This United state

Holstering his gun; he had reached up again, one hand round her body, the other lifting off the hook. He was surprised at how light she had felt. Tenderly, he had placed her on a couch. Finding a knife in a kitchen drawer, he had carefully cut through the hangman's knot, removed the rope from round her neck, which was already swelling up.

He had thought of calling the local police. He had rejected the idea quickly. He could be held there for days. As a witness – more probably as a suspect. And there was work to do in Basel. Tweed needed him. That was when he had seen something lying on the floor under a table. He had picked it up, examined it for only a moment. Then he had known who the brutal killer was.

He had gone back briefly to the couch where she lay. He put a hand on her face. It had felt so cold. Then he had moved like a robot, using his handkerchief to wipe his prints off the handle of the knife, to open the door to the outside world, his gun by his side in his left hand. He hadn't thought he would see the murderer in the street but he had looked anyway. Nothing. Nobody.

He had checked his watch. He would never make the train. He had walked to the _arch, had taken a deep breath, had begun running up the road beyond non-stop. His brain had dulled, all his concentration on running. Now the shock was receding, he was thinking clearly.

'Let's change seats, Paula,' he said in a normal voice. `You like to look out of the window.'

They had changed seats but she hadn't looked out of the window. She was looking at him. Newman didn't realize that his complexion was ashen. Except for Tweed, the others were now being careful not to look at him. They were giving him time.

'You look washed out, Bob,' Tweed said casually. 'Has something happened?'

'You could say that.'

'I'd like to hear about it. When you're ready.'

Aware of Paula beside him, Newman phrased it carefully. He kept it simple. She had gone through enough already with her experience in Eagle Street – and then, more recently, the Umbrella Men.

'It's not good news, I'm afraid.'

'I didn't think it would be,' Tweed said in the same casual tone.

'It's about Juliette Leroy?' Paula whispered.

'When I got back I found her – strangled.'

'Oh, no…'

Paula tightened her lips. Newman had decided to give no details. They could come later. Any description now would be too horrific. He felt in the pocket of his coat. He had the attention of everyone now. He took the coat button he had picked up off the floor, handed it to Marler.

'Recognize that?'

'Can't say I do.'

'For once you slipped up.'

'I'm not with you,' said Marler.

'The killer walked past you before we went into St Ursanne. A fake blind man. Put on a clever show. As think Tweed once said, we're up against professionals.'

'I'm still not with you,' Marler repeated.

'He wore an old coat with unusual buttons. They almost merged with his coat. But I noticed them because the symbol on them is unusual. Couldn't identify it at the time. Look at it again. Looks like the torch held up by the Statue of Liberty outside New York.'

'So it does.' Marler handed back the button. 'Where did you find it?'

'Under a chair in the room where we had a meal at the Hotel d'Or. There must have been a struggle. Or maybe the thread holding it was hanging loose.'

'And we saw him walk past us,' whispered Paula. 'And I thought, poor old thing.'

'Which was what you were intended to think,' Tweed remarked.

'Poor Juliette,' Paula went on. 'She was such a nice kind person. And I was looking forward to seeing her again. Dream village? It's turned into a nightmare.'

She stared out of the window. Sunlight still shone brilliantly on the greening landscape. She wasn't taking it in. Her mind had gone back to their lunch at the Hotel d'Or. Tweed and Juliette had got on well together, their conversation easy. Maybe if they had returned for a holiday the two of them would have struck up a warm companionship. Years before, Tweed's wife had run off with a Greek shipping millionaire. He had never bothered to divorce her.

Tweed was also gazing out of the window, his expression pensive. The sunlight vanished. They had entered the tunnel. When they emerged from the other end Marler spoke.

'A second before the train left I thought I heard a chopper taking off.'

'You did,' agreed Newman.

'Probably the machine which brought the assassin, then flew him out afterwards.'

'That's what I thought/ Newman agreed again.

Arriving back at the Three Kings, Tweed followed Paula inside and stood stock-still. Standing by the reception desk was the last person in the world he expected to encounter. Sir Guy Strangeways.

'Hello, my good friend,' Strangeways greeted him. 'Small world.'

'As you say.'

'I'd appreciate a word with you. The writing room opposite the lift do you?'

'Just for a short time.'

As Strangeways disappeared into the room Tweed joined the others waiting for the lift. He kept his voice down.

'In half an hour's time we have to be in Beck's office across the street. You go on ahead when you're ready. I'll follow you. Guy has something on his mind.'

The door to the small room was closed. When Tweed opened it, shut it behind him, Strangeways was seated at a desk, writing furiously. There was no one else in the room as Sir Guy, hearing the door close, dropped his fountain pen, twisted round in his chair with a worried expression.

'Good of you to come so quickly. Please do sit down.'

'How did you know I was here?' Tweed demanded, still standing.

'That's hush-hush. Sorry, I gave my word.'

'What was it you wanted to see me about? I haven't much time.'

'I have problems.'

'We all have. What are yours, Guy?'

'Rupert, for one thing.' Strangeways grimaced. 'I told you – he owes that casino at Campione a packet. They're turning nasty. They even had the nerve to call me at Irongates.'

'So where is Rupert?'

'I do wish you'd sit down, Tweed.'

'I can only give you a few minutes just now.' 'Rupert's here. With me.'

'In this hotel?'

'Yes. Situation being what it is, thought I'd better keep him under my wing, so to speak.'

'He may sneak off,' Tweed warned. `To borrow more money.'

'He's tried that back home. No one will give him a sou. Didn't know I was going to have to buy three tickets when we came out here.'

'So who is the third party?'

'Basil Windermere.'

'And has he a room in this hotel?' Tweed asked, suppressing his annoyance.

'He has. Not the sort of chap I want within a thousand miles of me, but I hadn't much choice. They're close friends. I know at one moment they'll be snarling at each other, then the next they're bosom pals. I thought Rupert needed someone of his own age to keep him company.'

'Where did you think I come in on this domestic problem?'

'Well.. Strangeways capped his pen, began twirling it between his fingers. 'I thought maybe Bob Newman could phone the boss of Campione, threaten to write an article exposing him.'

'Threaten? He doesn't know anything about the place.' Leaning on the edge of the desk, Tweed folded his arms. He stared down at the worried man.

'I don't think that's the real reason that you – somehow – found out where I was and hopped on a flight to see me.'

'There was something else.'

'I've got a couple of minutes left before I have to go.'

'Morgenstern called me, urged me to come and see him right away at the Embassy. You know what he's like – wants everything yesterday, if not sooner. I drove up for the meeting. His one theme, hammered away non-stop, was that the special relationship between Britain and America must be enormously strengthened. And quickly. He thinks you're a key element in the plan. He said he'd seen you once. Now he wants to see you again. I'm worried.'