Colin Forbes - The Power

'You said something about a hold-up,' Butler remarked. 'Is that the trade you practise?'

'I need protection…' Jason began.

'Shut up!' snapped Nield.

Near where they stood two chairs were propped against a wall. In more clement weather tables and chairs were spread out on the pavement for customers to sit at while they enjoyed a drink. Shoving the Luger behind his belt inside his jacket, Butler moved swiftly. He arranged the chairs together so they could be sat on. He went back to where Jason stood with a puzzled expression.

'Turn round and face my partner,' Butler ordered.

As the American turned away from him Butler brought down the barrel of the Luger on Jason's skull. The American was sagging when both Butler and Nield grabbed hold of his inert body, dragged him to the chairs, sat him down, arranged him so he leaned against the back of them.

Nield produced a half bottle of wine he'd brought from the Brasserie. Uncorking it, he spilt a liberal amount down Jason's chin and over his windcheater. Butler had checked his neck pulse, which beat steadily, before they walked back inside the Brasserie. He had also shoved the Luger back inside the shoulder holster.

The one thing both men omitted to notice was a Renault parked in the shadows, apparently empty.

Marvin Mencken, his seat pushed as far back as it would go, had concealed himself when he saw the three men emerging from the Brasserie. In a state of shock, he instinctively hid himself. Once again an apparently foolproof plan had gone wrong. Mencken had told Jason he'd wait outside to pick him up, drive the hell out of Colmar once he'd killed Tweed.

His expression was malevolent and evil as he climbed out of the Renault he had commandeered from one of his surviving teams. In return, he had given them the Land-Rover with a shattered windscreen. Listening, he heard only silence. At this hour even the streets were clear of traffic.

Bending over Jason, he checked the carotid artery, felt its steady beat. His expression became matter-of-fact as he pulled on a pair of gloves. Like Butler, he reached inside Jason's windcheater, hauled out the Luger. Unlike Butler, who had used only enough force to render Jason unconscious for some time, Mencken checked again to make sure he was alone.

He then raised the barrel of the Luger high above his shoulder, brought it down on Jason's skull with such vicious force it rebounded off the skull. Again Mencken checked the carotid artery. Nothing. Jason was dead meat. He'd failed in his task – and there was the added chance the police would find the corpse. Thrusting the Luger back inside the holster, Mencken was about to topple the sagging corpse on to the pavement when he heard a car approaching. He dived back inside the Renault, dipped his head out of sight. The car moved on into the night. Mencken straightened up, adjusted his seat, started the engine and drove off. Bound for this Ouchy dump on the shores of Lake Geneva.

'Do let me in on the secret,' Gaunt's voice boomed out as he joined Tweed's table unasked. 'What's our next port of call on this Cook's tour? Ouchy and points south? Eve is dying of curiosity.'

'Eve is doing nothing of the sort,' Eve Amberg rapped back at Gaunt, obviously well tanked up on alcohol. 'You're the one devoured with curiosity.' She looked at Tweed. 'Then he pretends I'm the one after all sorts of strange and weird information.'

Paula pricked up her ears. Eve sounded convincing. Why would Gaunt adopt this devious ploy?

'I've ordered the largest omelette in the world,' Gaunt went on as his bulk sagged into a chair at the table. 'I trust, Eve, you'll be keeping me company in the BMW. Can't travel without some feminine companionship.'

'Your trust is misplaced,' she shot back at him. 'I'm travelling back by train with Tweed.'

'I suppose you'd accept me as a substitute companion?' Jennie suggested.

'Damn right I will,' boomed Gaunt. 'Jennie and I are on the same waveband.'

Paula glanced at Jennie and then at Gaunt. She had the impression Gaunt had known Eve would refuse, had known Jennie would offer to come with him. Paula had begun to sense that Gaunt and Jennie were working hand in glove without making it obvious.

Gaunt's relationship with the two women intrigued her. At first she'd thought it was Eve who was close to the Squire. Now it appeared Gaunt had used that as a cover, for his closeness to Jennie and Eve had consistently distanced herself from him. Why?

Eve had joined Tweed for dinner soon after the incident of the man with a face like a dog. They were finishing the meal, drinking coffee and Tweed was draining his glass of Riesling while Gaunt wolfed down his huge omelette. At that moment Butler, who had strolled out of the exit on to the street for the second time, came hurrying back. He laid a hand on his chiefs shoulder.

'Excuse me,' Tweed said, standing up. 'Arrangements to make!' He looked at Newman. Take care of the bill for me, Bob.' He guessed that some kind of emergency had just arisen from Butler's action.

Tweed was leaving the Brasserie by the short cut into the hotel when Butler, close behind him, gave a little jerk of his head to Nield who was lingering over coffee at a table by himself.

Having paid the bill earlier, Nield left the table and strolled casually after them. At Tweed's table Gaunt was holding everyone's attention with some outrageous story – except for Newman, who saw Nield leaving.

Passing through the main restaurant – now empty -Tweed led the way into the reception hall and into a small sitting area in a large alcove. There was no one behind the reception counter as the others joined him.

'A crisis?' Tweed enquired in a mild tone.

'A major one,' Butler reported, keeping his voice down as Nield sat in a third chair. 'That gunman we dealt with outside the Brasserie is dead.'

'So what happened?'

'Pete and I sorted him out. I knocked him unconscious with his own Luger, left the gun with him after we'd parked him on a couple of chairs.'

'I poured wine down his jaw and over his windcheater,' Nield added. 'No one wants anything to do with a drunk sleeping it off.'

'You definitely left him unconscious?' Tweed probed.

'Fact one,' Butler began, 'I checked his neck pulse. It was normal. Fact two, there was no blood from the blow I gave him. Now there's blood all down the side of his face – and a second blow has split his skull. Dead as a doornail.'

'Then we leave here fast.' Tweed took out a notebook, checked train times Paula had obtained earlier. 'An express for Basle leaves here in thirty minutes. I'll be aboard – with Paula, Eve, Amberg, Barton Ives, Newman and Philip Cardon. You both know what to do, where to meet us.'

'I drive the Espace to Basle, Pete drives the station wagon,' Butler replied. 'We park near Basle Bahnhof and wait for you to arrive in the station's first-class restaurant.'

'I have phoned Beck,' Tweed told them. 'He has the registration numbers of both vehicles and has given orders to the Swiss border guards to let you through. So you can tape the weapons underneath the chassis of both cars without worry. Now, speed is the order of the day.'

He had stood up, checked his watch. They had to get out of France before the corpse outside was discovered. In the Brasserie there were locals who had nothing better to do than to notice what was going on. He hurried back into the Brasserie to collect the others. It would be a race against time – to cross the frontier before a flic decided to check the body.

They boarded the express with two minutes to spare. At that hour and time of year they found an empty first-class coach. Tweed sat with Barton Ives. Cardon, who had left the table in the Brasserie to guard Amberg before the meal started – the banker had been locked in Tweed's room – sat next to the Swiss further along the coach.