Vorpal Blade (28 page)

'No, I won't,' Paula snapped back.

The pathologist put latex gloves on. While he was doing
this he walked all round the body bag. Then, giving her a grim look, he bent down, very slowly and carefully
taking hold of the zip, pulled it gently down several
inches.

A very powerful TV light perched on a truck was sud
denly switched on, illuminating the scene. Beck cupped
both hands and shouted an order in French. 'Put that
bloody light out now or I'll have it put out.'

The glare remained. Beck whispered some instructions
to a policeman who held a carbine. The officer raised
his carbine, took very careful aim, fired once. The glare
light was shattered. There was the faint sound of tin
kling glass.

'They don't muck about here,' Tweed commented to
Paula. 'I wish we had their police in Britain. The crime
rate would plummet.'

Paula steeled herself. The body was headless. Then
she saw the once stiffened, now limp, points of an old-fashioned collar. She gave a gasp. She put a hand to her throat so she would speak clearly.

'That is - was - Dr Abraham Scale, the well-known criminologist. We met him in London.'

18

'I urgently need a safe phone,' Tweed said.

'Come with me to the police station,' Beck suggested.
'I have to go there myself. It's only a short walk.'

The ambulance carrying Dr Abraham Scale to Zurich had left. Dr Zeitzler travelled with the corpse, clearly
anxious to watch over it until he had performed his
autopsy.

Beck led the way followed by Tweed, Paula and Newman.
Water dripped from the profusion of trees. Paula remem
bered Montreux as a lush oasis of peace. Not this time.
Tweed was telling Beck all he knew about Seale as they
hurried uphill. Once inside the police station Beck gave
them a room on their own with a phone. Tweed sat down,
pressed the number for Park Crescent.

'Monica, I'm going to speak quickly. At the moment we
are in Montreux. Your favourite hobby is tracing family
trees, I know . . .'

'Yes, it is. I spent a lot of time tracing my own family roots. Took me all over the world. Then I found we were descended from a notorious pirate, right-hand man to Sir
Henry Morgan. I gave up then - not sure what I might
find if I persisted.'

'The Arbogast family. I want you to trace their family
tree if you can.'

'I can. I kept all my contacts when I was checking my own origins.'

'Thank Heaven. I think this is very important. Arbogasts originated in Italy. I can tell you that much. Their name then was Arbogastini. Shall I spell it?'

'No, I've got it. And one of my contacts is in Rome.
She is an expert on documentation. I'll start there.'

'You know anyone in the States? You do. One of the family emigrated to America, I heard. Could be several
generations ago. I think his name was Vicenzo - may have changed it to Vincent. How long will it take you? A week?
I understand. When it's ready send it to me by courier. I'll
keep you in touch with my movements . . .'

Paula had been sitting, listening, watching. She was
fascinated by the change in Tweed's personality. It had
become positively electric.

'You sounded so determined, almost excited,' she com
mented when he had ended the call.

'We may have had a big break.
May
have. You remem
ber we last saw Abraham Scale sitting on the steps of
the ACTIL building? He was working on a family tree.
He remarked it could be dangerous. Why? What had
he stumbled on? Whatever it was may have led to his
murder.'

Beck walked in, stern and businesslike. 'I've traced
where Seale was staying. Got lucky with my second shot.
Tried the Montreux Palace first. No good. Then the
Eurotel, a big modern place further along the Grand-Rue,
perched on the edge of the lake. He arrived there two days
ago and spent a lot of time away from the hotel.'

'Two days again,' Paula mused. 'Everyone arrived here
two days ago. It must mean something.'

'I've sent men to the Eurotel,' Beck continued. 'They'll
search his room, bring his things back here. We may find
something.'

'You may not, Arthur.' Tweed stood up. 'Thanks for
the use of your phone. I think we'll get back to our hotel.
I'm sure Paula is gasping for breakfast.'

'So is Newman,' said Newman. 'Breakfast, coffee and
some water.'

'I'll be leaving for Zurich,' Beck told them. 'Zeitzler
should have his autopsy report by tomorrow. What about
you?'

'I'll come if I can. That autopsy report will be very
important. Can I use your phone again? I want to call
Professor Saafeld, the pathologist who autopsied the body
of Adam Holgate. He has films and photographs. Also
he's received films and photos of the body of Hank Foley,
found in Maine, because he knows the medical examiner
in Boston. If you give me your address at that police
headquarters in Zurich I'll have them sent to you by
courier . . .'

As they were leaving Beck ran after them. 'One detail before I leave for Zurich. You may see two men in white coats examining the promenade. Zeitzler left them behind
in the hope they'd find traces of blood - and where Seale
was executed. Here's my card in case you want to question
them. I've scribbled a note on the back.'

'Can you hold out a bit longer?' Tweed asked Paula.
'Then we can check on what the
white coats have discov
ered. If anything.'

'If I must.'

As they descended to the promenade the dawn sun was
rising, a hazy blur in the mist. The lake was calm, a smooth
stretch of grey water disappearing towards the French shore on the far side. It was very quiet now the crowds
had dispersed. When shown Beck's card a policeman lifted
the tape for them.

Paula thought how beautiful - and tragic - it was. Along
the promenade there were trees and shrubs, the gentle
sound of the lake lapping against the wall. It was like heaven but hell had intruded. They found the two white
coats walking slowly, using powerful torches to examine
the promenade's surface, pausing to check the area. Tweed
showed them Beck's card, asked them in French, 'Have you found any blood?'

'Only by the
pic-bot.
It must have taken great strength to insert the corpse inside the rubberized body bag.'

'And to chop off the head,' Newman added.

'Do you mind?' Paula snapped, ravening with hunger.

Her last glimpse of the lake was the pinkish glow of the
sun colouring the mist. It was like a dream, like a Monet painting, a radiance of colour. Then she remembered her
dream, the nightmare she had experienced. So when they
entered the hall she received a shock. The tall figure of
Roman Arbogast, wearing a smart black suit, stood as though waiting for them, hands clasped behind his back.

'I thought you had left Montreux,' Tweed said.

'Oh, but I did.' Roman was at his most amiable, gave
a twisted smile. T have been visiting my plastics factory
at Vevey.' He glanced round. 'Sophie wouldn't like that.
She thinks it is her factory. I found she has a room there
- no windows, and with two locks on a strong door. She
is the only one allowed inside it. She has her quirks.
Maybe you would like to join us after breakfast for a
spectacular trip.'

'Where to?'

'By train to the summit of Rochers de Naye. Six thou
sand feet up. It has a fantastic view of the lake below.'

'Yes, we would,' Tweed decided. 'Thank you for invit
ing us.'

His decision had been influenced by his conviction that
Paula was in a state of semi-shock. First the nightmare,
then the discovery of Professor Seale. The trip would take
her mind off what she had experienced.

In the dining room Paula, sitting with Tweed and
Newman, had invited Marler, Butler and Nield to join
them. They had been rather left out of what had been going
on. She consumed two eggs and bacon, four croissants and three cups of coffee. Then she felt
alive, alert and ready for
anything. Tweed noticed the colour had returned to her
face and she was having a lively conversation with Marler,
Butler and Nield.

'Although out of sight,' Marler drawled, 'we have heard
about that business down on the
quai.
A topic banned
for the moment,' he added as Tweed frowned at him.
'We have been prowling around Montreux. You know
the Vice-President has reappeared?'

'No, I didn't.' Tweed was surprised and disturbed.
'Where has he been, then? How do you know this?'

'I'm observant,' Marler said with a smile. 'He was
driving his own Mercedes all by himself and slipped back
into the hotel very early this morning. Well before dawn.
You know I'm an early riser. Went straight up to his suite,
wherever that is in this palatial hunk of masonry. He was carrying a large suitcase.'

'So he'd been off somewhere?'

'Can you think of any other reason why he would be
carrying the suitcase?'

'When he's campaigning he's everywhere. But on his
own he's like a man who moves in the shadows. Normal
and abnormal.'

Paula glanced up quickly when she heard the last three
words. Tweed gazed back at her with a warm smile. He
switched his gaze to a large table nearby, the Arbogast
table. Roman was smiling a lot and Tweed's sharp ears
heard him congratulating Sophie on her great achievement in Vevey. He was tactfully not mentioning the mysterious
locked room. Sophie sat up straighter, modestly concealing her pleasure. Marienetta, next to her, gave her a kiss. Black
Jack was tucking into his large breakfast as though there was no tomorrow. Unusually for him he was not saying a word. Tweed thought he looked tired, as though he'd had
an exhausting night.

Tweed told his guests of the invitation to join the party going by train up to Rochers de Naye and said
he'd like everyone to come. Newman frowned. He was
wondering what Tweed's reason was for taking them all
up the mountain.

Paula had just finished joking with Pete Nield when a
tall athletic man appeared, walked over to their table. She
was stunned. It was Ed Danvers, the FBI man attached
to the London Embassy who had visited them at Park
Crescent.

'Am I interrupting you guys?' he said pleasantly. 'If
so I'll vanish in the proverbial cloud of smoke. It's quite
a trick.'