'Well, that's why he came here – to kill me. But for Beck bringing Dr Brand he'd have succeeded. I find the method he chose interesting.'
'Not the word I'd have used,' she remarked. 'But using acid does make me wonder if Norton was the fake postman who committed the massacre at Tresillian Manor.'
'I was going to say interesting because it's a measure of the ruthlessness of the man – and his determination. He was worried stiff Ives himself might turn up but he still went ahead and tried to murder me.'
'What is the programme for tomorrow?' Newman asked impatiently.
'I have a ten o'clock appointment with that detective of Eve Amberg's, Theo Strebel,' Tweed reminded him. 'I'm hoping he'll lead me to wherever Klara, Helen Prey's friend, has moved to. I want to talk to her again. I have an idea she knows more than she realizes. Then in the evening it's drinks with Gaunt's girl friend, Jennie Blade, at 6 p.m. downstairs in the Hummer Bar.'
'I wonder how Squire Gaunt fits into all this,' Paula mused.
'He was in Cornwall at the time of the massacre,' Tweed reminded her.'He could be a key figure.'
While it was dark and drizzling in Zurich, it was still daylight in Washington. 'A kinda daylight,' March reflected as he gazed out of the window. It was snowing heavily. The traffic down on Pennsylvania Avenue was already getting snarled up. He pressed a button on his intercom.
'Sara, get hold of the shit-kicker who's supposed to send out snow ploughs. I want them on Pennsylvania Avenue in ten minutes. When the machines get moving let the press know I gave the order.'
'Good thinking, boss
'Sure is. Let the folks know their President is lookin' after them.'
'There's a call, long distance, on your private phone. The caller won't give a name. Said you might be interested in a couple of items you were searching for…'
'Put them through. And put a trace on the call…'
'They're leery, boss. They rang off, said they'd call again shortly. I'll try a trace… Hold it, I think they're back on the line…'
'Who is this?' March barked when the connection was made.
'No names. Got a pad and pen? Good…'The voice was husky. 'I have a film and a tape recording for sale. The price is still twenty million dollars
'A courier is on the way to Zurich with the pay-off. I need first to be sure…'
'You need to shut your trap…'
March's mouth became ugly. You didn't talk to the President of the United States that way.
The voice went on: 'I know you're trying to trace this call. Write this down. The three possible rendezvous for the exchange – money for film and tape. On the Zurichberg, Orelli-strasse by the hotel. I'll spell it… Next possible place, airfield at Hausen am Albis. Here's that spelling… Third is Regensburg, outside Zurich… I'll be in touch again with specific details
The connection was broken. March was puzzled by the voice. Husky, yes. Growly, yes – very growly. But twice it had become high-pitched, sounded like a woman. Sara came on the internal line a few minutes later.
'No luck, boss. Trace took us to Zurich in Switzerland. Couldn't get the number in Zurich…'
'Hell! Don't know why we bought that trace equipment…'
March slammed down the phone. He'd pass this info, over to Norton when he next came through.
In Zurich the woman who had called March smiled at the man who had listened. She had disguised her voice by speaking from the bottom of her throat. 'March would never recognize your voice even if he ever met you,' the man said, wrapping his arm round her.
'I growled. That's the trick. Twenty million dollars. That should enable us to live in style.'
'You were great. What about going to bed to celebrate?'
'Why did I think you had that in mind?'
The following morning Tweed had breakfast with Paula and Newman in the first-floor dining-room, La Soupiere, at the Hotel Schweizerhof. Butler, Cardon and Nield sat by themselves at separate tables. The previous evening Butler and Nield had visited the hotel, entered all six rooms and rumpled the bedclothes.
'Since Norton knows we're staying at the Gotthard,' Paula suggested, 'is there any point in us remaining there?'
'None at all,' Tweed agreed. 'Which is why we're moving our things back here after breakfast. I've already paid our bill at the Gotthard, told Harry, Pete and Philip to do the same thing.'
'What is the next move?' Newman asked. 'I'd like to get to grips with Norton and Co.'
'If he is the real enemy,' Tweed remarked. 'Nothing is certain. I'm now convinced few of the people we've met here – and in Cornwall – are what they seem.'
'That's reassuring,' Paula said ironically. 'Anyone in particular you're after?'
'I need more data before I can plan an elaborate trap. Elaborate because someone is masterminding a complex plot. I only realized that after we arrived here.'
He was keeping his thoughts all to himself once again, Paula said to herself. She tried another tack.
'Well, we're staying in Zurich, then.'
'No, we aren't,' Tweed told her. Tomorrow we catch an express train from the Hauptbahnhof to Basle.'
'Why Basle?'
'I phoned the Zurcher Kredit before breakfast to speak to Amberg. Luckily I got Amberg's personal assistant. She told me he had left suddenly for Basle in a great rush.'
'I remember – Zurcher Kredit has a branch in Basle. But why are we following him there?' Paula asked.
'Maybe you've forgotten. Amberg told us Julius had moved the film and tape Dyson delivered to the bank vault in Basle.' He checked his watch. 'I'll have to leave soon for my appointment with Theo Strebel.'
'Well, at least we know now what Norton looks like – the man who up to last night no one had ever seen.'
'I wouldn't count on that,' Tweed replied.
Inside the apartment he had rented, Norton returned to the bathroom. Thirty minutes earlier he had rubbed grey colourant into his normally light brown hair. Now he rinsed off the surplus with water and examined the result in the mirror.
His appearance was changing already. He'd forget his weekly visit to a barber, and let his hair grow longer. It grew very rapidly. Satisfied with its progress, he put on his jacket, checked the time.
Timing was everything. He had his whole day planned out with the precision of a general preparing for a major battle. He was whistling a tune as he left the apartment.
Tweed was accompanied by Paula when he climbed ancient stone steps inside the old building in the Altstadt which housed Strebel's office. Newman followed a few paces behind, waited in the corridor as Tweed opened a door with a frosted-glass window in the upper half. Etched into the glass was a simple legend. THEO STREBEL. No indication of his profession.
They walked into an empty ante-room. A solid oak door in the opposite wall with a glass spyhole. Paula was suddenly nervous – the atmosphere on the old stone staircase had been eerie, the smell of a musty building barely occupied for years had assailed her nostrils.
Here the atmosphere was even more sinister. A heavy silence filled the room which was furnished only with an old empty desk. She was sure no one had occupied the room for ages. She slipped her hand inside her shoulder- bag, gripped her Browning automatic.
'Announce yourselves. Your names. please.'
The disembodied voice seemed to come out of nowhere. Tweed pointed to an ancient cone-shaped speaker fixed to a corner high up. The voice had spoken in English.
'Is that you, Mr Strebel?' demanded Tweed.
'I said announce yourselves. Your names and business.'
'I have an appointment with Theo Strebel. For 10 a.m. Eve Amberg said she would phone you. My assistant, a woman, is with me.'
'Tell her to say something,' the disembodied voice commanded. 'Anything. Apples are green.'
'Only when they are not normally ripe,' Paula called back.
'Enter.'
There was a sound like the buzzer Helen Frey had operated on the front door in Rennweg. Tweed pushed at
