spoke.
'There is one thing I haven't told you, nor have you seen fit to bring it up. It's only fair that I mention it now.'
'What?'
'It's conceivable that neither of us will emerge from this conference alive. Have you considered that?'
Canfield had, of course, considered it. He had assumed the risk, if that was the justifiable word, since the Boothroyd incident. It had escalated to pronounced danger when he realized that Janet was possibly his for life. He became committed when he knew what her husband had done to her.
With the bullet through his shoulder, two inches from death, Matthew Canfield in his own way had become a gladiator in much the same manner as Elizabeth. His anger was paramount now.
'You worry about your problems. I'll worry about mine, okay?'
'Okay... May I say that you've become quite dear to me... Oh, stop that little-boy look! Save it for the ladies! I'm hardly one of them! Drive on!'
On Winterthurstrasse, three-tenths of a mile from Falke Haus there is a stretch of straight road paralleled on both sides by towering pine trees. Matthew Canfield pushed the accelerator down and drove the automobile as fast as it would go. It was five minutes to nine and he was determined that his passenger meet her appointment on time.
Suddenly in the far-off illumination of the head lamps, a man was signaling. He waved his hands, crisscrossing above his head, standing in the middle of the road. He was violently making the universal sign, stop - emergency. He did not move from the middle of the road in spite of Canfield's speed.
'Hold on!' Canfield rushed on, oblivious to the human being in his path.
As he did so, there was bursts of gunfire from both sides of the road. 'Get down!' shouted Canfield. He continued to push the gas pedal, ducking as he did so, bobbing his head, watching the straight road as best he could. There was a piercing scream - pitched in a death note - from the far side of the road. One of the ambushers had been caught in the crossfire.
They passed the area, pieces of glass and metal scattered all over the seats.
'You okay?' Canfield had no time for sympathy.
'Yes. I'm all right. How much longer?'
'Not much. If we can make it. They may have gotten a tire.'
'Even if they did, we can still drive?'
'Don't you worry! I'm not about to stop and ask for a jack!'
The gates of Falke Haus appeared and Canfield turned sharply into the road. It was a descending grade leading gently into a huge circle in front of an enormous flagstone porch with statuary placed every several feet. The front entrance, a large wooden door, was situated twenty feet beyond the center steps. Canfield could not get near it.
For there were at least a dozen long, black limousines lined up around the circle. Chauffeurs stood near them, idly chatting.
Canfield checked his revolver, placed it in his right-hand pocket, and ordered Elizabeth out of the car, He insisted that she slide across the seat and emerge from his side of the automobile.
He walked slightly behind her, nodding to the chauffeurs.
It was one minute after nine when a servant, formally dressed, opened the large wooden door.
They entered the great hall, a massive tabernacle of architectural indulgence. A second servant, also formally attired, gestured them toward another door. He opened it.
Inside was the longest table Matthew Canfield thought possible to build. It must have been fifty feet from end to end. And a good six to seven feet wide.
Seated around the massive table were fifteen or twenty men. All ages, from forty to seventy. All dressed in expensive suits. All looking toward Elizabeth Scarlatti. At the head of the table, half a room away, was an empty chair. It cried out to be filled and Canfield wondered for a moment whether Elizabeth was to fill it. Then he realized that was not so. Her chair was at the foot of the table closest to them.
Who was to fill the empty chair?
No matter. There was no chair for him. He would stay by the wall and watch.
Elizabeth approached the table.
'Good evening, gentlemen. A number of us have met before. The rest of you I know by reputation. I can assure you.'
The entire complement around the table rose as one body.
The man to the left of Elizabeth's chair circled and held it for her.
She sat down, and the men returned to their seats.
'I thank you - But there seems to be one of