She got no reply. They had come close to the room taken by Ives. Beck's hand gestured for them to keep well back. Standing against the wall opposite the closed door was a uniformed policeman. He wore a flak jacket and was aiming a sub-machine-gun at the door. Two other men, pistols in hand, were flattened against the wall on either side of the door. A fourth man stood close by, holding a short wide-barrelled gun. Tear-gas. Beck was on red alert.
Taking out his own pistol, Beck leaned past one of the men against the wall, rapped on the door with the muzzle.
'Police. Open up. A team of armed men are outside.'
He waited. A long silence. Eventually Beck pressed an ear to the door, listened. Stepping back, he tossed the master key to the other man pressed against the wall. Paula saw the man with the machine-gun stiffen. The policeman with the key quietly inserted it in the lock, turned it, took hold of the handle, glanced at the man with the flak jacket, who nodded.
The door was hurled wide open. Flak Jacket literally dived into the room, sprawled on the carpet, swinging the muzzle of his weapon in a wide arc. He called over his shoulder to Beck, who had stepped in behind him, his gun ready.
'Empty, Chief…'
'Check the bathroom. Same approach…'
A minute later they realized the bathroom was also empty. Beck looked at Tweed.
'The bird has flown. So you were right. Now for your room. You all stay here, standing where Stefan sprawled. You don't touch anything. You don't drink anything.' He pointed to a half-empty bottle of mineral water. 'You don't use the bathroom…'
A policeman with his pistol in his hand stood outside the room while they waited. Newman asked the question in a low tone.
'Look, Tweed, what is this all about?'
'I am certain we've just dined with a man Dillon warned me against for fear of our lives. A man called Norton.'
23
Beck reappeared after about ten minutes. He waved for them to follow him. As they left the room two policemen wearing protective clothing, one carrying a tool-kit box, arrived, slipped inside the room.
'Bomb squad boys,' Beck remarked. 'Your room is clean – as regards explosives…'
When they entered Tweed's room a small gnome-like figure in civilian clothes was waiting for them. On a table a compact leather case was open and inside lay a collection of instruments. The only one Paula recognized was a calibrated dropper – like an eye dropper. A small container made of thick glass with a screw top stood next to the case. Inside it was half full with a crimson liquid. Beck introduced the gnome.
'This is our chemical specialist, Dr Brand.'
'After what I found, Beck,' the gnome said, 'you might be interested to take them into the bathroom.'
Tweed stood with Beck just inside the bathroom doorway. Paula peered over Tweed's shoulder.
'Now have a good look round,' Beck suggested to Tweed. 'You're exceptionally observant. Notice anything not the way you left it before dinner?'
Tweed stared slowly round. His eyes lingered on items from his spongebag he'd placed on a glass shelf over the basin. He shook his head.
'It appears to be the same. I can't see anything unusual.'
'When do you use the mouthwash?' Beck enquired, pointing to a bottle.
'First thing every morning. It freshens me up for the day.'
'In that case,' Beck said cheerfully, 'you had only a few hours to live. Come back into the bedroom.' He looked at the gnome. 'My friend here uses the mouth-wash every morning when he gets up.'
'I gargle with it,' Tweed added.
'Then maybe you would sniff this,' Dr Brand suggested and unscrewed the cap on the small thick glass container. He held it a moment before handing it to Tweed. 'Be very careful. It contains a small quantity of the mouthwash and a certain solvent I tested it with.'
Tweed raised the container, took a cautious sniff. Paula saw his facial muscles stiffen for a second. He handed it back to Brand, who immediately screwed on the cap.
'A faint aroma of bitter almonds,' Tweed said slowly.
'That's right,' Brand said agreeably. 'Prussic acid. I calculate you'd have gargled for two seconds. I placed the mouthwash bottle back exactly as I found it after I tested.'
'So did someone else,' Beck said grimly, 'after he used a pick lock to get into your room.'
'Prussic acid. Oh, my God,' Paula said half to herself.
She had a sudden vivid picture of Amberg at Tresillian Manor in Cornwall, his face destroyed with acid.
Beck and his team had left as Tweed sat with Newman and Paula in the bedroom. Before leaving he'd reported to Tweed that not a single fingerprint had been found in the room occupied by the man who'd registered as Barton Ives.
'Probably wore surgical gloves before he even entered the room,' he commented. 'And all the glasses and cutlery he used at dinner has been washed. His case also has disappeared. It's as though he'd never been here. And Brand has taken the mouthwash bottle with him. Take care…'
Newman had ordered a double Scotch from room service when they were alone while Paula decided she needed a glass of white wine. Tweed stayed with mineral water.
'God! That has shaken me,' Paula said. 'How on earth did you spot that it wasn't Barton Ives?'
'An accumulation of things,' Tweed told them. 'First the phone call from a hoarse-voiced man asking if Barton Ives could come. He opened up with 'Cord here' – something like that. Unlike many Americans, Dillon is very formal, always introduces himself by his surname. Not conclusive.'
'Why phone at all?'Paula asked.
'To make sure the real Barton Ives hadn't already come to see us. After he'd arrived he kept referring to Dillon as Cord, which increased my suspicion. From his own made-up story about how they met, he was only an acquaintance. Still not conclusive
'So what was – conclusive?' Paula persisted.
'An accumulation of implausible things, as I just said. The real giveaway was no reference on his part to pursuing the serial murderer – and that information came from Dillon, so has to be true. Then I bring up the subject over dinner – and he dismisses it in two or three sentences! A gory long-drawn-out case like that. Then there was the story he'd thought up as to why he had fled the States. Why should Galloway send over an army to kill 'Ives' when he'd admitted he had no evidence that would be accepted in court? A rubbish story. Then at dinner he kept checking every customer who entered the restaurant.'
'What was the significance of that?' Paula enquired.
'Link it with his nervousness about the men who'd been watching the hotel…'
'Yes,' Newman intervened, 'he was obsessed with them. While you were away he kept peering out to see if they had gone away.'
'No,' Tweed contradicted. 'To make sure they were still there! '
'Don't follow that,' Paula commented, frowning.
'You're usually quicker,' he gently chided her. The men outside were Norton's. Placed there in case the real Barton Ives arrived and tried to enter the hotel. That would have been a disaster for Norton, impersonating Ives. His men were there to take care of the real Ives for good if he showed up.'
'So when you came back from phoning Beck…' Paula began.
'My story,' Tweed interjected. 'Yes, it was my remark -invented – that reception had told me the police had removed the watchers which told Norton he was in trouble. Again, the real Ives could have walked in on us. Hence his exit to his room, supposedly for cigarettes.'
'And to your room,' she reminded him.
