But before he left Zurich he had to know; he had to talk to a man named ...

M. Chernak. The name was to the right of the doorbell. He sidestepped away from the door, pulling the woman with him.

"Do you speak German?" Jason asked.

"No."

"Don't lie."

"I'm not."

Bourne thought, glancing up and down the short hallway. Then: "Ring the bell. If the door opens just stand there. If someone answers from inside, say you have a message - an urgent message - from a friend at the Drei Alpenhauser."

"Suppose he - or she - says to slide it under the door?"

Jason looked at her. "Very good."

"I just don't want any more violence. I don't want to know anything or see anything. I just want to -"

"I know," he interrupted. "Go back to Caesar's taxes and the Punic wars. If he - or she - says something like that, explain in a couple of words that the message is verbal and can only be delivered to the main who was described to you."

"If he asks for that description?" said Marie St. Jaques icily, analysis momentarily pre-empting fear.

"You've got a good mind, Doctor," he said.

"I'm precise. I'm frightened; I told you that. What do I do?"

"Say to hell with them, someone else can deliver it. Then start to walk away."

She moved to the door and rang the bell. There was an odd sound from within. A scratching, growing louder, constant. Then it stopped and a deep voice was heard through the wood.

"Ja?"

"I'm afraid I don't speak German."

"Englisch. What is it? Who are you?"

"I have an urgent message from a friend at the Drei Alpenhauser."

"Shove it under the door."

"I can't do that. It isn't written down, I have to deliver it personally to the man who was described to me."

"Well, that shouldn't be difficult," said the voice. The lock clicked and the door opened.

Bourne stepped away from the wall, into the doorframe. "You're insane!" cried a man with two stamps for legs, propped up in a wheelchair. "Get out! Get away from here!""I'm tired of hearing that," said Jason, pulling the girl inside and closing the door.