Cade said in a hysterical whisper, “Don’t be frightened. I won’t hurt you. I want your help!”
The big, terrified eyes searched his face, then seeing he was much more frightened than she was, the girl began to relax. Slowly, he released his grip over her mouth.
“What is it?” she asked, her steady, calm voice did much to blanket Cade’s own panic. She spoke English but from her accent, he guessed she was either Swiss or French.
“I’m sorry.” He sat upright, taking his weight off her body. “I didn’t know you were here. You won’t scream, will you?”
“You’re crushing me.”
He realised he was sitting on her legs and he hurriedly stood up.
“I’m sorry...”
“Don’t keep saying that! Oh! You frightened the life out of me!”
“Nothing like the way you scared me,” Cade said with feeling. “You wouldn’t have a drink up here?”
She was studying him.
“You can’t be Val Cade, can you?” She sat up, holding the sheet against her breasts. “I believe you are.”
He now became aware of her. She was around twenty-five years of age, dark, and she made him think of Elizabeth Taylor. Not quite so beautiful, but beautiful enough.
“Yes, I’m Cade. How did you know?”
“How do I know? My dear man! I am probably your most dotty fan! You aren’t here to rape me, are you?”
Cade suddenly felt as if he was going to faint. He looked around wildly, then seeing an armchair, he dropped into it. Cold sweat glistened on his face. The horror of the thrusting knife, the blood that had stained his hands still haunted him.
“No... I...” he managed to say, then he put his hands to his face, fighting off the faintness that threatened him.
He was vaguely aware that she had got out of bed and he heard a tap running, then a glass was thrust into his hand.
“Drink this!” Her voice was sharp and cut into his fading consciousness.
The bite of whisky revived him. He drank greedily, then let the glass slip out of his fingers. It dropped with a little thump on the floor.
“Could you please tell me what is happening?” the girl asked.
He looked at her, amazed at her calm.
“Who are you?”
“Me?” She had thrown on a flame-coloured wrap and was now sitting on the side of the bed. “My name is Ginette Dupris. I am a French national. I work for a Travel Agent in Montreux. I am on vacation, and I am crazy about your photographs. Is that the kind of thing you want to know?”
“Have you a car?”
“It’s in the garage below... a Volkswagen.”
“I have to get to Geneva. May I take your car?”
“You mean... now?”
“Yes.”
“But what would I do without a car? If you must go to Geneva, I’ll drive you there myself.”
“I don’t want you to get involved in this,” Cade said. “It’s safer for you to know nothing about it. It is of international importance. I would rather go on my own. You could get into trouble.”
Her eyes sparkled.
“Is it something to do with some photographs you have taken?”
“That’s it.”
“Then I’ll help you. I insist. I won’t be a moment” She snatched up clothes from a chair and disappeared into the bathroom.
Still unnerved, Cade poured more whisky into his glass. Then he got up, drank, turned off the light and crossed to the window. He opened the windows and moved silently out onto the balcony.
Immediately below him, he could see a group of men, four of them in Swiss police uniform: the other two were Hardenburg’s men. He stepped hurriedly back out of sight, but remained still, listening.
One of the policemen was speaking into the microphone.
“He could have got away, but we are searching at the hotel,” he was saying. “Block the road above and below the town. He can’t get far. Watch it... he’s dangerous.”
Cade stepped back into the room and closed the windows. He might have guessed it wasn’t going to be all that easy. He stood still, trying to make up his mind what to do when Ginette, wearing a grey and scarlet wool dress, came from the bathroom.
“I’m ready,” she said. “I’ll just get my back...”
“They are setting up road blocks,” Cade said. “We can’t go by road now.”
“They? Who do you mean?”
“The police,” Cade said.
At that moment there came a sharp rap on the door.
Nine
Cade and the girl stared at each other as the rap sounded on the door again.
Cade looked wildly around the room for a hiding-place. His hand went into his pocket, his fingers closing protectively over the two cartridges of film.
“The bathroom,” the girl whispered and pointed. Then raising her voice, she called, “Who is it?”
“Police,” a voice answered. “Open up, please.”
As Cade moved silently into the bathroom, Ginette zipped open her dress, stepped out of it and snatched up her wrap.
Cade was now in the bathroom. He silently closed the door, then looked around the small, windowless room. There was no way of escape. His heart pounding, he leaned against the wall by the door and waited.
He heard Ginette unlock the bedroom door, then a man’s voice said, “We are looking for a man... a dangerous criminal.”
“Oh!” Ginette’s voice sounded alarmed. “There’s no one here but me. I’ve been here all evening... I was just changing.”
“Your passport, please.”
There was a pause, then Cade heard heavy footfalls as the man entered the bedroom.
“Here’s my passport,” Ginette said. “What’s this man wanted for then?”
“Murder,” the policeman said and walked with a heavy tread to the bathroom, turned the door handle and looked in.
Cade cringed back against the wall, closing his eyes. He couldn’t believe his luck when the door closed again.
Murder! So he had killed the guard! He was aware now of nothing but panic. He lost count of time, and it was only when the bathroom door opened and Ginette said, “It’s all right... they have gone,” that he made the effort and pulling himself together came out into the bedroom.
Ginette had put on her dress. She looked at him, her face pale, her eyes uncertain.
“You had better tell me what has happened.” Her voice was determined. “They say you are wanted for murder.”
Cade walked slowly to a chair and sat down. In a flat monotone, he told her the whole story about Braddock, Anita Strelik and what he had seen on the terrace of the Château. Ginette, sitting on the edge of the bed, listened, in silence, her face set in her concentration.
“If I hadn’t knifed him he would have killed me,” Cade said as he concluded telling her of his fight with the guard and his escape. “They must know now I have photographs. They are certain to have found my camera equipment. I can’t give up now. I must get these films somehow to the American Consul.”
“Are they so important?” she asked.
“I suppose so.” He pulled at his underlip, uncertain. “We seem to have spies everywhere. This could be stale news, but if it isn’t, then it must be vitally important.”
“I could take them. There’s nothing to stop me driving to Geneva.”
Cade stared at her, hesitating. On the face of it, it seemed to be the obvious solution, then he remembered Old Sam, the negro barman at Eastonville. He also had seemed to be the obvious solution. But who was this girl? How could he trust her with something so important? Besides, suppose they did stop and search her? It was unlikely, but it was also possible. Then she would be in serious trouble. No, he couldn’t push his responsibility onto her.
“I have to do it myself,” he said. “Do you know this district well? Is there any way of getting to Geneva except by road?”