“He isn’t dead,” he said. “I’m afraid that bluff won’t work.”
“He died two minutes after you lost sight of the gondola,” Natzka returned quietly. “You had no hope of getting him to hospital. I realized he must have told you where he had hidden the package. It was obvious to me that you went to get it, otherwise you would have gone with him to the hospital. My friend Dr. Vergellesi told me you planned to take Tregarth to the hospital by gondola. I had a fast motorboat waiting. The motorboat rammed the gondola and Tregarth was drowned. I’m afraid Mr. Micklem, you don’t appreciate the size, the ramifications or the power of my organization. We have many sympathizers. We have many people who form a vast unseen army who will obey orders blindly.”
Don sat motionless, his fists clenched.
“Your two colleagues made a splendid attempt to save him,” Natzka went on. “I saw the whole thing myself before I came on here. But the shock of falling into the water was too much for him. If you should be worrying about your colleagues, please don’t do so. They swam to the molo bringing Tregarth’s body with them. Some of my men helped them on to the bank. Your friends quite naturally mistook them for a group of tourists until it was too late. At the moment they are quite safe in a cellar of a house not far from here: they may not be so safe if you continue to be uncooperative. So you see, Mr. Micklem, I hold all the cards. May I have the package, please?”
For a long moment Don stared at Natzka without seeing him. He was thinking of Hilda Tregarth. The British authorities had seemed convinced that Tregarth had turned traitor. The only hope of clearing him lay in the green oilskin package. If he could believe Natzka, what the package contained must be convincing proof that Tregarth had worked to the end for his country. If Don tamely handed over the package, he was destroying any hope that Hilda Tregarth might have of proving her husband’s innocence.
He thought of the package lying in the copper bowl in the hall: as unsafe a place of concealment as you could choose. They had only to use their brains. They would search him, then they must realize that as the package wasn’t on him he must have hidden it in the hall in the few seconds that he had had to himself before Natzka came to the study door. He felt the palms of his hands grow moist as he saw how easily Natzka could regain the package, and he cursed himself for walking so blindly into the trap. He should have guessed Curizo and Hans wouldn’t have given in so tamely unless they knew Natzka was waiting for him.
“Mr. Micklem,” Natzka said sharply, “the package, please!”
“If I had it,” Don said quietly, “I wouldn’t give it to you, but as I haven’t got it, I can’t very well make an issue of it, can I?”
“I’ve wasted enough time already,” Natzka said coldly and got to his feet. “Give me the package!”
“It’s no use getting hot under the collar,” Don returned mildly. “I haven’t got it.”
Natzka looked over at the blond man.
“Search him!”
Busso moved forward. He put his gun against the back of Don’s neck.
“Get up!”
Shrugging, Don got to his feet.
The blond man quickly ran his hands through Don’s pockets.
He stepped back, shaking his head.
At this moment, the door opened and Curizo came in. He looked at Don, his dark eyes glittering, and he smiled, showing small white teeth.
“Did you keep him in sight all the time?” Natzka snapped.
“Yes. He went to a wall shrine in the Calle dei Fabori. He took something from it, and when he saw me he ran away.”
“Did Tregarth ever go near this wall shrine?” Natzka asked sharply.
Curizo shook his head.
“No, but the girl, Louisa Peccati did.”
“That is right,” Busso broke in. “Two days ago I saw her standing before the shrine. I thought she was worshipping.”
“Did il signor Micklem have a chance to hide the package after he had run from the shrine?” Natzka demanded.
“No,” Curizo said, “Hans and I did not let him out of our sight.”
Natzka turned to Don.
“Give me the package!”
“You’re not getting it,” Don said quietly.
Natzka stubbed out his cigarette, then lit another. His suntanned face was now tight and strained. He blew smoke down his thin nostrils.
“Listen, Micklem, you still don’t seem to understand your position. No one is going to stand in my way. I must have that package! I will exchange it for the lives of your two colleagues. I don’t know how much you value their lives, but that is my offer. I will give you two minutes to decide. Give me the package and they will go free. Refuse, and I will give orders for both of them to be shot! I’m not bluffing. I mean exactly what I say.”
Don hadn’t expected this. He had imagined Natzka was going to torture him as he had tortured Tregarth, and he had made up his mind nothing Natzka did to him would make him give up the package, but this proposition was entirely different. He couldn’t sacrifice Harry’s and Giuseppe’s lives for the honour of a dead man. But before he gave in, he was determined to make sure Natzka wasn’t bluffing.
“Why should I accept your word?” he asked. “How do I know you have these two? How do I know Tregarth is dead? I’m certainly not going to give you the package until I have seen Mason and my gondolier for myself.”
Natzka smiled.
“You shall see them, my friend, and what is more, unless you hand over the package you shall see them shot. You will come with me. I wouldn’t advise you to attempt to escape. You are not likely to succeed, but even if you did, your two colleagues would be immediately put to death.”
“I’m not going to run away,” Don said. “Where are they?”
“Not far from here. Let us go.”
Natzka crossed the room and went out into the hall. Don followed him with Busso and Curizo close on his heels. Don’s heart suddenly skipped a beat when he saw Natzka had paused in the middle of the hall and was looking around, an alert expression in his eyes.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “All this may be entirely unnecessary. You had no chance of getting rid of the package between the shrine and this house. But you did have a few seconds alone here before I came out of the study. As the package is not on you, it isn’t unreasonable to assume you hid it somewhere here.”
Don’s heart sank, but he kept his face expressionless.
“If you must know,” he said, “I handed the package to a friend of mine in the crowd. Neither of your thugs spotted me giving it to him, and he was bright enough not to ask questions. Unless Mason and my gondolier are set free you haven’t a hope of getting it back.”
Natzka looked sharply at Curizo.
“Could he have done that without you seeing him?”
Curizo hesitated, then nodded.
“Yes. The crowd was very dense. He wasn’t ever out of our sight, but we could see only his head and shoulders. I couldn’t see what he was doing with his hands. He could have given it to someone.”
“Very clever of you, Mr. Micklem,” Natzka said, his smile brittle. “But that really doesn’t alter the situation. You will get the package from your friend and you will give it to me.”
“I must be certain first that you have Mason and Giuseppe,” Don said, beginning to breathe again.
“Yes, you shall see them.” Natzka looked around the hall again. “And yet . . .” He broke off and smiled at Don. “This friend of yours in the crowd could be a figment of your imagination, of course. Why should you tell me about him if you weren’t trying to divert my attention? I think we will examine the hall before we go.” He looked over at Busso. “Shoot him if he moves!” Then he turned to Curizo. “See if you can find it. He hadn’t much time. It’ll be in an accessible place. Look around,” he went on as the blond man came to the study door.
Don mentally shrugged his shoulders. Luck was against him.
He had done his best, but now they were certain to find the package. What
will happen to Harry and Giuseppe? he wondered. What is going to happen to me? These thugs haven’t hesitated to murder Louisa Peccati. They might think it a good idea to silence the three of us in the same way. He watched the two men searching the hall. He saw Curizo was getting near the copper pot. He remembered the game called “hot and cold” he used to play when he was a kid, and he felt the same anxious excitement now as he used to feel when one of the seekers was close to the place where he had hidden the object to be found.
Curizo suddenly picked up the pot. Don’s heart skipped a beat as Curizo turned the pot upside down. Nothing fell out of it. With sick relief, mingled with bewilderment, Don realized the copper pot was now as empty as a hole in a wall. At the end of an extensive five minutes’ searching, Curizo said, “It is not in the hall.”
Natzka shrugged his shoulders.
“I should have been surprised if it had been, but it was worth a try. Then your story, Mr. Micklem, about your friend seems to be true.”
Don touched his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. He realized he was now in a jam. He hadn’t any doubt that if he didn’t hand over the package, Natzka would carry out his threat to shoot both Harry and Giuseppe. Where was the package? Who had taken it? Was it Curizo? He had come in some minutes after Don had gone into the study; he had had the hall to himself. Was Curizo planning to do a private deal with the package, double-crossing Natzka? It must have been Curizo who had taken it!
Natzka said, “Let us go, Mr. Micklem. You shall see your colleagues, then you will go to this friend of yours and collect the package.”
“Just a moment,” Don said. He realized that if Curizo had taken the package and once he was allowed to leave the house and hide the package somewhere, there would be no way of proving he had taken it. Don saw his only hope was to catch Curizo with the package on him.
“Well, what is it?” Natzka asked impatiently.
“I was kidding about the friend,” Don said. “You were right: I did hide the package here.”
While he spoke, Don was watching Curizo, but the lean, swarthy face showed only surprise.
“That is interesting,” Natzka said. “Why tell me that? You are discarding your bargaining powers, Mr. Micklem.”
“I’ve lost them, anyway,” Don said quietly. “When I came in, and before you showed up, I put the package in that copper pot.”
Natzka looked at the pot, then at Curizo who went over to the pot again. He looked inside and, picking it up, he turned it upside down.
“There’s nothing in it,” he said unnecessarily.
“If this is a device to waste time, Mr. Micklem,” Natzka said, an edge to his voice, “it is a poor one, and one you may regret.”
“I put the package in the pot,” Don said. “Someone has taken it while we were in the study. There was only one person who came into the hall while we were in the study, and that’s this guy here,” and he nodded at Curizo.
Curizo stiffened, his lips coming off his teeth in an angry snarl.
“If you are trying to stir up trouble among my men you won’t succeed,” Natzka said curtly. “It is too old a trick. We will go and see your friends. I have no doubt I will be able to persuade you to hand over the package when the right moment comes.”
Busso dug his gun into Don’s spine.
“Move!” he said.
“Someone took the package,” Don repeated, holding his ground. “The most likely person is Curizo. Before we go, you’d better have him searched. I wouldn’t mind betting he has the package on him.”
Curizo took two quick steps forward and slapped Don heavily across his face with his open hand, sending him staggering back. Busso’s gun poked against his spine, reminding him not to start anything.
“Carrion!” Curizo snarled.
“Get away from him!” Natzka barked. His face was hard and his grey eyes were suspicious. As Curizo reluctantly stepped away, Natzka went on, “That was a dangerous thing to have said, my friend. Curizo has a habit of harbouring a grudge.”
“Search him,” Don said. “Don’t be a mug, Natzka. Why should you trust him? If he found the package and thought he could make something out of it, why do you imagine he would hand it over to you?”
Natzka’s eyes alerted. He looked sharply at the snarling Curizo. “Did you find the package?” he asked softly.
“No! He’s lying!” Curizo said furiously. “See for yourself!” He began to turn out his pockets, throwing the few articles he was carrying on the floor. He pulled out the insides of his pockets, his face contorted with rage.
“Now are you satisfied?”
“Better make sure he isn’t wearing a belt,” Don said, trying to sound calmer than he felt.
“See if he is wearing a belt,” Natzka said to Brun who approached Curizo apologetically. He ran his hands over Curizo as if he were stroking a tiger.
“There is nothing,” he said, stepping back.
“Well?” Natzka said, looking at Don.
“He could have hidden it somewhere,” Don said.
“Do you think so? Do you know what I think? You are trying to create a diversion. Well, Mr. Micklem, you have brought this on yourself,” Natzka said. “The matter could have been arranged without any unpleasantness, but now, it is due to Curizo to handle it as he thinks fit.” He turned to Curizo. “I am returning to the hotel. I want that package within two hours from now. I will leave the finding of it to you.”
“Yes,” Curizo said between his teeth He looked at Don, a tight, cruel smile fighting his face. “You shall have it within two hours.”
“Good.” Natzka turned to Don. “You shouldn’t have interfered. I am sorry, but you must now suffer for your foolishness. You will be taken to the house where your friends are. You will be persuaded to hand over the package. I have warned you before not to attempt to escape.” He went to the door, opened it and turned to smile at Don. “I will say goodbye. It is very unlikely that we shall meet again.”
“For your sake I hope we don’t,” Don said evenly.
Natzka shrugged.
“That kind of bravado doesn’t impress me,” he said. “Goodbye, Mr. Micklem.”
He crossed the hall, and a moment later they heard the front door shut.
* * *
The gondola edged up to the mooring-post outside a dilapidated house, shrouded in darkness, in one of the narrow rio behind the Ghetto Nuovo. Brun tied up the gondola and stepped on to the small landing stage.
“Get out!” Curizo said to Don.
Don climbed out on to the landing stage and looked quickly to right and left. The rio was dark, and he could see nothing, but his sharp ears told him that not far off another gondola was coming down the rio. Curizo heard it, too, for taking Don by the arm he hustled him through a doorway into evil-smelling darkness.
Busso and Brun followed and closed the door.
Busso stepped close to Don, holding his gun against Don’s side.
Curizo struck a match and lit a candle. He walked down a narrow passage, pushed open a door and began to descend steep, dirty stairs.
Busso shoved Don forward, and Don went down the stairs into a big damp cellar lit by three flickering candles stuck in bottles on a big wooden case.
Sitting on the floor, their backs to the wall, their hands and feet roped, were Harry and Giuseppe.
Don looked at them and grimaced. He had hoped that Natzka had been bluffing, but the sight of these two now underlined the jam he was in.
“Hello, boss,” Harry said. “Sorry about this. We played our hand badly.”
Harry looked in a bad way. His eye had now turned black. Down one side of his face was a deep scratch that had dripped blood on to his collar and shoulder. His clothes were wet and torn.
Giuseppe was in no better state. He had a gash on his forehead and his face was bloodstained, but he managed a smile as Don met his eyes.
“Shut up!” Brun said to Harry and walking over to him, he kicked him savagely in the ribs, sending him over on his
side.
Don restrained himself with an effort. Busso’s gun kept grinding into his side. He had no doubt that Busso would shoot him if he did make a hostile move.
Curizo pulled up a chair and set it in the middle of the cellar by the lighted candles.
“Sit down!” he snarled.
Don sat down.
Busso moved away and leaned against the wall, gun in hand.
“Hold him,” Curizo said to Brun who came up behind Don, grabbed his wrists and jerked his arms behind the chair in an agonizing grip.
Curizo stood before Don, his swarthy face cold and vicious.
“So you tried to make trouble for me,” he said softly. “No one does that without paying for it.” He took from his hip pocket a stained, sweat-darkened kid glove which he put on his right hand. He flexed his fingers, then closed his fist.
Don watched him narrowly, his muscles tense. Although he couldn’t move his body, he could move his head, and he waited ready to duck.
“I’m going to give you a beating,” Curizo said softly. “Like this. . .”
His fist flashed at Don’s face. Don shifted his head a fraction of an inch and the gloved fist scraped past his ear, making Curizo come forward, off balance. Don hooked his foot around Curizo’s ankle and jerked. Curizo sprawled on the floor near where Harry was lying. Harry kicked at his face, but Curizo just managed to roll out of reach.
Busso stepped up to Don and hit him on the side of his jaw with his gun barrel. Don jerked his head back, riding most of the savage blow, but not all of it.
Momentarily stunned, he was vaguely aware that Curizo had got to his feet.
Cursing, Curizo caught hold of Don’s hair, jerked his head back, and raised his fist to smash it down on Don’s face, but Busso caught his wrist.
“No!” Busso said “He’s got to see his friend. Don’t mark him.”
Curizo wrenched his wrist free and stepped back, his eyes glittering and his mouth working. For a moment he struggled to control himself, then he seemed to realize the sense of what Busso had said and he turned away, muttering.
“Are you going to get that package?” Busso said to Don.
1954 - Mission to Venice Page 12