'What are you having to celebrate?' Windermere enquired.

They were sitting in two comfortable seats upholstered in red leather. No one else was in the bar except for an attractive blonde waitress, who immediately came to them. Windermere looked her up and down appreciatively. Newman sensed the girl did not like the way he looked at her.

'I'll have a double Scotch,' he said.

After what's just happened I think I need it, he was thinking. And I'm not staying here a moment longer than I have to. Not with this piece of rubbish.

'Cheers! To eternal friendship, my dear chap,' said Windermere, raising his gla.s.s.

'What are we celebrating?' Newman asked without enthusiasm.

'The fact that we're together again, of course. I must say you're looking chipper.'

'Why are you here?'

'Just like the old Newman, foreign correspondent extraordinaire extraordinaire.' Windermere gave a saturnine smile. Newman realized he'd never before noticed how like a handsome fox the playboy was. A smile which probably had rich dowagers swooning. 'Always digging for info,' Windermere went on.

'You haven't answered my question. Why?'

'To keep dear Rupert company, of course.'

'Rupert is in Basel?'

'Ectually, like me, he has a room in this hotel. Sir Guy also is here.'

'I get it. He's paying for you both.'

'You could be a little more diplomatic at times, Bob.' 'When it's staring me in the face, I tell the truth.'

'See you've finished your drink.' Windermere summoned the waitress. 'Same again?'

'I'll have a single this time, thank you.'

'You know, Bob,' Windermere remarked when they were alone, 'at times life can be hard. A chap doesn't know where the next penny is coming from.'

Windermere was wearing a new blue Armani suit, an expensive starched white shirt, a Valentino tie. He sat with his long legs sprawled out, crossed at the ankles. His feet were clad in handmade shoes.

'From the way you're dressed I'd say you were doing all right.'

'Ah! Appearances can be deceptive.' He placed a finger along the side of his Roman nose. 'Not a word to Betty. At the moment I haven't a bean. Thought you might help me out. Twenty thousand pounds would help me to get by. Just as a loan,' he added hastily. 'Pay you back as soon as I get on my feet.'

'I know. This year. Next year. Sometime. Never.'

'You know you could afford it - never even notice a difference in your bank balance. You did write that book - world bestseller. Kruger: The Computer That Failed Kruger: The Computer That Failed. Must have made you independent financially for life.'

The book had done just that for Newman. He had no intention of confirming the fact to Windermere. He finished his drink, turned in his chair to face Windermere.

'Basil, I never borrow, I never lend. A maxim you might like to think about.'

The waitress had placed the bill on the table. It was left there for Windermere to sign. His expression turned ugly. He lifted his gla.s.s, drank the contents quickly, hammered down the gla.s.s.

'I thought you'd get me out of a hole. I've got back rent due on my flat...'

'You will live just off Regent Street. Move to Clapham.'

'You know I couldn't possibly receive my friends in Clapham...'

'Your rich widows. Ever thought of getting a proper job?'

'If you don't mind my saying so,' Windermere said with an edge to his voice, 'I don't too much care for what you're saying.'

'It's not an ideal world, Basil.'

Newman stood up to leave. Windermere caught him by the sleeve. The smile was a memory. Newman was surprised at how vicious Windermere looked.

'You've forgotten the tab,' he said, pointing to the bill.

'And you've forgotten you invited me to have a drink.'

Without waiting for a response he left the bar. On his way up in the lift to his room Newman had a thoughtful expression. He was recalling his conversation with Basil Windermere. He was also remembering the vicious expression which had crossed Windermere's face at one moment. It didn't fit in with his previous impression of a playboy who preyed on rich woman. He'd have to see Tweed a little later.

Tweed was alone in his room. He had taken his time having a hot bath, changing into fresh clothes. His mind was racing round in three or four different directions. He was just about to call Newman, Marler and Paula when the phone rang. To his surprise the hotel operator told him Beck was waiting downstairs to see him.

'Please ask him to come straight up...'

It was a solemn-faced Beck who entered. He accepted Tweed's invitation to sit down, refused his offer of coffee. Crossing his legs, he sat quite still, as though gathering his thoughts, or wasn't sure how to start. Tweed sat opposite him and waited.

'That was a grim business,' Beck began. 'Fortunately there were no casualties, which was a miracle.'

'You know what it was all about? A determined attempt to wipe out me and my team at one blow. I doubt if you would have survived.'

'I'd worked that out for myself. I've just had a stormy phone conversation with Jake Ronstadt. I called him. I told him what had happened, that I was just about to report the incident to Washington - together with the fact that five of the men staying with him had been killed in Basel, that all were found to carry weapons. He didn't like it at all.'

'What was his reaction?'

'Oh, what I expected. Raved on, saying it was nothing to do with him, that he had diplomatic status. I interrupted him, said that after I had spoken to Washington I would want to see him here at police headquarters. He erupted.'

'In what way?'

'He said he'd not stand any longer being hara.s.sed by Swiss police. In any case, he was leaving Switzerland for good during the next two or three days. And he'd be taking his staff with him. Then he slammed the phone down.'

'So you got what you wanted.' Tweed smiled ruefully. 'What you are after.'

'I'm not sure I understand you.'

'Arthur, you understand me only too well. Your phone call was intended to drive Ronstadt and his men out of the country. And you succeeded.'

'I must admit I'm sick and tired of the violence the Americans are causing.'

'And,' Tweed said quietly, 'you'll be glad to see the back of us.'

'I don't remember saying that.'

'Because you're tactful. But you know when Ronstadt and Co. do leave - probably to Germany - we'll go after them.'

'My job is to protect Swiss civilians,' Beck admitted. 'Luckily, so far there haven't been any casualties among our people. But if what has happened continues, then it's only a matter of time.'

'I think you're absolutely right. You said Ronstadt told you he would be leaving in two or three days. I think he may slip away tomorrow.'

'I'm still keeping officers on watch at the exit to autobahn 5. When Ronstadt and his thugs do move they'll be detained at the border; as I said before, on the pretext that we suspect they're smuggling drugs. Then I'll inform you, give you time to get there and track them.'

'For that, I'm very grateful. Over the years you have always been a reliable ally.'

'That has worked both ways. I'd better go now. You take care of yourself.' Standing up he took a compact mobile phone out of his pocket, placed it on a table close to Tweed. 'I know you mistrust these things, but it will let me contact you urgently - wherever you may be at the time. Incidentally, I think Ronstadt is tricky. Don't overlook the possibility he might leave in the middle of the night ...'

When Beck had gone Tweed used the phone to summon everyone to his room. Paula arrived first, followed almost immediately by Newman, Marler, Butler and Nield. Tweed had also ordered three pots of coffee and cups for seven people. Afterwards he had called Keith Kent and asked him to come and see him.

Tweed was standing by the window, hands behind his back as he gazed into the night. It was a stance Paula recognized - he had at times done the same thing at Park Crescent when he was working out a problem.

'Coffee!' she called out with enthusiasm. 'How about the rest of you?' she asked when they had all arrived. 'Put a hand up if you want a cuppa.'

Six hands rose in the air. She started pouring as they found somewhere to sit or perch. Keith Kent looked round, saw he had met everyone present in London, clasped both hands and made a shaking motion. Unusually, it was Marler who spoke first.

'Tweed, when we reached safety on the landing stage, I heard you say to Beck that you were suspicious of the way the information reached us. You were referring to the earlier news that Ronstadt and his gang would be holding a meeting aboard the Minotaur Minotaur. So you had to be talking about what Denise Chatel told me.'

'I was,' Tweed agreed.

'You think she made up the story?'

'I'm not sure. But it all seemed rather neat. Denise being called by an unknown American. Then told that Sharon wanted to meet her at the bar in the Euler.'

'So we can't trust her?' Marler remarked, now leaning against a wall.

'We can't trust anyone,' Tweed said emphatically.

'I have good news for you,' Newman said ironically. 'Dear Rupert is here. Staying at this hotel.'

'I know,' Tweed replied. 'Sir Guy told me.'

'And he has his pal Basil with him,' Newman went on. 'Also staying in this hotel. I had a drink with Basil, the ladies' dream. You'll never guess what he wanted to cadge off me...'

He relayed what had happened in the bar. He abbreviated their conversation but gave them the flavour of it. Paula gasped.

'Twenty thousand pounds! The nerve of the pimp.'

'He wasn't best pleased,' Newman told her, 'when I told him to go jump in the Rhine, or words to that effect. I was surprised at how ugly he turned.'

'Must be desperate,' Paula commented.

'Desperate men are dangerous,' Tweed mused. 'What I can't understand is how Guy found out we were here. And he wasn't prepared to tell me.'

'Could Ronstadt have told him?' Nield wondered. 'It stands out like a sore thumb that Ronstadt has known we are here for a while.

'Why would he do that?' asked the normally taciturn Butler.

'Possibly to confuse me,' Tweed suggested. 'Have me looking in all directions so I'd miss something obvious.'

'That would mean Strangeways is one of them,' objected Butler.

'I did say a few minutes ago we can't trust anyone,' Tweed reminded him.

'Not even Denise Chatel,' said Marler.

'Beck has been over here to see me,' Tweed began. He told them everything the Swiss police chief had said. 'So if he's right,' he concluded, 'we had better be ready to leave at any time. Better get some packing done when you leave here.'

'You still think it's the Black Forest?' Newman queried.

'You should know. Kurt's last word was Schwarz, which, as I remarked earlier, is German for black. If I had to gamble I'd say it will be the Black Forest.'

The phone rang, Paula answered, told Tweed Beck was on the line for him.

'Yes, Arthur...'

'Just heard a weather report. Thought you ought to know there's been a heavy fall of snow in the Black Forest. More on the way. Unusual for this time of year, but occasionally it does happen. Excuse me now, I'm up to my neck in work.'

Tweed put down the phone. He told them what Beck had said. Paula sighed.

'Just what we needed. If I have time I'm going to shop for warmer boots.'

'Incidentally, Keith,' Tweed said, 'I'd appreciate it if you would come with us when we leave here.'

'Go to Singapore as long as you pay me. If you don't need me I'd better go and start packing.'

'Good idea.'

'What sort of game do you think Strangeways is playing?' Newman asked when Kent had gone.

'I wish I knew,' replied Tweed. 'But I'll tell you one thing. As soon as I can I'm going to make him tell me how he knew we were here. I think I can get it out of him. He's in a highly nervous state. When I went into the writing room the, hand holding his pen was trembling. Then later he started fiddling with it.'

'I think,' said Newman, standing up, 'we'd all better get back to our rooms and start packing. Beck could be right. Ronstadt might try and do a moonlight flit.'

Paula waited when everyone except Tweed had gone. She was curled up like a cat in an armchair. Tweed refilled her cup before he spoke.

'You have something on your mind.'

'Yes. Don't worry about my being ready if we have to leave at a moment's notice. I'm half-packed already.'

'Knowing how methodical you are, I thought you might be. Now, what's bothering you?'