her purse she brought out a folded sheet of cartridge paper, her original sketch of the man who had lured her to the pub in Mayfair. She showed it to Newman.
`We'll know him if we ever see him again.'
`I will. I studied the photocopy you gave me...'
Reluctantly she followed Newman as he crossed the High Street. Behind them was a clatter of running feet. Crystal was coming with them. No pedestrians anywhere in Gladworth now. They walked down Pegworth Lane, a narrow cobbled street lined on both sides with old stone terraced houses. No one about. Paula found the heavy silence was getting on her nerves.
Beyond Pegworth Lane was a track, even narrower, hemmed in by trees and undergrowth. Ahead loomed the sheer side of Pike's Peak. Paula moved ahead, then called back.
`This looks like the tricky side you don't attempt.'
Crystal rushed past her. She had lifted the flap of Newman's shoulder bag, had grabbed a hammer and several pitons.
`I've climbed worse than this in Italy,' she shouted.
Agilely, she clawed her way up a good sixty feet. Then she inserted a piton and used the hammer. Newman had rushed forward to stand below her. Crystal hammered away. The rock she was endeavouring to drive the piton into crumbled. The piton dropped to the base. `No good,' Crystal called down. 'Crumbles like glass...'
Then she lost her grip, came tumbling down. Newman had his arms held out, legs braced. He grasped her firmly round the waist, lowered her to the ground.
`No good,' she said breathlessly. 'At least I tried.' `We're going back into Gladworth now,' Paula said, grasping Crystal by the arm.
Left by himself, Newman wandered round to the easy side. He stopped as he saw a tall heavily built man who had pushed his deerstalker hat over the back of his head — with his left hand. In his right he held a deadly 7.65 mm Luger, aimed at Newman. Magazine capacity eight rounds. The bullet chipped off a tiny sliver of rock as Newman dodged behind the sheer wall. He reached for his Smith & Wesson, realized that in the rush he'd left it in its holster in a locked cupboard in his apartment.
`Take the high ground, soldier,' Max called out in a sneer.
`You'd never reach the summit, you braggart,' Newman shouted back.
He had immediately recognized Max from Paula's sketch and was counting on the bravado he'd observed in his face. He heard the assassin clawing his way up the easy side, heading for the summit. Newman took a deep breath, threw away his shoulder bag, began clawing his own way up, seeking firm handholds, footholds,
He found that he was usually able to detect brittle rock, to avoid it. There was more tough, well-embedded rock than he'd expected. He had to reach the summit before the killer, who had the easier climb. But Newman had conquered the Eiger and this gave him caution as well as confidence.
`Don't look down!' he kept repeating to himself.
He didn't look up either, zigzagging his way up the smooth cone. It already felt colder, which told him he had gained a lot of height. Systematically he tested each handhold, each foothold, before trusting it. One false move and he knew he was already high enough for a fall to kill him. The worrying thing was he didn't know how his antagonist was progressing.
`Bob, you're nearly there...' Paula's voice, echoing a long distance away: but her message was clear.
He was higher up, nearer the summit than his enemy. Paula, brought back by the sound of the single shot, had rushed to the base of Pike's Peak. Circling it, she had seen how high the killer had reached, then run round to find Newman.
The realization sent a fresh flow of energy through him. He increased the pace of his climb, still testing each new hand- and foothold carefully. He was moving up faster. When he glanced up he had a shock — he was almost at the summit.
Suddenly, both hands gripping the lip of rugged rock, he peered over. The summit was a flat platform, about twenty yards in diameter. He hauled himself over and onto it.
`We'll know him if we ever see him again.'
`I will. I studied the photocopy you gave me...'
Reluctantly she followed Newman as he crossed the High Street. Behind them was a clatter of running feet. Crystal was coming with them. No pedestrians anywhere in Gladworth now. They walked down Pegworth Lane, a narrow cobbled street lined on both sides with old stone terraced houses. No one about. Paula found the heavy silence was getting on her nerves.
Beyond Pegworth Lane was a track, even narrower, hemmed in by trees and undergrowth. Ahead loomed the sheer side of Pike's Peak. Paula moved ahead, then called back.
`This looks like the tricky side you don't attempt.'
Crystal rushed past her. She had lifted the flap of Newman's shoulder bag, had grabbed a hammer and several pitons.
`I've climbed worse than this in Italy,' she shouted.
Agilely, she clawed her way up a good sixty feet. Then she inserted a piton and used the hammer. Newman had rushed forward to stand below her. Crystal hammered away. The rock she was endeavouring to drive the piton into crumbled. The piton dropped to the base. `No good,' Crystal called down. 'Crumbles like glass...'
Then she lost her grip, came tumbling down. Newman had his arms held out, legs braced. He grasped her firmly round the waist, lowered her to the ground.
`No good,' she said breathlessly. 'At least I tried.' `We're going back into Gladworth now,' Paula said, grasping Crystal by the arm.
Left by himself, Newman wandered round to the easy side. He stopped as he saw a tall heavily built man who had pushed his deerstalker hat over the back of his head — with his left hand. In his right he held a deadly 7.65 mm Luger, aimed at Newman. Magazine capacity eight rounds. The bullet chipped off a tiny sliver of rock as Newman dodged behind the sheer wall. He reached for his Smith & Wesson, realized that in the rush he'd left it in its holster in a locked cupboard in his apartment.
`Take the high ground, soldier,' Max called out in a sneer.
`You'd never reach the summit, you braggart,' Newman shouted back.
He had immediately recognized Max from Paula's sketch and was counting on the bravado he'd observed in his face. He heard the assassin clawing his way up the easy side, heading for the summit. Newman took a deep breath, threw away his shoulder bag, began clawing his own way up, seeking firm handholds, footholds,
He found that he was usually able to detect brittle rock, to avoid it. There was more tough, well-embedded rock than he'd expected. He had to reach the summit before the killer, who had the easier climb. But Newman had conquered the Eiger and this gave him caution as well as confidence.
`Don't look down!' he kept repeating to himself.
He didn't look up either, zigzagging his way up the smooth cone. It already felt colder, which told him he had gained a lot of height. Systematically he tested each handhold, each foothold, before trusting it. One false move and he knew he was already high enough for a fall to kill him. The worrying thing was he didn't know how his antagonist was progressing.
`Bob, you're nearly there...' Paula's voice, echoing a long distance away: but her message was clear.
He was higher up, nearer the summit than his enemy. Paula, brought back by the sound of the single shot, had rushed to the base of Pike's Peak. Circling it, she had seen how high the killer had reached, then run round to find Newman.
The realization sent a fresh flow of energy through him. He increased the pace of his climb, still testing each new hand- and foothold carefully. He was moving up faster. When he glanced up he had a shock — he was almost at the summit.
Suddenly, both hands gripping the lip of rugged rock, he peered over. The summit was a flat platform, about twenty yards in diameter. He hauled himself over and onto it.
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