Outside the box he told the others what Monica had reported. Paula, particularly, was shocked. She stared at Tweed and had trouble getting the words out.
'When is this horror going to end?'
'When we've finished them off. Let's get back to the hotel. I am so cold I feel like a snowman.'
They had reached the end of the side street, had walked a few paces back the way they had come, when Marler held up a hand. He spoke very quickly.
'The Umbrella Men are back. Drop flat!'
Too close for comfort a cluster of four black umbrellas, held low so they concealed their owners, were advancing towards them. For a second Paula was hypnotized by the weird spectacle – the way the dark cones moved towards her, the rims just not touching each other, the umbrellas held quite still, not wavering an inch.
She dropped beside her three companions, who were already flat on the pavement. Fascinated, terrified, as though watching a macabre stage performance, she saw the four umbrellas elevate as one, with martial precision, exposing the four men beneath them. Each wore a dark overcoat, held their umbrellas with their left hands. Their right hands dipped inside canvas bags similar to Marler's, but larger. The hands emerged with astonishing speed, holding machine-pistols. The barrels of the deadly weapons elevated, again as one, again with military precision, aiming at their targets lying on the pavement. Paula was struggling to extract her Browning, knowing it would be too late. She saw all this as though her vision had quickened.
As he fell, Marler had dived a hand inside his holdall, the flap open. His hand came out holding a grenade. Newman hissed out the words.
That trick grenade won't work this time. It's probably the same lot we met before…'
Paula stiffened. She was waiting for the thud of bullets into her body when a fusillade hammered them. Marler lobbed his grenade over-arm. It sailed through the night air in an arc, landed amid the group of men under the umbrellas. There was a brief flash of light, a loud crack! as the grenade detonated.
Two of their attackers staggered backwards, hit the pavement with heavy thuds. Another one tried to stagger into the empty street, fell forward. The fourth man slumped against a wall, slid down it. Paula had felt vibrations from the detonation passing under her. She stared again. Three of the umbrellas had shattered into shards, chips of stone from the nearby building had been hurled across the street. The man who had slumped against the wall had fired a short burst as he collapsed sideways, but his weapon had been pointed upwards. The burst had shattered a street lamp, showering the body with fragments of glass. What remained of the Umbrella Men were four still bodies.
'We'd better get out of this,' Tweed snapped, jumping agilely to his feet, slipping on ice, recovering his balance. 'Police headquarters are in the next street. The buildings may have muffled the sound but we'll take no chances. We'll go back down the opposite side of the street.'
He was walking down the opposite pavement, Paula by his side, when Newman and Marler came up behind them. Marler glanced at his companion.
'That, as you'll now have gathered, was the real McCoy. Have faith in me.'
'You certainly saved our bacon,' Newman said with feeling.
Ahead of them, Paula grasped Tweed's arm. She nodded her head in the direction of the other side of the street. The thug who had collapsed over the pavement edge was almost invisible. His umbrella, the only one to remain intact, had fallen over his prone corpse. It looked as though he was taking a nap and had used the umbrella to shelter under.
'It's surreal,' Paula whispered.
Then she saw on a shop window they were passing a huge smear of blood. The temperature was so low it had congealed in the shape of a hand. She shuddered. Tweed hurried her back to the Three Kings. They paused outside to brush snow and dirt off their coats, then walked into the warmth of their hotel.
'Heavenly,' Paula said to herself.
The concierge came from behind his counter to press 'one' by the side of the lift. All four of them were just able to squeeze their way inside.
'We'll all go to my room. Have a drink, said Tweed.
He poured wine from an ice bucket into four glasses. Before the others sat down they took off their coats. Tweed sat on a couch next to Marler, so they faced Paula and Newman on another couch. Tweed raised his glass.
'Here's to survival.'
'I'll drink to that,' said Paula with enthusiasm.
'I must apologize to one and all,' Tweed began. 'For being an idiot. I said something like, 'It's lucky they don't know we're here.' They do. Very significant.'
'You're not going to tell us why, of course,' Paula teased.
'I have other things on my mind.' He smiled to take the edge off ignoring her question. 'When Bob went to fetch his coat Keith Kent phoned me. He's coming to see us in the morning.'
'My tummy's rumbling,' Paula remarked.
'Bob,' Tweed requested, 'could you phone down and make sure they'll serve dinner for us? It's a bit late.' He drank some more of his wine. 'Well, that's four of them disposed of, thanks to Marler. A long way to go yet.'
'They'll serve dinner when they see us,' Newman reported, returning from the phone.
'Tweed,' Paula pointed out, 'you're still wearing your overcoat.'
'So I am. Mental concentration,' he explained, taking off the coat. 'I want us to get cracking tomorrow. I sense we have very little time left. Oh, Paula, could you tell us the three different names for this city?'
'I suppose I could,' she said, puzzled. 'first, Basel, which is the English version. Then Bale…' She spelt it out. 'I just gave you the French version. Third, B-a-a-sel. I have just pronounced the German version.' She spelt it out.
'B-a-a-sel,' repeated Tweed. 'Exactly. The German pronunciation. Sounds rather like Basil – especially the way Windermere pronounces his name in his highfalutin' voice.'
'What's the point?' asked Marler.
'Basil… Schwarz. Isn't that what you heard the Ear say as his last words?'
'Yes, it was.'
'You overlooked the fact that when a man knows he is dying, is desperate to get a message across to you, he's likely to revert to his natural language. Which was German. Poor Kurt was pointing his finger at this city. Which is the main reason we're here when I'd realized what he'd really tried to say.'
'But why use his real name? Schwarz?'
'For the same reason. He'd reverted to German. In that language schwarz means black. Hence the Schwarzwald – the Black Forest. There was mention that the Americans had a secret base outside Basel. I think it's somewhere in the Black Forest. So our next job is to locate it – bearing in mind it's likely to be heavily protected.'
20
In the morning Marler was early down to breakfast. He had called on Tweed first, but his chief was studying a large map of the Black Forest. He told Marler to go down and he'd join him later. The dining room was almost empty at that early hour. Seated by herself at a table, Marler saw Denise Chatel.
'May I join you?' he suggested. 'Or if you're one of those people who prefer to breakfast alone I'll understand.'
'Please sit down, Alec. Sharon went out somewhere, said she'd be back later. And I do prefer company at this hour.'
'Then I'll join you.'
He ordered a full English breakfast. The pleasant waitress was pouring him coffee as he broke a roll and began eating. He was famished. Denise, he noted, had contented herself with coffee and croissants.
'Are you alert?' he asked quietly.
'You have news for me?' she reacted eagerly. 'If so, I want to hear it. I'm a lark, on top of everything as soon
