Vorpal Blade

by Colin Forbes

  A very powerful TV light perched on a truck was suddenly 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 tinkling 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 remembered 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 commented when he had ended the call.

  'We may have had a big break. May have. You remember 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 discovered. 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 thousand feet up. It has a fantastic view of the lake below.'

  'Yes, we would,' Tweed decided. 'Thank you for inviting 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.'

  'Of course not,' Paula piped up. 'There's space for you next to me. The waiter overheard and he's bringing a chair.'

  Danvers sat down between Paula and Tweed. Dressed in an American sports jacket and jeans, he smiled briefly. He looked healthy and athletic but then his expression became one of acute exasperation. He accepted coffee, drank some.

  'You're the last person on earth I expected to see here,' remarked Paula.

  'It happened quickly. I was ordered to accompany the Vice-President everywhere he went,' he explained, speaking very quietly. 'Two days ago we fly to Geneva, travel in the waiting limo to this place. Straub goes up to his suite, tells me to enjoy myself. I protest and he shuts the door in my face. I haven't seen him since until he rolls back here early this morning. I've spent two days patrolling Montreux, looking for him. He's nowhere to be seen. When I check with the concierge his key is on the hook, which means he's no longer here. Until he gets back this morning. Why am I telling you this? Because your pal Cord Dillon, Mr Tweed, is my pal. He gave you both a glowing testimonial. So I trust you when I need someone to groan to.'

  'Why does Straub behave like this?' Tweed asked softly.

  'Damned if I know. Says he's on a confidential diplomatic mission. Let slip - or pretended to - that he visited Paris. So why didn't we fly there first? Don't ask me. I'm just the messenger boy. With no messages.'

  'We're going up to Rochers de Naye after breakfast,' Paula told him.

  'So is Straub. Maybe Roman Arbogast asked him. I wouldn't know. I wish I were back at Grosvenor Square.'

  'Roman is waving to us,' Tweed reported. 'I think the trip is about to start.'

  'Well, nothing can happen on top of a mountain,' Danvers said.

  Limos, organized by Roman, took the large party to the station, although they could have walked there. The station for Rochers de Naye was across from the main-line station and separate from it. The train was a surprise. Streamlined, it was like a toy version of France's TGV, very modern and like a bullet. Locals, carrying shopping, piled into the front coach, leaving the rear coach empty for Arbogast's party.

  There was plenty of room. Tweed and Newman occupied a seat at the rear while Paula sat by herself opposite and across the aisle. Newman nudged Tweed, nodded towards the front seat some distance away. Russell Straub had appeared out of nowhere and had parked a bag next to him. This had compelled Danvers to sit behind him.

  The Arbogast party was scattered in different seats. As the doors closed automatically and the train glided forward Paula whispered to Tweed.

  'Black Jack must have run himself into the ground last night. He's already fallen asleep.'

  'Trawling the bars.' Tweed paused. 'Or something.'

  'I wonder how Dr Scale found his way to Montreux.'

  'We may never know.'

  'Why is the Arbogast family tree so important? You were very intense when talking to Monica.'

  'Just a hunch.'

  They were starting to climb. Montreux faded behind them. Paula, who had come across to converse with Tweed, went back to her seat. The view out of the window was more interesting. Small Swiss villages stood just beyond platforms where the train stopped. From the front coach women carrying shopping alighted. Newman realized they used the train to commute down into Montreux to buy necessities. Paula admired the neatness of the houses, the creepers trained over white walls. They stopped at many villages, then the incline of the track began to go up steeply. The villages, the frequent stops were left behind. Rocky, less fertile ground appeared as the slowing train climbed and climbed at an ever steeper angle. Ahead through the windows Paula could see the line swinging round an endless succession of hairpin bends, like two metal snakes. She felt they were heading for the roof of the world.

  Tweed leaned close to Newman, spoke clearly even though his voice was little more than a whisper.

  'This is a direct order. When we alight at the top you will stay with Paula every second. Whatever happens.'

  'Understood.'

  'Bob,' Paula called across the aisle, 'do you mind changing places with me? I'm being selfish but the view now on your side is much more dramatic.'

  'Be my guest . . .'

  Tweed gave her his window seat. As they swung round another sharp bend, still climbing, an immense peak appeared higher up. A huge menacing knob of rock. Tweed pointed to it.

  'That is the ultimate summit of Rochers de Naye. You can't get on top of that. Only an expert mountain climber would attempt it.'

  'It's another world,' she said.

  'And I'm wondering why Roman Arbogast organized this trip. It's out of character.'

  He said nothing more and Paula watched as dense clouds of mist shrouded the peak. It simply disappeared. Near the front of the coach Black Jack had woken up, rubbed his hands through his thick dark hair, stretched his arms as though limbering up for some difficult physical task. Behind him Roman Arbogast, sitting by himself, sat up straighter. The last station was close.

  'With that mist it will be cold,' Tweed remarked. Taking off his light waterproof topcoat, he wrapped it round Paula's shoulders like a long cloak. 'That will keep you warm.'

  He stood up before she could protest. As she stood up as well Arbogast glanced round, his right eye twitching. Tweed was now convinced the twitching indicated he was under tension. Why? What was bothering him now? Or was he steeling himself for something?

  The train glided into the final station, the doors opened automatically, the passengers were piling out onto the small platform. Tweed tried to see who was going where but it was hopeless. Paula had tucked her long hair under a peaked baseball cap. Newman took her arm as she alighted.

  'I need company,' he said. 'Don't like heights. Let's stick together.'

  'I never knew you suffered from vertigo.'

  'It's six thousand feet up here. That's a lot of feet.'

  Tweed walked by himself up the rocky slope leading towards the edge. In places he could see clearly several yards ahead. Then the mist would roll in and he sensed the right direction by instinct. The rest of the party had vanished as he plodded on and upwards. He was moving slowly through the dense mist, then speeding up when a clear patch appeared. He stopped once or twice to listen. The silence was complete, almost ominous. He was confident he knew the way to the edge. Years before he had been here on a clear sunlit day, had stood at the edge. He was determined to repeat the experience. He took off the heavy coat which was hampering him, threw it over his shoulders like a cloak.

  He was moving more slowly now, not sure of where he was.
The mist ahead of him cleared suddenly. He had paused and through the wide 'window' provided by the sunlight he saw he was a dozen yards or so from the edge. Beyond the sun glittered on the lake far below, on a fantastic panorama of the Vallee, way down, as seen from a plane. He walked to within a few feet of the brink and stared down the immense abyss, as he had done once before long ago. The abyss was dropping vertically, sheer, falling, falling, falling.

  Suddenly the mist rolled round him, blotting out the view. He was encircled by cloud, could see nothing of the view, the drop. He was beginning to get confused about direction. Stand perfectly still until the mist clears again, he told himself. Then he felt the knuckled hand in his back, perfectly positioned in the centre of his spine. Perfectly positioned to give one shove and he'd go over, down and down the abyss. He had only a millisecond to react. He spun round to his left, backing away from the precipice. His left hand clenched in a fist and he struck out with all his force. The thrust sailed into mist, hit nothing solid. He backed slowly down the slope, away from eternity. The mist cleared and a corridor of clarity revealed the station well down the slope. His hands were clammy, and not from the mist.

  19

  The mist continued to disperse. As he trudged down the slope Tweed observed where everyone was. Over to his right Roman Arbogast was padding down slowly. To his left, a long way down, Black Jack was jogging at a deliberate pace. Nearer, also to his left, Marienetta was strolling down alongside Sophie. He saw her clasp Sophie's hand. Sophie snatched her hand free, walked briskly, her head raised, her brown hair tied back in a ponytail. Her attitude expressed both frustration and anger.