This United state

'You expected something like this?' demanded Beck grimly.

'I didn't know what to expect – whether, in fact, to expect anything. I was just suspicious of the way the information reached us.'

'You can see your cars have arrived. I called them on my mobile. We'll drive you back to your hotel. Paula, are you in shock?'

'No. But thank you for asking. What I do need is a cup of something hot to drink.'

'You'll get that at the hotel. Tweed, I'll want to talk to you later,' Beck snapped.

28

Arriving back at the Three Kings, they climbed out of the two unmarked police cars. Tweed bent down to speak to Beck, behind the wheel, through his open window. The second car deposited Marler, Butler and Nield, who waited.

'Thank you for the lift,' Tweed said. 'I'm sorry it turned out to be such a grim fiasco.'

'We'll talk later,' Beck replied abruptly.

Newman was the last to enter the hotel. He had hung around outside, on the lookout for hostile watchers. There didn't seem to be any. He went inside and bumped into Basil Windermere, as always smartly turned out. He wore a new camel-hair coat.

'How are you, Bob?' he began. 'Just the chap I was hoping to meet. Tell you what, we'll go into the bar, have a drink and a chin-wag.'

It was on the tip of Newman's tongue to refuse. But he was startled to see Windermere in Basel. Tweed had not had time to tell him of the presence of Rupert and Windermere. He decided he'd better find out what was going on. Reluctantly, he agreed. They took off their coats on the way to the bar, which was beyond two restaurants adjoining each other.

'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 glass.

'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.' 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. 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 glass, drank the contents quickly, hammered down the glass.

'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 harassed 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.'