Part 27 (2/2)

'Got it.'

'I want you to land me as close to it as you can - within close' walking distance of the place. You should be able to drop me somewhere. Then wait until J return to take me back to Basel.'

'Will do.'

The chopper was already climbing vertically. The pilot became aware that his pa.s.senger was wriggling around a lot, that he had removed his safety belt. He had no time to look at him as he concentrated on his manoeuvre, then high in the sky swung away from the railway. Now he was searching for a landing point. He saw one at the edge of the village.

'Here we go.'

'Try and land before the train stops at the station. I'll tell you when.'

'Will do.'

It was then that he glanced at his pa.s.senger and had a shock. He would never have recognized the man seated next to him as Leo.

25.

'Back of beyond out here,' Tweed remarked as they alighted on the deserted platform.

'n.o.body else has got off except us,' Paula observed. 'Who would? At this time of year? At this time of day?' Marler replied.

Tweed was hurrying. They followed him as he went down a ramp and started walking along a narrow road alongside the station. The road led steeply downhill with a high rock wall on one side. No traffic. They turned a bend and for a moment Tweed stopped and pointed.

'St Ursanne.'

Paula almost gasped with pleasure at the beauty of the scene in the sunlight. In the distance, where Tweed had pointed, way below them, an ancient village was huddled inside a valley, the old houses close together, with the spire of a church spearing up amid the dwellings which must have existed like this for centuries. It was idyllic. To their left, beyond the empty road, the ground fell steeply for quite a depth. At the bottom a small river meandered through meadows until it pa.s.sed the edge of the village. Paula gestured down.

'Any idea which river that is?'

'The River Doubs,' Tweed told her. 'It figures in. the famous and controversial novel, Le Rouge et Le Noir - The Red and the Black Le Rouge et Le Noir - The Red and the Black, by Stendhal. Now we must keep moving. I have a growing sense we have very little time left.'

Almost before he had finished speaking Tweed was hustling ahead down the road which had become even steeper, his legs moving like pistons. The others had to increase pace to keep up with him.

'Where's the fire?' called out Nield.

Tweed didn't reply. He seemed intent on reaching their destination in the shortest possible time. Lower down there was a pavement on the left side but he ignored it, keeping to the road. Paula caught up with him. If she had to move any faster she would be running. It was only when they were very close to the village, and old houses appeared to their right, each with plenty of land and perched on a slope, their entrances small gates in their garden walls positioned well below them, that Tweed stopped.

'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 pa.s.sed, 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 gla.s.ses 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 pa.s.s 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 gla.s.ses trudged on. They kept quiet as he pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.s 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 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 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 ap.r.o.n.

'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 wis.h.i.+ng to crowd the flight of steps. 'Those are your friends?' she asked.

'You are Juliette Leroy?'

'I am.'

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