Part 34 (1/2)

”George McAdam?” asked Thomas.

The voice snapped,

”Who's this?”

”You don't know me, sir, my name is Thomas Daniels. I'm an attorney from New York City.” Silence on the other end.

”I'm a friend of Leslie's” he tried.

There was a painfully long silence. Then McAdam replied quietly,

”What do you want?”

”I need to speak with you. About your foster daughter. There's a legal proceeding in the United States involving-” ”I don't want to hear it,” said McAdam coldly Thomas groped for the proper response, but McAdam spoke next.

”If you're trying to make money off my daughter,” the voice said bitterly,

”I'll have no part of it ”I'm trying to help her. I represent her.”

Represent' The voice was sardonic, bemused, scoffing.

”It's a matter of utmost importance” Thomas insisted.

”Not so much for me. But for her.”

”For her?” the voice said. There was definite sarcasm, a mocking tone to McAdam's voice, as if he both disbelieved and distrusted.

”Poor Leslie” he said. Thomas began to speak, but McAdam interrupted sharply, asking where the call was originating.

”London.”

There was silence as McAdam seemed to be thinking.

”I won't talk about it 'he repeated. Thomas was prepared to argue, but McAdam continued.

”I suppose, whoever you are, there's not much you can do to me now. I won't talk about it, not on the telephone. Are you coming to Switzerland?”

”I can ' ”You have my address, I a.s.sume,” he said bitterly.

”I do ” ”Be here day after tomorrow at ten A.M. If you have something to talk about, I'll see you then.”

Thomas was about to thank McAdam, but the other end went dead. McAdam had put down his receiver.

Slowly Thomas hung up his telephone. He was exultant in finding McAdam. But his overwhelming feeling was one of uneasiness, of suspicion. McAdam wasn't doing him a favor. McAdam was trying to discover what Thomas was doing. There'd been something important unsaid in that brief conversation. Whatever it was, it was worth a flight to Switzerland to discover.

Chapter 12

Sixteen, rue de Paudax was a moderately sized stucco villa behind a large white brick fence and a large black iron gate. The rue de Paudax crisscrossed a large hill on the northern side of the Lake of Geneva. Had houses of similar size and design not been on the southern side of the rue, Thomas would have been afforded a fine view of the Lake itself and the French Alps on the opposite sh.o.r.e behind Evian.

Thomas stopped at Number 16. He examined the house and the iron bars of the gate. There was no name anywhere identifying the resident. The mail slot in the fence was unmarked. There was no bell to ring, perhaps a strong hint that the resident did not wish to be disturbed by outsiders. Perfect anonymity, thought Thomas, for a Swiss businessman or an Englishman who doesn't wish to be found.