'We'll be cautious now,' he said as the others arrived.
'Well, at least the chopper has vanished,' Paula remarked. 'And I am wondering whether we ought to have phoned Juliette Leroy before coming all this distance.'
'That would have been a mistake. Like Irina, I think Leroy has to see us before she will talk.'
'Hear it?' Marler asked. 'Behind us?'
Tap… tap… tap…
It was a weird sound in the serene silence of the sunny afternoon. As one, they all turned to look back. A man was emerging from one of the gardens they had passed, his stick tapping on the stone steps leading down from the house. Arriving at the gate, he fumbled with the catch, opened it, came out slowly, closed the gate and came trudging slowly towards them.
Tap… tap… tap…
He wore an old coat, which Paula thought must be too heavy for a sunny day. But he was old. He wore a floppy brimmed Swiss hat and beneath it very dark glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose, his head bent. In his right hand he carried a white stick, ringed at intervals like a bamboo cane. It was tipped with a rubber at the end. He was tapping the stick against the edge of the pavement.
'Poor devil. He's blind,' Paula whispered.
'Better let him pass us, Tweed suggested. 'We'll move out of his way.'
They crossed to the far side of the road and waited. The man with the dark glasses trudged on. They kept quiet as he passed them, seemingly unaware of their presence.
The handle of his white stick was curved like a shepherd's crook. Paula noticed it was flexible, moving in the hand which gripped it as the cane tapped. Immediately ahead of him was an ancient stone tower with an archway below it, high and wide enough to let a farm cart pass through. They watched the man raise his. stick to tap at a side wall of the archway, then make his way through it.
'Must be a local,' Paula mused. 'Probably knows his way about the place better than we ever shall.'
They waited while the man tapped his way carefully along the street beyond. He was some distance away when he paused with his back to them. Taking an old pipe out of his pocket he half-turned, used the side of a lighter to tamp the bowl, then lit it. He resumed his slow progress away from them.
'Let's get on with it,' said Tweed.
Walking through the archway, Paula noticed the street ahead had a plate on the side of a wall. Rue du 23 juin. Tweed had stopped by her side, looking to his left.
Steps led up to the Hotel La Couronne. The door at the top was closed.
'We might enquire here,' he suggested.
'I don't think so.'
Paula pointed to a small notice in the window near the door. It had a simple message. Ferme. Closed. Tweed shrugged. Paula was gazing down the main street, fascinated. On either side ancient houses, joined together, had tiled roofs at different heights. Like something out of a child's fairytale. The walls were covered with plaster, each house painted a contrasting muted colour – yellow, ochre, cream and other attractive tones.
'It's like Paradise,' she said. 'And so quiet. Apart from that blind man there's no one about anywhere. I wonder how we're going to find that street?'
'La Ruelle. Look at that plate on the wall over there. It's in this side street.' He peered down it. 'There's the Hotel d'Or. Not twenty yards away.'
They walked down the street and Paula followed Tweed up stone steps to a landing on the first floor. It had a door with a window masked by net curtains. Tweed pressed a bell by the door's side. The door opened and a tall attractive slim woman in her -fifties stood looking at them, as she quickly removed an apron.
'Do you speak English?' Tweed enquired.
'I do, Monsieur. How can I help you?'
'I have come from the late General Guisan, so to speak.'
'Please to come in.' She peered down the steps. Newman was, waiting with the others, not wishing to crowd the flight of steps. 'Those are your friends?' she asked.
'You are Juliette Leroy?'
'I am.'
'Yes, they are my friends, but there are rather a lot of us.'
'Please to ask your friends to join you.'
They walked into a large room which was obviously a dining room with a bar at the back and the kitchen in the rear. The walls and ceiling were covered with pinewood, which gave the place a cosy atmosphere. Extending close to the kitchen area paintings of scenes in the Jura hung from hooks and with very heavy-looking gilt frames. One long table was laid for a meal with ten places but the other tables were bare of cloths.
'I have waited for you,' said Leroy. 'I have something for you from Albert.'
'Albert?' The surprise showed in Tweed's voice. 'My friend is called Kurt.'
'Please to excuse me. That was a little test. I will get it for you now.'
She hurried to the kitchen, hauled out a drawer full of cutlery. Balancing it on a work surface, she detached an envelope taped to the underneath. She handed it to Tweed.
'There you are. You will see Kurt signed it on the back with his Christian name. You are hungry?'
'We can't impose on your hospitality…'
'I ask if you are hungry.' Her blue-grey eyes held his and he had the impression of a forceful personality. At the same time she gave him a radiant smile. 'You like Filets des Perches with the pomme frites? Most Englishmen do. The table is already laid, as you see.'
'For someone else, I suspect, Mademoiselle.'
'I am a widow. The table is laid for a group of farmers – they will not be here until this evening. I have plenty of food for them and for you and your friends.'
Tweed glanced at his watch. He suddenly felt terribly hungry. And what she had offered was one of his favourite dishes.
'We have to leave in an hour at the latest – to catch a train back to Basel.'
'Then please sit down, everyone. You have plenty of time.'
She was already' returning to the kitchen. She produced several pans, opened the large fridge-freezer. Everyone was sitting down when Paula noticed the entrance door had not been closed properly. She went to shut it and thought she caught sight of someone moving in the street.
Opening the door wider, she went out on to the landing. There was no sign of anyone. Nearby several narrow alleys led off the street. Must have been my imagination, she thought. She closed the door and sat next to Tweed at the table.
The plates of food, which smelt wonderful, were placed before them more quickly than Tweed had expected. Juliette sat down opposite him, noticing he had already broken some crusty bread. She smiled.
'You were hungry. You have started eating the bread.'
'It's some of the best bread I've ever tasted,' he answered honestly. 'This is very good of you, Madame Leroy.'
'I enjoy this.' She looked round the table at Newman, Nield, Butler and Marler, then at Paula. 'It gives me much pleasure to watch you eating. You are all most hungry.'
What a nice woman, Paula thought. She radiates good humour. She loves to see people having a good time. What a pity there aren't more like her in the world.
'I fear we must go now,' Tweed said a short while later. 'I don't want to but, as I said, we have to catch that train. Something important waits for us in Basel.'
They stood up from the table, their plates cleared of food. Then Tweed had a friendly argument when he insisted on paying. He became emphatic.
'You are running a business here. I must pay.'
'You come here for holiday with me. All who can. All, I hope.' She laughed. 'Then you pay through the nose. Is that correct?'