They crawled along the traffic congested road until they began to cross the Grand Pont. They had already lost sight of the Aston Martin. The car had weaved through the traffic much faster than Baumann could drive. The short wave set came to life.
“YR calling. She’s right behind me, trying to pass. We are on Avenue du Leman, heading for Vevey.”
“Don’t let her pass,” Baumann said. “I’m closing up.”
“Roger.” There was a sudden curse. “Hell! She’s passed me! That was nearly a pile up! She snaked around me right in the teeth of an oncoming truck and she scraped by it by the paint of her fender! She’s way out of sight and I’m blocked in!”
“Call yourself a driver?” Baumann snarled. He accelerated and threaded the Jaguar dangerously through the traffic, and in a few seconds, swept past a T.R.4. He waved and the driver waved back.
Cade was sitting forward now, tense and excited. He couldn’t but admire the way Baumann was handling his powerful car.
“If she thinks she can shake me off she has another think coming,” Baumann muttered. He reached for the microphone. “Calling Grau. Come in, Grau.”
Another man’s voice came from the loudspeaker.
“Listening in, Horst.”
“Our party is heading your way. Where exactly are you?”
“I’m parked on the lake road between Claren and Montreux.”
“Stand by. She’s moving fast.”
“Roger.”
They were through Lausanne and moving fast along the lake road. The traffic was heavy and Baumann took chances, cutting in, overtaking when he shouldn’t, but always watchful for any sign of a policeman.
It was now very dark, and there was a light mist coming in from the lake. The on-coming traffic with undipped headlights bothered Baumann.
“We could lose her in this visibility,” he said and he sounded uneasy. “I’ll have to hope Grau picks her up.”
They drove through Vevey, then as they increased speed on the straight road to Montreux, Cade said suddenly, “You’re passing her! She’s stopped!” He had just seen the Aston Martin parked in the shadows as Baumann swept past.
Cursing, Baumann stood on his brakes and the Jaguar squealed as it slowed. He pulled to the kerb.
“Are you sure?”
Cade leaned out of the car and looked back along the dark road.
“Yes... she’s talking to a cop. She’s been flagged down.”
“About time,” Baumann said and picked up the microphone. “Grau, our party has been stopped for speeding. She’ll be along in a while. It’s my guess she won’t be racing this time.”
“Roger.”
Baumann replaced the microphone.
“We’ll have to watch her. This is where we lost her before,” he said to Cade. “What’s happening?”
Cade was still staring back along the road.
“The usual. He’s giving her a ticket. She should be through any moment now.”
Baumann set the Jaguar moving at a sedate sixty kilometres an hour.
“Here she comes,” Cade said.
The Aston Martin passed them and Baumann tagged along behind its twin rear lights. From then on, through Montreux, Villeneuve and towards Agile, they had no trouble keeping behind the Aston Martin.
“Is she heading for the Italian border or will she go up into the mountains?” Baumann muttered. “It’s going to snow.” As rain began to blur his windshield, he switched on the wipers.
A car behind them flashed on its headlights and flashed them off.
“That’s Grau.” He reached for the microphone. “She’s just ahead, Grau, overtake me and get in front of her. Watch out you don’t lose her at the fork road to Italy. She could turn off for Villars.”
“Roger.”
Twenty minutes later with Grau some metres ahead of the Aston Martin and with Baumann a hundred metres behind, they saw the car swing to the left.
“She’s going to Villars,” Baumann said. “It’ll be rough up there,” and he accelerated. “The visibility as you climb gets bad, and it is certain to be snowing.”
They hadn’t climbed more than a kilometre before snow started flaking on the windshield. The Aston Martin had increased speed and was travelling dangerously fast, taking the sharp bends with a skill that hinted the driver knew the road well. Baumann had turned off his lights and he drove after the Aston Martin, keeping close, scared that on this stretch of road he would lose sight of the car.
Grau had gone on the Italian road and he had had to stop, reverse and come after them.
Through the narrow bottleneck of the small village of Huèmoz, the Aston Martin slowed and Baumann had to brake sharply to avoid a collision. He cursed under his breath.
“I wonder if she spotted us,” he said. “There she goes. Goddamn it! She can certainly handle that lump of metal!”
They stormed up the steep ascent and into the village of Chesieres, empty in the mist and snow. The Aston Martin was now a hundred metres ahead. Baumann took the slight turn out of the village too fast and got into a skid. He steered into the skid, slowed and for a moment the Jaguar threatened to turn right around. Then Baumann got control and straightened the car.
“She’s gone,” Cade said in a flat voice. He had been sitting forward, staring through the misting windshield, his eyes glued on the bright red rearlights: now they had vanished.
“She’s heading for Villars... there’s nowhere else for her to go,” Baumann said. He slowed and began the steep approach that led to the town.
“To your right!” Cade exclaimed. “She’s gone in there! Double gates! I saw two men closing them!”
Baumann kept on, but slowed. A few metres further on, he pulled up. Grau in a Lancia drew alongside. Cade looked at him as he leaned out of his car window, snow whitening his green Swiss hat and his raincoat. Grau was around the same age as Baumann. He was fat and broad-shouldered and typically Swiss.
“She turned off into some estate,” Baumann said. “Did you spot her?”
“No. How can you see anything in this snow?”
Baumann got out of his car.
“Wait here,” he said and bending his head against the driving snow, he walked back down the road.
Grau manoeuvred his car ahead of the Jaguar to get off the road. He lit a cigarette and getting out, came over to Cade.
“So you’re Cade,” he said, peering at him. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I’ve heard a lot about myself,” Cade said indifferently. He shifted around so he wasn’t looking directly at Grau and fumbled for his cigarettes.
“You certainly can take photographs,” Grau went on. “I’ve followed all your work.”
“So have I,” Cade said.
There was a long pause, then Grau sensing he wasn’t wanted, walked back to his car.
After a five minute wait, Baumann returned.
“She’s gone in there all right,” he said. “High walls; iron gates and a long drive-in. Can’t see any sign of a house. Okay, Grau you stay here. Watch the gates. We are going on to Villars. I have to find out what this place is.”
“Okay,” Grau said and waved as Baumann, getting into the Jaguar, drove on towards Villars.
Eight
The lounge of the Bellavista Hotel was deserted at this time of 20.00 hours. The few visitors who had come up to Villars with the optimistic hope of early sport were in the dining-room. A big log fire crackled in the grate. The parchment-shaded lights cast a red glow on the highly polished parquet floor. The room was homely and pleasant.