'By the way, where is Denise?' Tweed enquired, evading a direct answer.
'In her room here. Working. She had a very early breakfast.'
'Talkin' about breakfast, here it comes, praise the Lord,' said Osborne. 'Everybody here probably thinks with my weight I'd be better off with just grapefruit. Fact is, I'm in good shape. Keep myself in good shape at the gym. Slam at punch bags, lift weights. All that stuff.'
'You must have good reflexes, then,' Newman suggested.
'He has,' Paula confirmed. 'I saw him coming downstairs this morning like a ten-year-old.'
'In a hurry for my breakfast,' said Osborne, and he chuckled.
'I have to go upstairs to make a phone call,' Tweed announced after finishing his meal.
He glanced round the restaurant. Marler, as instructed, sat at a table by himself some distance away. At another table, again as instructed by Tweed, Butler and Nield sat at their own table. No point in identifying all his people to anyone in the restaurant who might be interested.
'I hope you'll excuse me,' Tweed said to Sharon.
'Of course. I'm just going to have another cup of coffee and then I'll be working too.'
As Tweed left the restaurant Marler stood up, strolled casually after him. En route to the lift with Newman, Tweed felt like a breath of fresh air. As Paula, following behind them, had said earlier, it was a glorious day.
Walking the full length of the wide corridor Tweed approached the main exit leading out onto the Place Vendome. He reached the door and no one else was about. He stepped forward into the open and was forcefully jerked backwards by Marler. A bullet struck the exact point where he'd been a second earlier. The bullet ricocheted out into the place. The uniformed doorman on duty outside ran up to him.
'Something wrong, sir?'
'Caught my foot on a stone someone must have kicked into the entrance.'
'I thought I heard a noise.'
'Car backfiring.'
Marler had run out into the place. The doorman saw nothing of what he was doing as he was talking inside to Tweed. Marler was circling the empty place, a Walther in his hand. He had it pointed upwards along thq rim of the mansard rooftops opposite. He didn't expect to be fired at – he was a moving target. His reaction was a warning to the invisible marksman who had aimed to kill Tweed. Again from a rooftop, as had been the case in Basel.
Inside the reception hall Tweed was viewing the potentially lethal incident calmly and philosophically. Which was not the case with either Paula or Newman. She kept her voice down but didn't mince her words.
'You must be crazy to walk out of that door by yourself. It was only due to Marler that you weren't killed. What were you thinking of?'
'Paula's right,' Newman agreed. 'What the hell were you thinking about – taking a risk like that?'
'Yes, you are both right,' Tweed responded. 'I was thinking about something that happened at breakfast – or rather something that didn't happen. I'll express my gratitude to Marler when I see him.'
'It means,' Newman pointed out grimly, 'that the Phantom tracked you to this hotel.'
'It means just that,' Tweed agreed.
Earlier, en route to the lift, before he had decided to sample some fresh air, Tweed had paused to take a good look at the patio beyond some windows. He had recalled this was where, in summer, society women gathered for tea and an exchange of the latest scandal. Osborne had passed them on his way out from the restaurant, hurrying to the exit.
Now it was Paula who paused. She was examining the contents of a glass showcase displaying objects d'art sold by a famous shop in the rue St-Honore. The prices were sky high.
'Some valuable stuff there,' Tweed commented.
'You're far more valuable than anything in that showcase,' she reprimanded him. 'In future you don't go out unless Bob and I are with you.'
'Well, you know I always do as I'm told,' he replied with a smile.
'I'm not joking,' she snapped. 'I want you to promise us.'
'I promise. Now I'm going up to my room to make a phone call.'
He had just spoken when Osborne came in through the front entrance. The American was breathless, waited a moment before he could talk.
'Hi, folks. Just been for a quick jog. Told you I kept in shape. Don't tell on me – I've just committed a crime.' 'What was that?' Newman asked.
'Fed a parking meter. It was way over the top. Parked my car in a side street just off the rue St-Honore last night. No space left in the Ritz garage. See you.'
Paula watched him run nimbly up the stairs he had earlier descended on his way to breakfast. He took the steps two at a time.
'He's recovered quickly from his jog,' Paula observed.
Tweed had gone up in the lift by himself. Paula had paused again to take another look at the showcase. A diamond clasp shaped like the wings of a bird was fascinating her. Newman had waited with her. Marler returned through the front entrance and strolled up to them.
'Like a word. Up those few steps is a small lounge. No one in it.'
'Find anything?' Newman asked when they were settled on a couch.
'I found the bullet intended for Tweed. Here it is.'
He took from his pocket an old tobacco tin with the lid fixed on. Paula stared at it. Then she remembered the time when Marler had smoked a pipe before he switched to king-size cigarettes. He removed the lid. Inside the tin rested an ugly-looking bullet.
'Evidence of a sort,' Marler commented.
'Any sign of the assassin?' Paula asked.
'No. At first I assumed he'd fired from a rooftop. After I hauled Tweed inside I was out there like a rabbit. I scanned the entire square. Then I realized even a cat burglar could never have scaled those roofs. And no window was open. Had one been pulled shut I was out there so fast I'd have noticed it.'
'Then where did he shoot from?' Newman enquired.
`Had to be from ground level, from behind a corner. A bit further along to your right, as you leave the entrance here, there's a large arcade. It was deserted. We had a very late breakfast. All the workers are in their offices. The ladies who shop are still in front of their mirrors, applying make-up and Lord knows what else.'
'You're a cynic, Marler,' Paula teased him.
'I'm wrong, then?'
'No, you're right. I was just amused at your perception about the habits of some women. Comes from experience, I suppose.'
'Where else?' Marler replied.
Flight BA 9999, bound for New York, was well out over the Atlantic. It was temporarily flying an unusual course to avoid turbulence. The captain had handed over control to his co-pilot for a few minutes to refresh himself. He was gazing down through a window.
At thirty-five thousand feet there was a sea of endless cloud below them, masking any sight of the ocean far below. The forecast had been for a continuous overcast all the way to their destination, many hours away. Captain Stuart Henderson was sucking a sweet provided by his chief stewardess, Linda. On a shelf, securely wedged in, was his video camera. Henderson had promised his wife that he'd try to get a series of shots of the approach to New York. Linda had agreed to operate the camera. Not that Henderson thought they'd have any luck – not at this time of the year. The overcast would stay with them all the way to JFK.
Henderson glanced at his watch. Time to take over from the co-pilot – he'd had his break. He took one final look down, stiffened, stared in sheer disbelief.
'Give me the video camera, Linda,' he called out. 'Quick.'
Below there was an enormous break in the clouds. Below that he saw a gigantic aircraft carrier. Spread out well beyond it to port and starboard were escorts of heavy cruisers. While Linda patiently held the camera Henderson used a pair of high-powered binoculars. He could just make out it was flying the Stars and Stripes.
