hand looped inside his arm and used the other to brush away a lock of her titian hair from her face. Paula studied her outfit.
She wore a dark green jersey suit and a low-cut cream blouse. Bet that cost a mint, thought Paula. Newman, who was clearly enjoying himself, made a pantomime of introducing her. Sweeping one arm low, he used the other hand to pull out a chair.
'Look at the jewel I found hiding upstairs,' he joked.
'Hello, Paula,' Eve greeted her, bent and kissed her on the cheek. 'And a big hello to you,' she went on, turning to Tweed, administering a lingering kiss on his left cheek. 'Bob caught me coming out of my room, thank God. I'm an abandoned woman.'
'Sounds exciting,' Tweed chimed in, continuing the game. 'You look like a glass of this excellent Riesling.'
'And he says that!' Eve addressed Paula. 'After I spent half an hour on my make-up. Isn't he just too awful?'
'We can't take him anywhere,' Paula joked back.
'Wish me success.'
Eve raised the glass Tweed had filled, tasted the wine, looked mischievously at Newman.
'At least the man knows his wine. This is delicious. I may be after more.'
'Why abandoned?' Tweed asked.
'The Squire. Again. He drives me here with his latest girl friend, Jennie Blade. Then he ups and offs with her to some unknown destination. For the whole afternoon. Seriously, Tweed, it's good to see you again.'
'Likewise.' Tweed paused. 'What success do we wish you?'
'It's Walter again. Walter Amberg, my dear disliked brother-in-law. I phoned him from here. I was going to take a taxi. The Squire can drop dead, mooning over his Jennie. So what reception do I get when I call Walter? Not this afternoon. Out of the question. Have guests. Some time when he's not so busy. Guests? I didn't believe a word of it. He's avoiding me'. I'll catch him off guard – drive up there without phoning first.'
'Why the reluctance on his part?' enquired Tweed.
'Same reason as I told you before. He doesn't want to hand over my money. But he will, he will, I promise you. Face to face, he's putty in my hands, the little creep.'
'And Gaunt?'
'God knows where he is/ She glanced to her left when someone entered the Brasserie. 'Speak of the devil, here he is. After a drink, of course.'
Gaunt, still clad in his sports jacket and corduroy trousers, had stormed in via the short cut from the hotel. As he arrived his voice boomed out, causing the few locals sitting at other tables to stare.
'I want a double Scotch, garcon! he roared in English. 'Tout le suite. Over at that table.' He looked at Tweed and Newman, turned back to the waiter he'd shouted at. 'No, make that three double Scotches. And get a move on, I'm parched.'
The young waiter, who had smiled every time he passed their table, glared at Gaunt. Newman called out in a loud but polite voice.
'No, waiter, please. Only one double Scotch. Thank you.'
Gaunt marched up to their table. He stood for a moment, surveying the glasses.
'Drinking local plonk? That's just for pansies. A Scotch would put some guts into you.'
Eve was furious. Her greenish eyes gleamed with a venom Paula would never have suspected she was capable of. Her full lips, treated with scarlet lipstick, tightened as Gaunt hauled up a chair, joined them.
'Greg,' she raged, 'you will apologize immediately for using that term about my friends. Or go to hell.'
'I apologize immediately,' Gaunt mimicked as he sat down. 'No offence meant,' he said in a more reasonable tone. 'I take the word back. Unpardonable of me – but I've had a helluva drive up and down the Vosges this afternoon.'
You've also had a skinful already before you came in here, Newman thought. Whisky fumes drifted across the table. But Eve wasn't finished yet. She leaned towards Gaunt.
'And, you ignorant hulk, it's tout de suite. You can't even insult a waiter in correct French.'
'Sorry, sorry, sorry.' Gaunt sounded sincere this time. 'You're quite right, Eve. Again, my apologies to everyone. Had a strange experience this afternoon. Threw me off my balance. That doesn't often happen.'
His mood had changed suddenly. He had spoken the last three sentences in a sober, almost grim tone. Tweed frowned, then spoke to him.
'Care to tell us about it? Get it out of your system?'
'Do you mind if I don't for the moment? Sorry, but I need to mull it over.'
Paula stared at Gaunt in astonishment. He had used almost precisely the same words Tweed had spoken earlier. Moreover, it sounded as though, like Tweed, he was referring to the Chateau Noir.
Gaunt looked up as the waiter placed his drink before him. He had his wallet out in a flash, added a generous tip as he stared at the waiter.
Thank you very much. Your service is really excellent.' He looked round the table. 'Jennie disappeared. I can't find her anywhere.'
'She was sitting at this table a while ago,' Tweed informed him. 'You dropped her off in the fog, apparently.'
'At her own request,' Gaunt barked back defensively.
'She then left us to go to her room to take a shower,' Tweed continued, ignoring Gaunt's rudeness.
'But I hammered on her door before I came in here. There was no reply. Her door was locked. I pressed my ear to it, couldn't hear a shower running. In any case, she'd have wrapped something round her and come to see who it was. Like most women' – he glanced at Paula and Eve – 'present company excepted. Like many women she's always curious. I'd stake my reputation she's not in her room.'
'What reputation is that?' Eve snapped at him.
Tweed rose from the table. Newman and Paula stood up almost at the same time. They'd had enough of Gaunt. Tweed nodded to Eve and Gaunt, led the way out by the short cut and through the restaurant. Paula noticed there were several groups of Americans at different tables, none of whom she liked the look of. Tweed was hurrying into the reception area which had a minute sitting area off to one side. Philip Cardon sat reading a paperback. No one was present behind the reception counter.
'I had an early lunch,' Cardon explained. 'Since then I've sat here keeping an eye open. No less than fifteen Americans have arrived, booked in. Most are stuffing their stomachs in that restaurant.'
'Have you seen Jennie Blade?'
'No.'
So Gaunt was right, Tweed thought grimly. Jennie had disappeared.
36
Tweed stood quite still in the lobby. The only people in the place besides himself were Paula, Newman and Car-don. They all kept quiet – they knew Tweed was thinking furiously. He turned round once to gaze at the deserted reception area, the closed door behind it. He turned back to Cardon.
'Philip,' he said in a low voice, 'you counted fifteen Americans arriving. Did they see you?'
'Of course not.' Cardon was incredulous at the idea. He raised his book to above eye level, completely concealing his face. 'Can you see me?'
'No. Where are Butler and Nield?'
'Here.' Cardon handed Tweed a piece of paper with the names of the two men, their room numbers. 'Like me they had an early meal. They're up in their rooms now.' He checked his watch. 'Harry is due down to relieve me in five minutes. We worked out a roster to keep an eye on who comes and goes out of this place.'
'I see. They're both on the first floor? Good. Now, I want you to think hard. Did some of the Americans arrive here recently?'
'Yes, they did. They turned up in batches.'
