Colin Forbes - This United state

'Enter the Knife Man,' Marler commented.

'And what does that mean?' demanded Tweed.

'Pete has added to his talents. During the past month or two he's been practising knife-throwing,' Marler explained, keeping his voice down. 'He's become fantastic. He invited me to go with him to a low-down pub in London. They were playing darts and Pete bought drinks all round, then asked if he could use a knife instead of darts. Everyone thought he was a lunatic but let him have a go. He stood well back from the target, threw his knife six times. Result? Six bull's-eyes. I lost a packet. I'd bet him he couldn't do it from that distance.'

'Could come in useful,' Tweed commented. 'Now what were you going to tell us, Marler?'

'It's about the Ear. Poor Kurt. He gave me an address where I could meet him in Basel in an emergency. Drew a map.' He produced a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. 'As you'll see it's a five-minute walk from here – as long as you're good at climbing steps.'

'So what is your idea?'

'That we go there and check out this place. It's not where he lived, wherever that might be. There might be a note left for me there.'

'Who is going?' asked Newman, studying the map. 'All of us,' said Tweed.

'Any thugs in Basel?' Nield enquired.

'The place is crawling with them. They appear to be based at the Euler with more at the Victoria. Two hotels close to the Hauptbahnhof.'

'I know where those hotels are. I came to Basel for you once before,' Nield said. 'I know the place pretty well. And after what you've told me I don't think it's a good idea you trooping up to this place en masse.' He took the map back from Newman.

'Then what do you suggest?' Tweed asked.

'I'm going up to have a quick look at this address by myself. I can be back in a few minutes. I'm off now. Harry will be down soon.'

Before Tweed could protest Nield, taking the map with him, had walked away. Prior to going through the revolving door he slipped on the coat he'd held over one arm. Then he was gone.

'Do you think that's a good idea?' Marler queried. 'I don't. I just hope he'll be all right. He's got the map, so we'll have to sit here and hope for the best.'

Even though it was morning it seemed like night to Nield as he headed along the pavement. The heavy overcast appeared to be almost touching the tops of the old buildings, making the atmosphere even bleaker. There was no one about. All the workers would be thankfully inside their centrally heated offices. Anyone who could would stay in their apartment. It was very quiet. The only sound was the crunch of a tram's wheels as they passed over ice.

Nield had turned left after leaving the hotel. The map was in the breast pocket of his jacket now – having once seen it he knew where he was going. He passed the steps leading down to where, in summer, ships took tourists on short cruises up the Rhine, crossed the street, came to the entrance to the Rheinsprung, a steep street leading upwards for pedestrians and cyclists only. He knew that if he followed that eventually it would lead him to the Munster, a great feature of Basel overlooking the river from a considerable height. Instead, he was treading carefully on the icy slope, looking to his right. He saw what he was looking for very quickly.

A plate on a wall identified it as a gasslein, a narrow alley of endless steps leading up between two high vertical walls. The plate gave the full name, a trainload of German letters. Nield, skilled in speaking and reading German, translated it.

'Alley of the Eleven Thousand Virgins. Sounds hopeful,' he said to himself.

It was a stone staircase mounting upwards into the distance. Very dark, very lonely. Remembering to bring his coat from his room, he had forgotten his gloves. His fingers were beginning to tingle with the cold when he thrust them into his coat pockets. He started climbing his staircase to heaven.

Despite the icy surface of the worn steps he climbed steadily. One advantage of the eerie quiet was he would hear anyone who might be about. He counted as he climbed. It was sixty-eight steps to the top. He paused on the last step, listening, looking. A brand-new Yamaha motorcycle was perched against a wall. A BS registration number – Basel.

Nield knew he was gazing into Martins-platz, a small cobbled square enclosed by old buildings, hidden away from the city. He walked into the deserted but claustrophobic square. No sign of anyone. He knew the address he was looking for was just beyond where the motorcycle with the large saddle had been left. The heavy wooden door was closed, but when he turned the handle slowly it opened. Warmth flooded out to meet him. He pushed the door open slowly, soundlessly. The hinges were well oiled. A dim lamp illuminated the interior. He walked in a few paces and then stopped.

An old woman wearing a dark ankle-length dress sat in a chair, her grey hair tied back in a bun. An ape of a man had been holding a lighted cigarette close to her right eye. The ape was very big, very fat, clad in a black anorak, black slacks, a black beret on his melon-like head. He spun round, holding in his other hand a Magnum pistol, pointing it at Nield. The end of the muzzle seemed like the mouth of a cannon. Like so many fat men, the ape moved swiftly. Dropping the cigarette on the stone floor he leapt forward. The barrel of his weapon struck at Nield's head. He moved slightly so the barrel slid off the side of his face, but the force of the blow made him dizzy. The ape grasped him by the collar, threw him back with a vicious shove. He went backwards, dipped his head at the last moment so his shoulders took the impact of colliding with the stone wall. His legs gave way and he sank down, back resting against the wall.

He felt groggy, but was aware of the ape's hand feeling under his armpits, sliding down his sides, then down his legs, searching for a concealed weapon. Nield was not carrying a gun. Dimly, he saw the ape straighten up, his body enormous. He spat at Nield.

'Whoever you are, you can have the pleasure of watching me torture this stupid woman.' The accent was heavily American. 'I will then deal with you after she's talked – which she will.'

Nield tried to straighten up, sagged again. His vision was beginning to clear. He was in a square stone-walled room. The warmth came from an old ceramic wood- burning stove in a corner. The ape grinned, sharp teeth showing behind his thick lips. He lit a fresh cigarette, held it between his fingers, went over to the old woman, the burning end pointed towards her. On his way, he shoved the door closed.

Rage was growing like a fire inside Nield. It started the adrenalin flowing. The burning end of the cigarette was close to the old woman's eyeball. He eased himself a little higher up the wall. He dared not move much – it would attract the attention of the ape. His right hand crept up over his side. He leaned forward a few inches. His hand was behind his back. The ape became aware of movement. He turned round. In one hand he was still holding the huge gun.

Nield withdrew the stiletto-like knife from the sheath strapped round the top of his back. The stiletto flew across the room with great force and speed. It embedded itself in the throat of the ape. For a moment nothing happened. Then the ape dropped the cigarette, followed by the gun. One hand reached up to the knife, then fell to his side. He gurgled. Blood began to stream down his neck. His massive weight fell forward, his head and neck striking the stone floor. The hilt of the knife was rammed upwards, the point of the stiletto projected out of the back of his neck. He lay still.

Nield let out a deep breath of relief. The door opened. Marler came into the room, Walther automatic in his hand. He was followed by Tweed, Newman and Butler. Newman took in the situation in a glance, ran to help Nield who climbed shakily to his feet. He stiffened both his legs as Newman held on to him. He managed a weak smile.