Elizabeth was crouched against the paneling of the wall. She was at once
frightened and grateful. She looked at the field acoountant lying in front
of her trying to hold his shoulder. She was convinced’he had thrown himself
over her -to’ protect -her from -the bullets. He never explained otherwise.
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“How badly are you hurt?”
“I’m not sure. It hurts like hell. I’ve never been hit before. Never shot
before. . . .” He was finding it difficult to speak. Elizabeth started to
move toward him”God damn itl Stay where you are!” He looked up and saw that
he was out of the sight line of the window. They both were. “Look, can you
reach the phone? Go on the floor. Stay down! . . . I think I need a doctor.
. . . A doctor.” He passed out.
Thirty minutes later Canfield awoke. He was on his own bed with the whole
upper left part of his chest encased in an uncomfortable bandage. He could
barely move. He could see, blurredly to be sure, a number of’ figures
around him. As his eyes came into focus, he saw Elizabeth at the foot of
the bed looking down at him. To her right was a man in an overcoat, behind
him a uniformed policeman. Bending over him on his left was a balding,
stem-faced man in his shirt sleeves, obviously a doctor. He spoke to
Canfield. His accent was French.
“Move your left hand, please.”
Canfield obeyed.
“Your feet, please.”
Again he complied.
:’Can you roll your head?”
‘What? Where?”
“Move your head back and forth. Don’t try to be amu, mg.” Elizabeth was
possibly the most relieved person within twenty miles of the Hotel D’
Accord. She even smiled.
Canfield swung his head back and forth.
“You are not seriously hum” The doctor stood erect.
“You sound disappointed,” answered the field accountaliL
“May I ask him questions, Herr Doktor?” said the Swiss next to Elizabeth.
The doctor replied in his broken English. “Yes. The bullet passed him
througIL”
What one had to do with the other perplexed Canfield, but he had no time to
think about it Elizabeth spoke.
“I’ve explained to this gentleman that you’re merely accompanying me while
-1 conduct business affairs. We’re totally bewildered by whafs happened.”
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“I would appreciate this man answering for himself, madame.”
“Damned if I can tell you anything, mister. And then Canfield stopped.
There was no point in being a fool. He was going to need help. “On second
thought, maybe I ~an.” He looked toward the doctor, who was putting on his
suit coat. The Swiss understood.
“Very well. We shall wait.”
“Mr. Canfield, what can you possibly add?”
“Passage to Zurich.”
Elizabeth understood.
The doctor left and Canfield found that he could lie on his right side. The
Swiss Geheirnpolizist walked around to be nearer.
“Sit down, sir,” said Canfield as the man drew up a chair. “What I’m going
to tell you will seem foolish to someone like you and me who have to work
for our livings.” The field accountant winked. “It’s a private matter -no
harm to anyone outside the family, family business, but you can help….
Does your man speak English?”
The Swiss looked briefly at the uniformed policeman.
“No, monsieur.”
“Good. As I say, you can help. Both the clean record of your fair city …
and yourself.” (
The Swiss Geheimpolizist drew up his chair closer.
He was delighted.
The afternoon arrived. They had timed the train schedules to the quarter
‘hour and had telephoned ahead for a limousine and chauffeur. Their train
tickets had been purchased by the hotel, claasly spelling out the name of
Scarlatti for preferred treatment and the finest accommodations available
for the short trip to Zurich. Their luggage was sent downstairs an hour
beforehand -and deposited by the ‘front entrance. The tags were legibly
marked, the train compartments specified, and even the limousine service
noted -for the Zurich porters. Canfield figured that the lowest IQ in
Europe could know the immediate itinerary of Elizabeth Scarlatti if he
wished to.
The ride from the hotel to the station took about twelve minutes. One-half
hour before the -train for Zurich departed an old woman, with a heavy black
veil, ac-
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i
oompanied by a youngish man in a brand-new fedora, his left arm in a white
sling, got into a limousine. They were escorted by two members of the Geneva
police, who kept their hands on their holstered pistols.
No incident occurred, and the two travelers rushed into the station and
immediately onto the train.
As the train left the Geneva platform, another elderly woman accompanied
by. a youngish man, this one in a Brooks Brothers hat, and also with his
left arm in a sling but hidden by a topcoat, left the service entrance of
the Hotel D’Accord. The elderly woman was dressed in the uniform of a Red
Cross colonel, female division, complete with a garrison cap. The man
driving was also a member of the International Red Cross. The two people
rushed into the back seat, and the young man closed the door. He
immediately took the cellophane off a thin cigar and said to the driver,
“Let’s go.”
As the car sped out the narrow driveway, the old woman spoke disparagingly.
“Really, Mr. Canfieldl Must you smoke one of those awful things?”
“Gevena rules, lady. Prisoners are allowed packages from home.”
a
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CHAPTER 43
Twent”even miles from Zurich is the town of Menziken. The Geneva tram
stopped for precisely four minutes, the time allotW for the leading of the
railway post and then proceeded on its inevitable, exact, fated zide up the
tracks to its destingtion.
Five minutes out of Menziken, compartments D4 and D5 on Pullman car six
were broken into simultaneously by two men in masks. Because neither
compartment contained any passengers, and both toilet doors were locked,
the masked men fired their pistols into the thin panels of the commodes,
expecting to find the bodies when they opened the doors.
They found no one. Nothing.
As if predetermined, both masked men ran out mto the narrow corridor and
nearly collided with one another.
.Haltl Stopt” The shouts came from both ends of the Pullman corridor The
men calling were dressed in the uniforms of the Geneva police
The two masked men did not stop. histead they fired wildly in both
directions.
Their shots were returned andthetwo men fell.
They wen searched; no identifications were found. The Geneva police were
pleased about that They did not wish to get involved.
One of the fallen men, however, had a tattoo on his forearm: an insignia,
recently given the term of swastika. And a third man unseen, nninasked, not
fallen, Was first off the train at Zurich, and hurried to a telephone.
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“Here We are at Aarau. You can rest up here for a while. Your clothes are
in a flat on the second floor. I believe your car is parked in the rear and
the keys are under the left seat.” Ileir driver was English and Canfield
liked that. The driver hadn’t spoken a word since Geneva. The field
accountant withdrew a large bill from his pocket and offered it to the man.
“Hardly necessary, sir,” said the driver as he waved the bill aside without
turning.
They waited until eight fifteen. It was a dark night with only half a moon
shrouded by low clouds. Canfield had tried the car, driving it up and down
a country road to get the feel of it, to get used to driving with only his
right hand. The gas gauge registered rempli and they were ready.
More precisely, Elizabeth Scarlatti was ready.
She was like a gladiator, prepared to bleed or let blood. She was cold but
intense. She was a killer.
And her weapons were paper-infinitely more danger. ous than maces or
triforks to her adversaries. She was also, as a fine gladiator must be,
supremely confident.
It was more -than her last grande geste, it was the culmination of a
lifetime. Hers and Giovanni’s. She would not fail hirn.
Canfield had studied and restudied the map; he knew the roads he had to
take to reach Falke Haus. They would skirt the center of Zurich and head
toward Kloten, turning right at the Schlieren tOrk and follow the central
road toward Bulach. One mile to the left on the Winterthurstrasse would be
the gates of Falke Haus.
He had pushed the car up to eigJay-five miles an hour, and he had stopped
at sixty within the space of fifty feet without causing a dislocation of
the seats. The Geneva Geheimpolizist had done his job well. But then he was
well paA Damn near two years’ wages at the going Swiss rate of Civil
Service. And the car was licensed with the numbers no one would stop-for
any reason-the Zurich
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police. How he had done it, Canfield didn’t ask. Elizabeth suggested that it