detective observed that you were followed again when you left the Zurcher Kredit Bank. I was informed because my people carry walkie-talkies. I took action.'
'What was that?' Tweed asked quietly.
'When you took a taxi to somewhere across the Limmat a car attempted to tail you. One of my patrol cars blocked this car. You had disappeared by the time the car was free to proceed.'
'Thank you for that,' Tweed said.
'Even so, I cannot guarantee your protection,' Beck repeated. 'The situation is exceptional.'
'Exceptional in what way?' Tweed enquired. Lord, he thought, are we back to square one? Is it possible that this huge organization we are up against can reach out and taint the Chief of Swiss Federal Police? Beck's next words in response to his question told him how wrong he had been to doubt the Swiss.
'No fewer than forty more Americans – all carrying diplomatic passports – have arrived via Kloten. I do not have the manpower to track them – bearing in mind those who arrived earlier.'
'If they are carrying guns…' Paula began.
'I understand your thinking. But they have diplomatic immunity. We cannot arrest or search any of them. It is against international law.'
'You are powerless,'Tweed commented.
There is a further difficulty. Last night in Munich an American diplomat was shot down, murdered. A woman got in the way of the assassin who shouted and threatened her with his gun. She reported that the killer spoke with a strong American accent before he escaped. So for the moment all American so-called diplomats in Europe have an added excuse for carrying a gun.'
'You're suggesting the Munich diplomat was murdered to provide this excuse?' Newman asked.
'I think these are very ruthless people we are dealing with. Yes, that is what I was suggesting. It conjures up nightmares, does it not?'
There was a heavy silence after Beck's words. Paula sat stunned. Newman looked thoughtful. Cardon, after checking the Walther, slid it inside the hip holster he had strapped on. He looked at Tweed and grinned, quite at ease with the situation.
'This calls for a Swiss protest to Washington,' Tweed said eventually. 'All these pseudo-diplomats flooding in.'
'Which is exactly what I have done,' Beck said in a very different tone. 'You think I remain passive regarding this invasion of our territory? I have already phoned Anderson, the American ambassador in Berne. You would like to guess what he said to me?'
'No. What did he say?'
'The same old phoney story as when I contacted him last time. The March administration is recalling diplomats from all over Europe. These men are supposed to be the replacements. Anderson, a friend of mine, sounded most embarrassed. He has already protested to Washington.'
'So that road is closed. But it tells me something.'
'But I am a fox.' Beck smiled at Paula. Today I fly to Berne to confront Anderson with evidence. I shall be taking with me one of the new arrivals' so-called diplomatic passports. My experts tell me it is forged.'
'I'd better not ask you how you got hold of the passport,' Tweed remarked.
'Oh, he dropped it in the street after leaving the Hotel Baur-en-Ville. By chance one of my men picked it up when the owner had disappeared.'
Newman grinned and Tweed smiled. They had guessed that Beck's man who was there 'by chance' had
