The head of the security forces of Roffe and Sons said to Elizabeth, "It all happened too fast, Miss Roffe. There was nothing we could do. By the time the fire-fighting equipment got into action, the whole laboratory was gone."
They had found the remains of Emil Joeppli's charred body. There was noway of knowing whether his formula had been removed from the laboratory before the explosion.
Elizabeth asked, "The Development Building was under twenty-four-hour guard, was it not?"
"Yes, ma'am. We - "
"How long have you been in charge of our security department?"
"Five years. I - "
"You're fired."
He started to say something in protest, then changed his mind. "Yes, ma'am."
"How many men are there on, your staff?"
"Sixty-five."
Sixty-five! And they could not save Emil Joeppli. "I'm giving them twenty-four hours' notice," Elizabeth said. "I want them all out of here."
He looked at her a moment. "Miss Roffe, do you think you're being fair?"
She thought of Emil Joeppli, and the priceless formulas that had been stolen, and of the bug that had been planted in her office that she had ground under the heel of her shoe.
"Get out," Elizabeth said.
She filled every minute that morning, trying to wipe out the vision of the charred body of Emil Joeppli and his laboratory full of burned animals. She tried not to think about what the loss of that formula was going to cost the company. There was a chance a rival company might patent it and there was nothing Elizabeth could do about it. It was a jungle. When your competitors thought you were weak, they moved in for the kill. But this wasn't a competitor doing this. This was a friend. A deadly friend.
Elizabeth arranged for a professional security force to take over immediately. She would feel safer with strangers around her.
She phoned the Hôpital Internationale in Brussels to check on the condition of Mme. van den Logh, the wife of the Belgian minister. They reported that she was still in a coma. They did not know whether she would live.
Elizabeth was thinking about Emil Joeppli and the mongoloid child and the minister's wife when Rhys walked in. He looked at her face and said gently, "As bad as that?"
She nodded, miserable.
Rhys walked over to her and studied her. She looked tired, drained. He wondered how much more she could stand. He took her hands in his and asked gently, "Is there anything I can do to help?"
Everything, Elizabeth thought. She needed Rhys desperately. She needed his strength and his help and his love. Their eyes met and she was ready to go into his arms, to tell him everything that had happened, that was happening.
Rhys said, "There's nothing new on Mme. van den Logh?"
And the moment had passed.
"No," Elizabeth said.
He asked, "Have you had any calls yet on the Wall Street Journal story?"
"What story?"
"You haven't seen it?"
"No."
Rhys sent to his office for a copy. The article enumerated all the recent troubles of Roffe and Sons, but the major theme of the story was that the company needed someone experienced to run it. Elizabeth put the newspaper down. "How much damage will this do?"
Rhys shrugged. "The damage has already been done. They're just reporting it. We're beginning to lose a lot of our markets. We - "
The intercom buzzed. Elizabeth pressed the switch. "Yes?"
"Herr Julius Badrutt is on line two, Miss Roffe. He says it's urgent."
Elizabeth looked up at Rhys. She had been postponing the meeting with the bankers. "Put him on." She picked up the phone. "Good morning, Herr Badrutt."
"Good morning." Over the phone, his voice sounded dry and brittle. "Are you free this afternoon?"
"Well, I'm - "
"Fine. Will four o'clock be satisfactory?" Elizabeth hesitated. "Yes. Four o'clock." There was a dry, rustling sound over the phone and Elizabeth realized that Herr Badrutt was clearing his throat. "I was sorry to hear about Mr. Joeppli," he said.
Joeppli's name had not been mentioned in the newspaper accounts of the explosion.
She hung up slowly, and found that Rhys was watching her.
"The sharks smell blood," Rhys said.
The afternoon was filled with phone calls. Alec telephoned. "Elizabeth, did you see the story in the newspaper this morning?"
"Yes," Elizabeth said. "The Wall Street Journal was exaggerating."
There was a pause, and then Alec said, "I'm not talking about The Wall Street Journal. The Financial Times has a headline story on Roffe and Sons. It's not good. My phones haven't stopped ringing. We're getting heavy cancellations. What are we going to do?"
"I'll get back to you, Alec," Elizabeth promised.
Ivo called. "Carissima, I think you'd better prepare yourself for a shock."
I'm prepared, Elizabeth thought wryly. "What is it?"
Ivo said, "An Italian minister was arrested a few hours ago for accepting bribes."
Elizabeth had a sudden feeling of what was coming. "Go on."
There was a note of apology in Ivo's voice. "It wasn't our fault," Ivo said. "He got greedy and he was careless. They caught him at the airport, trying to smuggle money out of Italy. They've traced the money to us."
Even though Elizabeth was prepared for it, she still felt a shock of disbelief. "Why were we bribing him?"
Ivo said matter-of-factly, "So that we could do business in Italy. It's a way of life here. Our crime was not in bribing the minister, cara - it was in getting caught."
She sat back in her chair, her head beginning to pound.
"What happens now?"
"I would suggest that we meet with the company attorneys as quickly as possible," Ivo said. "Don't worry. Only the poor go to jail in Italy."
Charles called from Paris, his voice frantic with worry. The French press was full of Roffe & Sons. Charles urged Elizabeth to sell the company while it still had a reputation.
"Our customers are losing faith," Charles said. "Without that, there is no company."
Elizabeth thought about the phone calls, the bankers, her cousins, the press. Too much was happening too quickly. Someone was making it happen. She had to find out who.
The name was still in Elizabeth's private telephone book. Maria Martinelli. It brought back long-ago memories of the tall, leggy Italian girl who had been a classmate of Elizabeth's in Switzerland. They had corresponded from time to time. Maria had become a model and she had written to Elizabeth that she was engaged to marry an Italian newspaper publisher in Milan. It took Elizabeth fifteen minutes to reach Maria. When the social amenities had been disposed of, Elizabeth said into the phone, "Are you still engaged to that newspaper publisher?"
"Of course. The minute Tony gets his divorce, we're going to be married."
"I want you to do me a favor, Maria."
"Name it."
Less than one hour later Maria Martinelli called back. "I got that information you wanted. The banker who was caught trying to smuggle money out of Italy was set up. Tony says a man tipped off the border police."
"Was he able to find out the name of the man?"
"IvoPalazzi."
Detective Max Hornung had made an interesting discovery. He had learned that not only was the explosion at the Roffe and Sons laboratory set deliberately, but that it had been caused by an explosive called Rylar X, made exclusively for the military, and not available to anyone else. What intrigued Max was that Rylar X was manufactured at one of the factories of Roffe and Sons. It took Max only one telephone call to learn which one.
The factory outside Paris.
At exactly 4 P.M. Herr Julius Badrutt lowered his angular figure into a chair and said without preamble, "As much as we would like to accommodate you, Miss Roffe, I am afraid our responsibility toward our stockholders must take precedence."
It was the kind of statement, Elizabeth thought, that bankers made to widows and orphans before they foreclosed their mortgages. But this time she was ready for Herr Badrutt.
"...My board of directors has therefore instructed me to inform you that our bank is calling in the notes on Roffe and Sons immediately."
"I was told I had ninety days," Elizabeth said.
"Unfortunately, we feel that the circumstances have changed for the worse. I should also inform you that the other banks you are dealing with have reached the same decision."
With the banks refusing to help her, there would be no way to keep the company private.
"I'm sorry to bring you such bad news, Miss Roffe, but I felt that I should tell you personally."
"You know, of course, that Roffe and Sons is still a very strong and healthy company."
Herr Julius Badrutt nodded his head, once. "Of course. It's a great company."
"Yet you won't give us more time."
Herr Badrutt looked at her for a moment, then said, "The bank thinks your problems are manageable, Miss Roffe. But..." He hesitated.
"But you don't think there's anyone to manage them?"
"I'm afraid that is correct." He started to rise.
"What if someone else were president of Roffe and Sons?" Elizabeth asked.
He shook his head. "We have discussed that possibility. We don't feel that any of the present members of the board have the overall ability to cope with - "
She said, "I was thinking of Rhys Williams."