The alley had become very dark. Paula glanced up at the space between the roofs of the ancient buildings which leaned towards each other, leaving only little more than a slit. The sky above was shrouded in dense low clouds, black as pitch, and heavy snow began to fall.
'That's where he went in,' said Paula just before they reached a bend in the alley which concealed the street beyond running parallel to Munstergasse.
Inside a small alcove two stone steps, worn down the ages in the middle by generations of footsteps, led up to a closed door. The plate beside the door read Emil Voigt -Sachwalter. There were no windows above the door.
'He's gone to visit a lawyer,' said Paula. 'I think I ought to go ahead into the next street in case he goes that way when he comes out. You go back to Munstergasse. We'll meet up at the entrance to the garage when one of us finds out where he goes to.'
'Good idea.'
Paula had just disappeared round the bend in the alley, Philip was turning to go the other way when through the falling snow he saw a slim figure clad in a brown leather coat approaching him.
'You are a spy,' Marco shouted in heavy guttural German. 'You were trying to find out where Mr Brazil was going to. You are his enemy!'
Ever impetuous, Marco whipped out his long knife and lunged towards Philip. His action, Marco felt sure, would earn him praise from Craig, perhaps even promotion. Reaching for his Walther, Philip took several swift steps backwards, felt his feet slipping on sheet ice, toppled over backwards, saving his head by jerking his shoulders upwards. Marco raised his knife to plunge it into the sprawled body, took two steps forward, skidded on the same patch of ice, fell against the wall.
Paula appeared. She had heard Marco shouting his threats. As he began to scramble to his feet Paula brought down the butt of her Browning on his skull. Marco collapsed and this time he lay still, made no attempt to regain his balance. The snow falling matched his deathly white face.
'I think we'll forget Franklin.' Philip said quickly, climbing upright with one hand supporting himself by holding on to the wall. 'Time we moved off to Zurich. Franklin is going to have a surprise when he does come out. And thank you – for saving my life…'
25
Eve was fretting at being confined to the villa. It had been Brazil's express order that she should not leave the building. She had never been in Berne before and she was dying to go out and look at the shops. Besides, the five thousand francs she had taken off Craig was burning a hole in her shoulder bag. When Eve had money she spent it. And she had interesting news to tell Brazil – that she had spotted Paula Grey and Philip on Kochergasse.
She'd just had the thought when the phone rang. She ran to it, curious to know what was going on.
'Is that you, Eve? Good. Brazil here, speaking from a phone in a gas station. No, damnit! A service station. The Americans can't speak proper English to save their lives.'
'How can I help?'
'Get in your car with your suitcase. Drive immediately to Zurich. I've phoned ahead, booked a room for you at the Baur-en-Ville. It's in Bahnhofstrasse nearRIGHT SQUARE BRACKET'
'I know where it is. I was once in Zurich.'
'Then please get moving. I'm in a hurry. Stay in your room at the Baur-en-Ville from the moment you arrive. See you there
Then he was gone. Stay in your hotel room… He'd be lucky, Eve thought as she hurried to her bedroom to pack her case. With Bahnhofstrasse on her doorstep. All those wonderful shops…
'I wonder if I killed that thug in the alley?' Paula reflected aloud.
With Philip behind the wheel, they were driving along a main highway, had left Berne half an hour earlier. It was snowing steadily and they had passed several snowploughs keeping the road clear. Philip glanced at her, spoke firmly.
'No, you didn't kill him. I paused before following you out of the alley and checked his carotid. The pulse was beating normally. But what if you had killed the thug? It was him or me – and he'd have finished me off with that long knife. How would you have felt then – if you hadn't moved quickly enough? Just bear that in mind.'
It was Paula's turn to glance at Philip, whose strong face was concentrating on the road ahead. For the moment he was no longer in the toils of Eve, a beastly woman, in Paula's opinion. And although she had no doubt the grief for his late wife, Jean, was still strong under the surface he now had full possession of his faculties. She recalled something Tweed had said to her.
'Philip, in the end, will have to work it out for himself. None of us has had his grim experience, so none of us really knows what it must be like…'
Tweed had flown to Zurich with Newman seated alongside him. He had ordered Butler and Nield, also aboard the same flight, to travel quite separately as though they had nothing to do with him.
'The point is.' he had explained to Newman when they were in mid-air, 'according to Archie, Brazil has an incomplete list of our team. He knows about Paula, about you, and has Bill Franklin as a possible member. But he doesn't know about Philip, Butler, or Nield, so let's keep it that way. Nor does he know about Marler.'
'And the only people who could have informed him from our stay in Dorset are Eve, Kent, or Franklin himself.'
'Not Franklin.' Tweed pointed out. 'He would hardly put himself on their list even as a possible. I'm curious as to why Brazil is so anxious to build up a list.'
'Sounds like a hit list.' Newman said calmly. 'Something for Mr Craig to attend to. Or maybe The Motor-man.'
'I wonder where The Motorman is now.' Tweed mused as the plane began to descend to Kloten Airport, Zurich.
Keith Kent was driving his hired Audi at speed along the highway from Geneva to Zurich, window open – a fresh-air fanatic. Well muffled against the cold, he whistled a tune to himself as he overtook huge juggernauts.
He was listening to a cassette playing Sade, the pop singer. She had a mellow, enticing voice which suited his buoyant mood. He was making money again, always a most satisfactory feeling. Maybe he'd buy himself a really expensive suit made in Germany in Bahnhofstrasse. The Germans had become superb tailors.
Kent had left Geneva early and was on his way to the Zurcher Kredit Bank in Talstrasse, which ran parallel to Bahnhofstrasse. Most convenient. He was overtaking a Mercedes sports car when he glanced sideways. Driving it by herself was an attractive blonde. He smiled and waved. She smiled back – Kent was a good-looking man attractive to the opposite sex.
Pity we hadn't been in Zurich, caught up in the traffic, he thought. I might have persuaded her to have dinner with me. Always observant, he had noticed her left hand on the wheel wore no ring.
Kent was always careful not to get mixed up in an affair with a married woman. It was not so much a matter of ethics – but when there was a husband about it could turn messy.
He reached Zurich about lunchtime, drove slowly down Talstrasse, where there was very little traffic, stared, slowed down even more, still staring. Outside the Zurcher Kredit Bank a stretch black Mercedes with amber-tinted windows had pulled up.
Kent stopped by an unoccupied meter, sat very still, his hand cupping his jaw. A tall, imposing figure had stepped out of the limo, paused while he limbered up, then strode into the bank as a black-suited man greeted him and the two men went inside.
Kent's mind was racing. There was no doubt about it. The man who had entered the bank was Leopold Brazil. The last man in the world he would have expected to return to this bank.
Keeping an eye open for a parking warden, he thought about earlier events. The time when it had leaked out that the bearer bonds, assumed to be the bank's total capital, had disappeared. The murder of the bank's chairman. No, that was something not to dwell on.