The Power (37 page)

He was absent for longer than Paula had expected.
When he came back into the restaurant he asked the waiter
for the bill, scribbled his room number and signature.
Hurrying to the table, he remained standing, leaning
forward and keeping his voice down.

'Did Ives return?'

'No, he didn't,' Paula said, alarmed. 'Is something the
matter?'

'You could say that. I've phoned police headquarters -
luckily Beck had flown in from Berne to check the situation
after my first phone call. He's on his way over with a team
of specialists.'

'Specialists?' Newman queried. 'What kind?'

'His top man with a machine-pistol. And a chemist with
his equipment. Plus a bomb squad team.'

'What on earth for
...'
Paula began.

'Beck is in the entrance now,' Newman told Tweed.

They walked over to where the Swiss police chief waited,
fresh as paint in his business suit, calm in a crisis.

'I have this Barton Ives' room number from reception
and a master key,' Beck said as he ushered them out of the
restaurant.

'I could be wrong about this,'Tweed warned.

'Never known your instinct to be wrong yet. I have
armed guards at either end of the corridor where his room is. And I'd like to have your room key for the chemist and
the bomb squad. Thank you
...'

Mystified, Paula and Newman stood with Tweed and

Beck as the lift ascended. Beck stepped out first, looked in both directions, waved for them to follow him out. He was striding ahead of them when Newman asked Tweed what
the devil was going on.

'For one thing, my room lock has been tampered with
since we came down to dinner. I was careful not to turn the
key, let alone go inside. Also the so-called Barton Ives had
the wrong answers to quite a few questions.'

'So called?' Paula repeated.

She got no reply. They had come close to the room taken
by Ives. Beck's hand gestured for them to keep well back.
Standing against the wall opposite the closed door was a
uniformed policeman. He wore a flak jacket and was
aiming a sub-machine-gun at the door. Two other men, pistols in hand, were flattened against the wall on either side of the door. A fourth man stood close by, holding a
short wide-barrelled gun. Tear-gas. Beck was on red alert.

Taking out his own pistol, Beck leaned past one of the
men against the wall, rapped on the door with the muzzle.

'Police. Open up. A team of armed men are outside.'

He waited. A long silence. Eventually Beck pressed an
ear to the door, listened. Stepping back, he tossed the
master key to the other man pressed against the wall. Paula
saw the man with the machine-gun stiffen. The policeman
with the key quietly inserted it in the lock, turned it, took
hold of the handle, glanced at the man with the flak jacket,
who nodded.

The door was hurled wide open. Flak Jacket literally
dived into the room, sprawled on the carpet, swinging the muzzle of his weapon in a wide arc. He called over his shoulder to Beck, who had stepped in behind him, his gun
ready.

'Empty, Chief
...'

'Check the bathroom. Same approach
...'

A minute later they realized the bathroom was also
empty. Beck looked at Tweed.

'The bird has flown. So you were right. Now for your room. You all stay here, standing where Stefan sprawled.
You don't touch anything. You don't drink anything.' He
pointed to a half-empty bottle of mineral water. 'You don't
use the bathroom
...'

A policeman with his pistol in his hand stood outside the
room while they waited. Newman asked the question in a
low tone.

'Look, Tweed, what is this all about?'

'I am certain we've just dined with a man Dillon warned
me against for fear of our lives. A man called Norton.'

23

Beck reappeared after about ten minutes. He waved for
them to follow him. As they left the room two policemen
wearing protective clothing, one carrying a tool-kit box, arrived, slipped inside the room.

'Bomb squad boys,' Beck remarked. 'Your room is
clean - as regards explosives . ..'

When they entered Tweed's room a small gnome-like
figure in civilian clothes was waiting for them. On a table a
compact leather case was open and inside lay a collection
of instruments. The only one Paula recognized was a
calibrated dropper - like an eye dropper. A small con
tainer made of thick glass with a screw top stood next to the
case. Inside it was half full with a crimson liquid. Beck
introduced the gnome.

'This is our chemical specialist, Dr Brand.'

'After what I found, Beck,' the gnome said, 'you might
be interested to take them into the bathroom.'

Tweed stood with Beck just inside the bathroom door
way. Paula peered over Tweed's shoulder.

'Now have a good look round,' Beck suggested to Tweed. 'You're exceptionally observant. Notice any
thing not the way you left it before dinner?'

Tweed stared slowly round. His eyes lingered on items
from his spongebag he'd placed on a glass shelf over the
basin. He shook his head.

'It appears to be the same. I can't see anything
unusual.'

'When do you use the mouthwash?' Beck enquired,
pointing to a bottle.

'First thing every morning. It freshens me up for the
day.'

'In that case,' Beck said cheerfully, 'you had only a few hours to live. Come back into the bedroom.' He
looked at the gnome. 'My friend here uses the mouth-
wash every morning when he gets up.'

'I gargle with it,' Tweed added.

'Then maybe you would sniff this,' Dr Brand sug
gested and unscrewed the cap on the small thick glass
container. He held it a moment before handing it to
Tweed. 'Be very careful. It contains a small quantity of
the mouthwash and a certain solvent I tested it with.'

Tweed raised the container, took a cautious sniff.
Paula saw his facial muscles stiffen for a second. He handed it back to Brand, who immediately screwed on
the cap.

'A faint aroma of bitter almonds,' Tweed said slowly.

'That's right,' Brand said agreeably. 'Prussic acid. I
calculate you'd have gargled for two seconds. I placed
the mouthwash bottle back exactly as I found it after I
tested.'

'So did someone else,' Beck said grimly, 'after he used
a pick lock to get into your room.'

'Prussic acid. Oh, my God,' Paula said half to herself.

She had a sudden vivid picture of Amberg at Tresillian
Manor in Cornwall, his face destroyed with acid.

Beck and his team had left as Tweed sat with Newman and
Paula in the bedroom. Before leaving he'd reported to
Tweed that not a single fingerprint had been found in the
room occupied by the man who'd registered as Barton
Ives.

'Probably wore surgical gloves before he even entered
the room,' he commented. 'And all the glasses and cutlery
he used at dinner has been washed. His case also has
disappeared. It's as though he'd never been here. And Brand has taken the mouthwash bottle with him. Take
care...'

Newman had ordered a double Scotch from room ser
vice when they were alone while Paula decided she needed
a glass of white wine. Tweed stayed with mineral water.

'God! That has shaken me,' Paula said. 'How on earth
did you spot that it wasn't Barton Ives?'

'An accumulation of things,' Tweed told them. 'First the
phone call from a hoarse-voiced man asking if Barton Ives
could come. He opened up with "Cord here" - something
like that. Unlike many Americans, Dillon is very formal,
always introduces himself by his surname. Not conclusive.'

'Why phone at all?'Paula asked.

'To make sure the real Barton Ives hadn't already come to see us. After he'd arrived he kept referring to Dillon as
Cord, which increased my suspicion. From his own made-
up story about how they met, he was only an acquaintance. Still not conclusive

'So what was - conclusive?' Paula persisted.

'An accumulation of implausible things, as I just said.
The real giveaway was no reference on his part to pursuing
the serial murderer - and that information came from
Dillon, so has to be true. Then I bring up the subject over
dinner - and he dismisses it in two or three sentences! A gory long-drawn-out case like that. Then there was the
story he'd thought up as to why he
had
fled the States. Why
should Galloway send over an army to kill "Ives" when he'd admitted he had no evidence that would be accepted
in court? A rubbish story. Then at dinner he kept checking
every customer who entered the restaurant.'

'What was the significance of that?' Paula enquired.

'Link it with his nervousness about the men who'd been
watching the hotel
...'

'Yes,' Newman intervened, 'he was obsessed with them.
While you were away he kept peering out to see if they had
gone away.'

'No,' Tweed contradicted. 'To make sure
they were still
there!
'

'Don't follow that,' Paula commented, frowning.

'You're usually quicker,' he gently chided her. The men
outside were Norton's. Placed there in case the real Barton
Ives arrived and tried to enter the hotel. That would have been a disaster for Norton, impersonating Ives. His men
were there to take care of the real Ives for good if he
showed up.'

'So when you came back from phoning Beck ...' Paula began.

'My
story,' Tweed interjected. 'Yes, it was my remark -
invented - that reception had told me the police had
removed the watchers which told Norton he was in trouble.
Again, the real Ives could have walked in on us. Hence his
exit to his room, supposedly for cigarettes.'

'And to your room,' she reminded him.

'Well, that's why he came here - to kill me. But for Beck
bringing Dr Brand he'd have succeeded. I find the method
he chose interesting.'