Colin Forbes - The Stone leopard

`The Police Nationale headquarters is in the rue de la Montagne Verre which is well over a kilometre from here,' Vanek informed him quietly. 'Now, take off your clothes.'

`My brother and his wife will be calling…'

`The clothes…'

Brunner rammed the Luger barrel hard against him. Philip stripped, taking off dressing-gown and pyjamas until he was standing gross, hairy-chested and naked. Frightened by the coolness of Vanek, he still had some spirit left as he asked again what the hell this was all about.

`Haven't you heard of burglars?' Vanek inquired. 'It is a well known fact that a man without any clothes on is in no position to run about the streets seeking help-especially on a night like this. And before we leave we shall rip out the phone cord. Standard practice. Don't you read the newspapers?'

Telling him they were going to tie his feet to the taps, they made him lie down inside the bath and then Brunner turned on both taps, mingling the water to a medium temperature. The Frenchman, growing more frightened every second, for the third time asked what the hell was going on. It was Vanek who told him.

`We want to know where the safe is,' he said. 'We have been told you have a safe and you are going to tell us where it is…'

`There is no safe…'

`If you don't tell us where it is my colleague will grab hold of your feet and drag you under…'

`There is no safe,' Philip screamed.

`Are you sure?' Vanek looked doubtful, still aiming the Luger at Philip's chest. The bath continued to fill with water at a rapid rate. 'We wouldn't like you to lie to us,' Vanek went on, `and we shall be very annoyed if we search the place and find one…'

`There is no safe! There is money in my wallet in the bedroom-over a thousand francs…'

Brunner switched off both taps and stared at Philip who was now sweating profusely. Bending down, the Czech took hold of the Frenchman's jaw firmly, then pushed his face close to Philip's. Vanek moved to the other end of the bath and took hold of both the Frenchman's ankles. Half-sitting, half-lying in the bath, Philip braced himself, prepared to be dragged under, still protesting there was no safe in the house. Suddenly, he felt the grip on his ankles released as Vanek, in a resigned voice, said, 'I think perhaps he is telling the truth…' Philip relaxed. Brunner jerked the jaw he held in his hand upwards and backwards in a swift, vicious movement and the back of Philip's head struck the bath with a terrible crack. 'He's dead,' Brunner reported as he checked the pulse and then Philip slid under the water and his face dissolved into a wobbling blur.

`The correct sequence,' Vanek commented. 'The medical examiner will confirm he died by striking his head before he immersed himself. Get finished quickly…

Vanek checked the large double bedroom, looking under the bed, on the dressing-table, inside the wardrobe. The few feminine clothes confirmed to him that the girl who had been followed to Strasbourg by Lansky was only a brief visitor, so he set about removing traces of her presence. Taking a suitcase engraved with the initials N.B., he piled in her clothes, her night-things, her cosmetics and six pairs of shoes, her lipstick-stained toothbrush from the bathroom shelf and two lace-edged handkerchiefs from under a pillow. There would still be traces of her presence in the house the police would find, but without clothes they would shrug their shoulders. The last thing Vanek wanted to happen in the next few days was a police dragnet out for a missing woman. He was closing the case when he heard Brunner, who had fetched a pan from the kitchen, scooping out water from the bath and throwing it on the floor. He checked the bathroom before he went downstairs.

`Perfect?' inquired Brunner.

A tablet of soap he had dropped in the bath was muddying the water as it dissolved. Robert Philip had just had a fatal accident, and most accidents happen at home. He had been standing in the bath when he had stepped on the soap tablet, lost his balance and gone crashing down to hit the back of his head. Water had welled over the rim of the bath on to the floor, soaking his pyjamas and dressing-gown. 'I brought up that ash-tray from the living-room,' Brunner remarked. On a stool stood the ash-tray the Czech had carried up in his gloved hand, the burnt-out remnant of the cigarette Philip had left smoking when he answered the door still perched in the lip of the tray.

`Perfect,' Vanek replied, being careful to leave on the bathroom light as he followed Brunner downstairs, carrying Noelle Berger's suitcase; then he switched off the living-room light. Left on all night, it might well have attracted attention, unlike the bathroom which was at the back of the house.

They left by the way Vanek had entered the house-by the french door at the back. Once outside, they re-locked the door with the skeleton keys, and then Vanek waited with the suitcase in the little park until Brunner arrived with the Citroen. It took them only twenty minutes to drive to the banks of the Rhine, and on the way they stopped briefly at a deserted building-site while Vanek collected a few bricks to add weight to the suitcase. A few minutes later he watched the case sink into the swift-flowing current, took over the wheel from Brunner, and by 10.30 pm they were back inside their bedrooms at the Bristol, ready for a night's sleep. They would be leaving early in the morning-on their way to pay a visit on Dieter Wohl in Germany.

In Strasbourg, Alan Lennox woke early on Monday morning, got out of bed at the Hotel Sofitel, opened his door and picked up the local paper he had ordered from the hall porter. He read it in his dressing-gown, drinking the coffee he had ordered from room service. He hardly noticed the banner headline as he searched through the inner pages for a report on Leon Jouvel's suicide, which he found reported at greater length than he had expected; there was a shortage of local news after the weekend. The details it gave were hardly more illuminating than those he had heard from Louise Vallon, Jouvel's assistant, but an Inspector Rochat was mentioned as being in charge of the case and the address of the police station was given.

Finishing his coffee and croissants, Lennox showered and shaved, dressed and paid his bill. Snow was drifting down from a leaden sky as he took a cab to the station where he deposited his bag in the luggage store; Colmar was only thirty minutes away by train and he confidently expected that in one day he should be able to find and talk to Robert Philip, assuming the Frenchman was not away. He was just in time to climb aboard the 9.15 am turbo-train for Colmar before it began moving south. As the train left Strasbourg and moved across the flat plain with glimpses of the Vosges mountains to the west, Lennox read the banner headline story he had skipped over in his bedroom. Another international crisis was brewing.

The Turkish Naval Command in the Bosphorus had recently received a long signal from their opposite numbers at the Russian Black Sea port of Odessa. The signal informed the Turks that a very large convoy, code-named K. I2, would be making passage through the Bosphorus and the Dardanelles en route for the Mediterranean. This was in accord with the long-time agreement whereby Soviet Russia always requests formal permission before sending ships through the Turkish-controlled straits.

As always, the Russians specified the make-up of the convoy, and this so startled the Turkish naval commander that he phoned Ankara urgently. The Defence Minister in the Turkish capital was woken in the middle of the night and he immediately reported the signal to NATO headquarters in Brussels. It was decided as a matter of policy to leak the news to the press. What caused the ripple of alarm was the size of the convoy. The Soviet signal had specified six heavy cruisers (four of them missile-bearing), one aircraft carrier, twelve destroyers and fifteen large transports. The size of the convoy was unprecedented. What could the fifteen large transports be carrying? Where was this enormous convoy headed for?