Vorpal Blade (32 page)

'At lunchtime. It is really rather funny. He has a bodyguard with him. A Mr Danvers. Mr Straub refuses to allow
him to accompany him. He has been out all afternoon on
his own.'

'Have you been here long?' Tweed enquired with a
smile. It was unheard of for staff here to be so indiscreet,
giving out information about another guest.

'No, sir. I'm only temporary. I shall be leaving within a
week. I've obtained a post at a hotel in Geneva.'

Both Paula and Tweed found they had good rooms
overlooking the entrance where a
Rolls-Royce was parked.
Tweed had just opened his case when the phone rang. It
was the police driver who had brought them there.

'I'm sorry to disturb you, sir. My employer, with whom
you were talking recently, would like to see you again urgently. Provided it is convenient. I could drive you back
when you are available.'

'I'm available now.'

The driver had been the soul of discretion. No names mentioned. It must be important for Beck to want to see him so soon again, Tweed knew. He tapped on Paula's
door. She opened it with a towel wrapped round her.

'Beck wants to see me again. Back at police headquarters. No idea why. In any case you'll be having Marienetta for company.'

When he had gone Paula, who moved quickly, had had
a wash and was removing crushable items from her case.
She changed into her blue two-piece suit and wondered what Beck wanted to see Tweed about. Sounded like an
emergency.

As she walked into the uncrowded lounge she saw
Roman Arbogast get up from his table, padding off
somewhere. At another table a good distance from where
Marienetta sat Sophie was having tea by herself. Odd, she
thought.

'I have ordered tea for you,' Marienetta said as Paula sat facing her. 'I do like that suit.'

'And I like yours. Very chic.'

'Oh dear!' Marienetta chuckled. 'We're turning into a
mutual admiration society. This might be a good opportunity to compare notes. We did agree to collaborate.'

'A good idea.'

A man walked into the lounge. Russell Straub, wear
ing a different suit, smart, biscuit-coloured. His tie was
cinnamon, a perfect choice over a freshly starched white
shirt. The Vice-President had good dress sense. He walked
with a purposeful stride, about to pass close to their table,
staring straight ahead.

'Hi, cousin,' Marienetta called out to him.

He stopped, stood stock-still for several seconds. Glanc
ing at Marienetta he glared at her, his intense dark eyes vicious. The same look he had given Tweed during their
brief confrontation at Sophie's birthday dinner in London.
Then, without a word, he walked on, disappeared.

'So, what did I say?' Marienetta said to Paula. 'Brits do
refer to our American cousins. I have a friend at the
Foreign Office who often uses the phrase.'

'I think he must have a volatile temperament,' Paula
replied.

'Weird. At Sophie's birthday party I chatted to him
over drinks before we started dinner.
He must have had
a disappointing afternoon. Now, these terrible murders. Have you come to some conclusion about the killer's
identity?'

'After you. I'm concentrating on food. Ravenous. But I
can listen.'

'Well, first there's that strange reporter, Sam Snyder. I remember when he first came to see Roman. He showed him a critical article he'd written on ACTIL as a global
giant. Roman didn't like it at all. He offered Snyder the
use of our Gulfstream to travel to the States when it
was available. On condition he toned the article down.

The article never appeared. Roman is wily,' Marienetta
chuckled.

'So did Snyder use your Gulfstream to fly back and forth
to the States? I mean, the other way round.'

'Yes, he did. It was a dream offer. If something big
happened in the States, Snyder could beat his British
rivals, get there first. I find it intriguing that his profession
is that of crime reporter.'

'I see what you mean. Incidentally, why is Sophie having
tea so very much on her own?'

'She's avoiding me.' Marienetta smiled wrily. 'We have
these spats - or rather she does. Occasionally, especially
when my sculpture isn't going well, I have dinner with
Black Jack. Don't trust him but he's lively. I try to make
sure Sophie never knows. But if she finds out she goes wild
with rage. She could kill me.'

'You're speaking rhetorically?'

Marienetta paused. 'Of course I am,' she said after a
few moments. 'She just gets these moods. Sometimes she
decides she's going to marry Jack. Then, thank Heaven,
she goes off him. It's a muddled relationship. But I digress.
I wondered about Abraham Scale. Such a strange character. But now the poor man has fallen victim to the deadly
blade. So I'm not getting far yet. What about you?'

Her cat's eyes gazed straight at Paula. Was she hoping
her collaborator had better luck?

'I do think a lot about it starting in Maine. When did
you first meet Russell Straub?'

'In New York. At a party. He was all over me then,
wanted me to fly to California with him. I didn't.'

'Is Straub married? I should know but I don't.'

'He was but his wife divorced him. It was kept quiet.'

'Why did she take that decision?'

'She told me she was fed up with the Potomac running
through her living room. She meant politics. Said he was a fanatic, that he'd do anything to become President. Which
is going to happen. He has key figures and groups lined up
behind him.'

'Fanatic?' Paula repeated.

'That was the word his wife used.'

They talked some more and then Paula saw Tweed returning, heading for the lift. She thanked Marienetta for the tea
and they agreed to meet later.

Paula was going to collect the coat she had left with the
concierge - she had thought Marienetta might suggest a
walk after tea. Pausing, she saw Roman, wearing a heavy
black overcoat, leaving the hotel.

Grabbing her coat she put it on as she left the hotel.
It was dark outside now. Night falls early at this time of
the year. Hurrying along the wide drive and out of the
entrance she was just in time to see Arbogast turn left
up Bahnhofstrasse. He was carrying a large executive case
which looked weighty.

Reaching Bahnhofstrasse she saw his heavily built figure
padding rapidly up the main street. She walked after
him, aware that the street was otherwise deserted. She
was thankful for the powerful street lights at intervals.
Behind her she heard rapid footsteps. She glanced back
as Newman caught up with her.

'What the devil do you think you're doing? Going out
in the dark by yourself?'

'I'm following someone. That's Roman Arbogast in
front of us. Please don't tell Tweed.'

'I'll think about it.'

Suddenly Roman disappeared. He had turned down the
first side street to the left. Where on earth could he be going to? At this time of night? Newman gripped her arm, swung
her round.

'Back to the hotel. There's no one about . . .'

Inside the hotel Newman left her as she entered the lift.

She dashed to her room, took off her coat, hung it in the
wardrobe, went back to Tweed's room. She tapped on the door. His expression was grim when he opened it.

'What's the matter?' she asked, sitting down in a chair.

'Beck called me back because Monica had called him,
wanted to speak to me urgently on a safe phone. I got
through to her immediately.'

'And why was she calling you?'

'Monica, I'm sure, hasn't slept for over twenty-four
hours. She has been calling the world to build up the
Arbogast family tree. She hasn't completed it yet by any
manner of means, but she has given me invaluable data.'

'Can I get a big pad? I want to make notes. There,
ready.'

'The Arbogasts originated in Italy. Their real name
was Arbogastini. Three generations back there were two
brothers - Benito and Vicenzo. They were born in Rome. When they
grew up they moved to Milan. They probably couldn't make it there, so Benito moved to London while
Vicenzo moved to New York. They had children. Vicenzo changed the family name to Arbogast - to avoid sounding
like Mafia. He became a key figure in a Democrat politi
cal machine in Memphis, Tennessee, controlled by Boss
Crump. I've heard of him by reading American history.'

'We're coming close to this generation,' she said.

'We are. Vicenzo had also changed his Christian name,
to Vincent. This is where the political element came in.
Vincent's eldest son changed the name again - to Straub so there was no possible hint of Mafia. His Christian name he
changed to Russell. He was brought up in a highly political
atmosphere.'

'So in America we have reached the present?'

'As you know Russell Straub is staying in this hotel.
But Vincent had other children. Names as yet unknown. Meanwhile Benito in London became Alfred Arbogast.
Then we come to the second generation. The eldest son
was Roman. I suppose there was a desire not to sever all links with Italy. This branch of the family never entered
politics. They moved from one trade to another. It was
Roman who had the idea of building the ACTIL empire,
a global system. He succeeded, had a daughter, Sophie.
Both in the States and here there were other brothers
who produced families. So far we know nothing about
them.' Tweed stood up, began pacing. 'At long last a
vague pattern is emerging. I have a theory but nothing to
base it on. When I have I'll tell you. Of one thing I'm now
convinced. These horrific murders concern power,
power.,
POWER

'I'm not sure I've grasped this,' Paula said, staring at the scribbles on her pad.

'Simplify it. Work it backwards. Today we have the older
generation, represented by Roman Arbogast. Roman has a
daughter, Sophie. He also has a niece, Marienetta - who
must be the offspring of a brother of his who also came to
Britain. We haven't traced the brother yet.'

'I'm quite clear now on the sequence.'

'In the States Russell, the son of Vincent Arbogast,
changed his name to Straub. His father was involved
in Boss Crump's political machine in Memphis. Which
is why Russell became a politician and ultimately Vice-
President.'