normally would have seemed over-ornate, but instead the effect was welcoming. Curtains drawn over the window protected the room from the outside world.
It was illuminated by soft pink wall-sconce lampshades. The deep-pile carpet was off-white and against one wall stood a vast couch – large enough to take two reclining people. Comfortable armchairs were scattered about the carpet and an antique desk occupied one corner near the curtains. A huge wall mirror faced the couch.
Presumably some men liked to watch what they were doing while others didn't – a long brass rod ran full length along the top of the mirror flanked by pink curtains, held in place with tie-backs. A silver champagne bucket perched on a metal tripod stood at one end of the couch.
Helen Frey walked slowly over to the couch, sat down, waved her hand towards the chairs.
'Well, make yourselves at home, everyone. And tell me what this is all about. You're sure Julius is dead? He was my most profitable client.'
'Oh, he's very dead, I assure you,' Tweed said with rare brutality. 'I myself saw his blood-soaked body. A machine-gun makes an awful mess fired at point-blank range.'
'I can hardly believe it,' Helen said.
'You'd better believe it,' Newman told her.
'It must be a shock to you,' Paula intervened. 'I also saw poor Julius, Miss Frey. It gave, me one hell of a shock.'
'Call me Helen, everyone. You seem decent people. But
I'm wondering what your interest is in the tragedy. You've shaken me.'
Tweed changed tactics. He had assumed Helen Frey would be as hard as nails, but Paula's more sympathetic approach had altered Helen's attitude.
'You could call me an investigator,' he began. 'Julius was a friend of mine and I'm trying to find out who murdered him. If I can find out why this hideous crime was committed I'll be closer to the murderer. Was Julius expecting to make a great deal of money in the near future?'
Helen sat very erect on the couch, her long legs crossed. She reached for a silver cigarette box on a table, offered it to her guests.
Thank you, but I prefer my own,' Newman said, producing his pack. 'My friends don't smoke. This is a lovely room you have.'
He stood up and lit Helen's cigarette. She was concentrating on Tweed as Newman then wandered round, looked at a portrait of Helen, moved a few paces apparently to look at a framed landscape above the desk. A diary lay open at the day's date, reminding him that they were at the beginning of March. What caught his attention was Helen's next appointment.
4.30p.m. Emit Voser.
'Was Julius expecting to make a great deal of money in the near future?' Helen said, repeating Tweed's question after she'd taken several deep drags on the cigarette, blown smoke rings into the air. 'Yes, he was.'
'May I ask how you know that?' Tweed asked gently.
'You may.' She gave him a bewitching smile. 'It was on the day before he left for Cornwall.' She phrased her next remark delicately. 'He was here with me. He'd lost a big sum investing in foreign currencies. But he said he would more than make up the loss and end up with a fortune.'
'Did he give you any idea where this fortune was coming from?'
'He said fate had handed him a gigantic royal flush. I remember his exact words – they were so graphic. Julius was an enthusiastic card player.'
'May I also ask what his mood was like when he was here for… Tweed trailed off.
She smiled wanly, took another drag on the cigarette, blew another perfect smoke ring.
'You were going to say when he was here for the last time. And you are right, Tweed. That was the last time I saw him alive. His mood? It was rather strange – a mixture of excitement and…'
'Fear?' Paula suggested.
'Yes! That was it. He was very nervy as though what he had in mind was dangerous. I even told him not to take too great a risk.'
'And how did he react to that?' Tweed enquired.
'He said that making a lot of money always involved taking a risk. He added that also it was too late for him to change his mind, so he was going ahead to push the deal.'
'Thank you for being so frank, Helen. Now, I owe you a fee for your time, Business is business.'
'I normally charge one thousand Swiss francs.'
Tweed was reaching for his wallet when Helen thrust out a hand to stop him. Her tone of voice had an appealing quality which touched Paula.
'I don't want your money, Tweed. I'm convinced you are telling the truth – that you are determined to track down the monster who murdered Julius. A woman in my profession becomes an expert in knowing when men are lying. Regard it as my contribution to bringing the swine who killed him to justice.'
'If you insist…'
'But I do.' She stood up to unfasten the two deadlocks on her door. 'By the way, as you leave the opposite door on the landing may open. It will be Klara. We are in the same business but good friends. She is often curious about my clients.'
Tentatively, she held out her hand to Paula. Without one moment's hesitation Paula grasped it warmly and stared into Helen's steady blue eyes. She felt that they were, when all was said and done, sisters under the skin.
Newman walked out on to the landing first to make sure it was safe. The door opposite opened and a tall brunette peered out. She wore a housecoat loosely tied and grinned wickedly at Newman.
'I'm Klara,' she said as Helen closed her door. 'Have you the energy left to come and play with me?'
'A tempting proposal.' Newman smiled at her. 'There are two things against the idea. I've just had a very large lunch recently. And I'm late for an appointment which could be profitable.'
'Come back later, then. Spend a little of the profits on me. You and I could make music together.'
'I'm sure of it,' Newman agreed. 'I may see you later,' he lied.
'You should have accepted her invitation,' Paula teased him as they got to the bottom of the stairs. 'I liked Helen, but I think Klara could be great fun too…'
Rennweg was quiet as they stepped back into the street. Opposite Helen Prey's doorway was a small cafe. Inside, close to the window, Cardon sat with a soft drink in front of him. He stroked a hand across his forehead to signal he had seen them.
'I want to call Eve Amberg,' Tweed said. 'I need a public phone box.'
'There's one near Bahnhofstrasse,' Paula told him. 'I remember seeing it on our way here…'
As the three of them walked off Cardon waited for a few minutes inside the cafe. He had seen the cripple in the wheelchair taking an unusual interest in shop windows near Prey's doorway. The invalid man wore a peaked shabby cap like those once sported by German students. His face was muffled in a woollen scarf, but it had slipped for a moment and Cardon had a good look at his face.
The nose curved downwards over his upper lip, reminding Cardon of an evil parrot. In his forties, Cardon had estimated. A worn rug covered his lap and his hands, on the controls, remained concealed underneath it. The wheelchair now began to follow Tweed and his companions. Cardon walked slowly after it.
Tweed entered the phone cubicle, looked up Eve Amberg's number in the directory. He inserted coins, dialled and she answered quickly.
'Amberg. Who is calling?'
Tweed here, Eve. Sorry to bother you again but there are one or two personal questions I didn't ask when we met.'
'Ask away. It's a relief to talk to someone English. I come from Cornwall. I'm reverting to my maiden name – Eve Royston. Now, the stage is yours.'
'Would you mind confirming how close it was to Julius's departure for England that you separated?'
'Two days before,' she said crisply. 'I'd challenged him earlier about his visits to Helen Frey. She may be a call-girl but I sensed their relationship was close. He then phoned me, as I said, two days before he flew to Britain. Said he wanted a separation and a divorce in good time. We had a helluva row over the phone. I told him I'd already decided to walk, so his suggestion was a bit late in the day.'
