'Wait a minute. I have a street plan of Sion…'
She rushed off again, eager to please this man she had taken a fancy to. He was so polite, so interested in the Valais. She returned with the street plan, pointed to a cross she had already marked.
'That firm will hire you the car you want. You will have no difficulty. All the tourists have gone. It is the weather – and the few who might have stayed heard about the tragedy.'
'And about the bullet in the American woman's back?'
'Oh, no! That is a secret. The police have told us we must not mention that to anyone who visits Sion. Really I should not have told you, but I got carried away talking to you.'
'I promise not to say a word about it. There, I have had three cups of coffee while we were talking. How much do I owe you?'
She told him. She also said he could keep the street plan of Sion. When he had given her a generous tip she frowned.
'It is too much. And you asked me for the name of the important man. I said I did not know. But I have just remembered the name of the unpopular man who supervised the building of the villa and the station.'
'Why was he unpopular?'
'He was a big man with no manners. An Englishman – you will excuse me for saying that. You are English, of course? I thought so. The English are usually polite but this man was very rude. He spoke to people as if they were slaves.'
'And his name was?'
'Craig.'
Philip left the restaurant in a bemused state. He recalled something Newman had once told him from his experience as a foreign correspondent.
'Philip, if you want to find out something when you are in a new town, don't ask leading questions. Simply mix with the locals – in a bar, in a cafe. Get them talking. There are a lot of lonely people in the world who will tell strangers things. Be a good listener. And if you are listening to a woman who likes you, then you will be surprised how much she will sometimes tell you…'
He was glad he had removed his fur-lined coat before sitting down in the restaurant. Ice-cold air hit him as he stood on the platform. A door opened, the waitress ran up to him.
'You left your gloves. Do put them on. The mist is with us. Otherwise you may get frost-bite.'
'Thank you. You are most kind.'
She had run back inside the restaurant. He realized his hands were freezing. He felt bemused again as he looked across to Sion. A dense white mist had descended on the Valais. It shrouded the town in a motionless layer. To his right what looked like a small mountaintop sat on top of the mist. Perched on its summit, probably a couple of hundred feet high, was what looked like an ancient castle. As he watched, the mist layer rose to cover the summit, leaving only the castle-like building which appeared to float in mid-air.
Carrying his bag towards the exit he almost paused, then kept moving. Three motorcyclists clad in black leather with their visors pulled down over their helmets had appeared, were swaggering towards him.
'You want a girl?' one of them shouted in French. 'Then come with us. She will warm you up.'
'I am afraid I can't understand you.' Philip replied in German.
The three louts parted to let him pass just as he reached them. The same man shouted behind his back in French.
'Bloody Kraut.'
Philip ignored the insult, left the station. It began to look as though Sion crawled with Craig's bodyguards.
The mist swirled everywhere as he entered the town looking for a hotel, carrying his bag. Like the icy fingers of a ghost it smoothed over his face, a sensation he found distinctly unpleasant. Here and there it thinned, showing him the buildings.
This part of Sion, which he later realized was most of the town, was not what he had expected. Instead of old houses there were modern office blocks of concrete, shop fronts which were also modern and boring. Because he had walked straight out of the station along the Avenue de la Gare he quickly saw Hotel Touring, a small block of white concrete.
He didn't hesitate. The hotel was near the station and the mist was growing thicker. He went inside, booked a room. While the receptionist took details from his passport he peered into a bar, which had a circular counter of wood, a wooden ceiling, wooden stools at the bar, wooden tables and chairs. They have a lot of wood in Switzerland, he thought.
Once inside his room he partially unpacked his bag, leaving underclothes inside to conceal his small armoury. He also took out two rubber wedges which he pushed under the door, a trick Marler had taught him.
'Hotels always have people with master keys,' Marler had reminded him.
Philip had hung up his coat but now he took off his heavy sports jacket. The hotel believed in keeping its visitors warm and the room was almost hot. He would have liked to go down and eat another breakfast but he was suddenly overcome with a wave of fatigue, the penalty of a disturbed night at the Hotel des Bergues in Geneva and constant alertness since he had started the day – including never relaxing in the presence of Inspector Vincenau.
Kicking off his climbing boots, he flopped on the bed and began studying the map of the area the waitress had given him. Blinking, he forced himself to look at the two routes more carefully. He began talking quietly to himself. It was all right as long as you knew you were doing it, he reckoned.
'That road up to the Col du Lemac and the Kellerhorn where the so-called weather station is looks a real swine. Too many zigzags – which mean fiendish hairpin bends, probably with a drop into eternity on one side.'
He yawned, took in deep breaths, turned his attention to the route up to the villa Brazil had had built.
'That one doesn't look any better. And if the waitress was right in where she put her cross the villa hangs right above the glacier. Part of the road before you get there also is poised over the glacier. Great…'
He yawned again, took the Walther out of his holster to get more comfortable, slipped the gun under the pillow. Then he fell fast asleep, the map spread out over him.
When Paula boarded an express for Geneva at Zurich she chose an empty compartment at the rear of the train. From that position she could see any passenger who also boarded the express after she had done. No one appeared as the train moved out of the station.
Knowing that this express did not stop anywhere until it reached Berne, about an hour later, she stood up, inserted a small needle at the side of her case on the rack. This would tell her when she returned if someone had tampered with the case.
Then she strolled slowly along the full length of the express, glancing into each compartment. The train was almost empty. Midway along she looked into yet another compartment and almost stopped, but she forced her feet to keep moving.
Apparently asleep in a corner of an otherwise empty compartment was Keith Kent. On the seat beside him rested his case, touching him – as though he felt the need to be sure no one tried to examine it while he was sleeping.
As she passed more compartments there was evidence that other passengers were aboard. A coat folded on a seat, bags on racks, books left on seats. She would have loved to check what they were reading but there was too great a risk of the owner returning.
She reached the dining car, stopped. Through the glass window in the door she saw it was almost full. Waiters were serving a meal and she decided she would go back to her compartment – she would be too conspicuous walking the full length of the dining car.
Settling herself in her seat, she reminded herself to look out of her window at the few stops before Geneva. The presence of Kent on the train puzzled her. To avoid his seeing her she would have to leave the express last if he travelled all the way to Geneva – after seeing him disembark from her window.
Arriving eventually at Cornavin, she watched Kent leaving the train, carrying a case. She had her coat and gloves on and hurried off the express, carrying her own bag. Outside the station she told a cab driver to take her to a small hotel near Cornavin she had once stayed at.
It never occurred to her that Philip might be spending the same night at the Hotel des Bergues. After dinner she borrowed a rail timetable from the receptionist and checked expresses to Milan which stopped at Sion for the
