House of Cards

by Stanley Ellin

  I retraced the way to the canal, Anne stumbling in her effort to keep pace with me. The heat of the sun was like a lead weight pressing down on the skull, and it was a relief to enter the path winding through the trees bordering the canal where the pale green of willow leaves offered some shade. Then we were in the glare of sunlight again, standing before the small boat which lay upside down on the ground at the side of the canal and staring unbelievingly at the water where our boatman should have been waiting.

  There were no two ways about it. The man and his boat were gone, and with them my valise. As far as I could see up and down the canal, nothing floated on its glassy water but the row-boat we had been moored to.

  In the marsh across the canal, reeds swayed in a tentative breeze. The reflection of willow leaves shimmering in the water disappeared and reappeared as the water rippled. A gull circled overhead, then lazily set off eastward toward the Adriatic in slow, voluptuous flight. The scene had an almost dreamily peaceful quality, but there was something very wrong about it. It gave me a chilling sense of déjà vu, of having lived through it before in a sweaty terror. Then I realized where the feeling came from. It was from my recurring dream where I fled through thickets beside a stream of water while something evil pressed closer and closer to me in pursuit.

  I had thrust the automatic into my hip pocket. I reached for it, and a familiar voice said, “No, that would be a mistake.”

  I turned to face the speaker, my hand conspicuously away from my pocket. The man I knew as Fra Pietro was not wearing his robe now but was dressed in a badly wrinkled silk suit. The patches of sweat showing through the jacket made plain the martyrdom he must have been suffering, wearing that suit beneath a heavy robe in the sweatbox of a compartment on the Milan-Venice train.

  There were other striking differences in his appearance, too. The freshly shaved tonsure was hidden by a jaunty beret, the eyes distorted behind the strong glasses were cold with menace, and that beautifully manicured hand held not an olive branch, but a deadly-looking long-barreled pistol aimed square at my chest.

  7

  One thing I was sure of. If the man had intended to get rid of us as quickly as possible, he would have already done so. A couple of bullets in the head delivered from ambush, the bodies dragged over the footbridge that crossed the canal near the house and dumped into the swamp on the other side; it would have been over and done with in a few minutes. The fact it wasn’t suggested this was not the fate planned for us.

  That thought, along with the weight of the gun in my pocket, gave me the nerve to disregard his command to put my hands up. We stood facing each other about ten feet apart. Once that gap was closed, once I had been disarmed and marched with Anne back along the path to the house, the game was up for us. All I could do was try to forestall that moment.

  So I remained with my hands at my sides, ready to make some move, although without any idea what move it might be.

  “Hands up, please,” repeated the make-believe Fra Pietro, and when I still disregarded the command he said patiently, “Don’t be stubborn. Your boatman has been paid off and sent away; you’re stuck here; accept the situation.”

  “Are you from the police?” I said.

  “Hardly, signore. Also, I am Pietro Cimino, not any Fra Pietro. But I am devoted to the culture of tulips, and those were tulip bulbs in my bag, so I wasn’t altogether deceiving you.” He took a step toward me, peering at me near-sightedly, the gun steady in his hand. “Now, since we’ve settled the formalities, you will permit me to remove that weapon in your pocket. Then you will do exactly as I tell you and not attempt any heroics.”

  “Do what?” I said, and took a step backward. The rowboat lying overturned on the ground was right behind me. If I could get Anne down behind it out of range of any bullets, I would have more freedom of action myself.

  “I am under instructions from my superior to detain you two until he arrives, and we will be much more comfortable waiting in the house. If you behave sensibly, you are in no danger. If not, I will be forced to kill you on the spot. Regrettable, of course, but I was warned you are highly dangerous and given discretion in this.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I could see Anne fixedly watching Cimino as if spellbound by his menace. That settled my hopes of signaling her to move as soon as I did.

  “Who is your superior?” I said to Cimino, desperately stalling for time. “How do I know you’re not a police agent?”

  He cautiously moved one more step toward me.

  “Signore, at whatever point you entered the country, there were others than the police waiting to oversee your activities. And my superior is a certain Dr. Morillon, whom I phoned at the airport immediately after leaving your company at the Venice station. You’ll be able to ask him all your questions very soon. He should be returning here in a few minutes from the Lido airport. Then, signore—”

  Anne had not really been spellbound by him. There was a blur of motion in the air, a howl from Cimino as he staggered back under the blow she delivered. Somehow, she had got a grip on the fishing pole which was resting against the row-boat and had brought it with a wild backhanded sweep across the man’s chest. If I had had any warning of what was going to happen, I could have turnd the tables on him then. But I moved too late, and before I could get to him he had recovered his balance and was bringing his gun to bear on me. It would have been suicide to charge into it, so I did the only thing there was left to do. I twisted sideways and threw myself, shoulder first, at Anne, sending her head over heels over the row-boat, then followed after her with a diving leap that landed me almost on top of her on the other side of the boat, the canal side.

  I heard the roar of Cimino’s gun as I hit the ground, heard the bullet ricochet whining off the stone embankment of the canal, and rolled over to draw the automatic from my pocket. When I raised my eyes above the keel of the boat just for the length of time it would take me to squeeze off one shot in return, I saw Cimino, stooping low and with shoulders hunched, moving toward the boat. He saw me before I could get the automatic sighted, and as I promptly learned, near-sighted or not, he was a deadly marksman.

  His bullet this time flicked across the edge of the keel inches from my forehead, whipping a spray of splinters into my face. Despite the protection of my sunglasses, I flinched involuntarily at that, and so missed by a wide margin when I returned the shot. The next instant, the man had scurried to safety behind a tree a few steps away from him. Unthinkingly, I fired again, saw bark leap from the tree, then hastily went down flat as he sent a bullet ripping into the rotting hull of the boat. Lying there, I had time to regret wasting that extra shot. When I had checked the automatic after it came into my possession it had been loaded with a full clip of seven bullets, and I had to get the maximum value out of every one of them to withstand any kind of siege.

  And siege it was likely to be, judging from the spot Anne and I were in. From behind his tree, Cimino had us tightly pinned down. The one possible escape route was by way of the rowboat moored in the canal below us, but once in that clumsy-looking craft, moving along between the narrow banks of the canal, we’d be sitting ducks for Cimino. He had plenty of concealment along the banks from which he could dispose of us at his leisure. Still, for the time being he was pinned down, too. If I could only get Anne aboard the boat quickly enough and start it downstream—

  Anne must have been half stunned by the brutal impact of the fall she had taken. Now she stirred against me and tried to sit up, but I pulled her down again.

  “Stay close to the ground,” I said. “We’ve got a real sharpshooter watching us.”

  “Cimino?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s my fault. I wanted you to be able to get at him, and all I did was make it worse.”

  “The hell you did. We were done for that way. This way, at least, we have a chance.”

  “Not much of one.” Anne nodded toward the bridge. “Look.”

  I turned my head, making sure to keep i
t below the level of the rowboat’s keel, and saw a motorboat pull up at the landing beyond the bridge. Two men stepped from it, and while I couldn’t make out the features of the taller at that distance, his pale, falsely blond hair and catlike ease of movement made him easily identifiable as Dr. Hubert Morillon. As Colonel Henri de Villemont, I hastily corrected myself.

  At that instant there was the roar of a shot from Cimino’s gun, the bullet passing close overhead with the whipcrack sound of fingers snapping in my ear. That, I knew, was a signal to the new arrivals, whom Cimino must have seen as soon as they stepped up on the canal embankment. I saw them stop and turn in our direction, and could tell from de Villemont’s pointed finger and his sharp address to his follower that he had seen us and understood the situation. I prepared for attack from that quarter, but none came. Instead, both men briskly moved off toward the house and disappeared inside it.

  Seconds ticked away and became minutes.

  “What are they doing?” Anne whispered.

  “I don’t know. Phoning for reinforcements maybe. Or baiting us into making a try for that motorboat, getting us out into the open that way.”

  “It might be worth trying for.” Her voice was calm. “You could get away alone, couldn’t you? Somehow reach Paul—”

  That and the sight of the waiting motorboat made a powerful temptation, but I resisted it. Then it was too late to reconsider, because the family Braggi—father, mother, and daughter, who was now clad in a skimpy dress, all of them weighted down with luggage—made their way aboard the launch. The canal was too narrow here for the boat to make a full turn. It simply moved off quickly and smoothly in reverse, and in a minute the soft puttering of its motor had faded away in the distance, and the silence of the barene settled over us again.

  That departure settled the question of what the enemy intended for Anne and me. We were to be disposed of here, and without Signora Braggi or Daniela inadvertently witnessing the execution. They would be removed to a safe distance, and the boat would then return to take away the executioners as well. The house itself would undoubtedly remain locked and empty for a long time to come. There was a good reason for that, a reason de Villemont had to take into account when laying his plans for us. The boatman who had brought us here might see my picture in the papers; might, sooner or later, go to the police about me; and if the trail led them to this house, it would be found deserted. That was how the OEI played the game, always a few moves ahead of the opponent, always with alibis prepared and escape hatches made ready.

  Then a voice hailed me. Henri de Villemont’s.

  “Monsieur Davis.”

  From the direction of it, he had taken up a position not far from Cimino’s, but I wasn’t going to verify that by raising my head into the line of fire.

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t you think the time has come for us to settle matters between us, Monsieur Davis?”

  “On what terms, Colonel?”

  “Excellent terms. More than you deserve.” The voice hardened. “And I am a doctor, not a military officer. Please remember for your future well-being that it is Dr. Hubert Morillon you are dealing with.”

  That intrigued me. The man lied as easily as he breathed, but still this mention of my future well-being offered a glimmer of hope that I might have a future worth considering. Or was it that not even Cimino was supposed to know his superior’s true identity?

  “Well?” said de Villemont impatiently.

  “I’m sorry, Doctor.” I laid heavy stress on the “doctor.” “It’s hard for me to discuss anything with a gun at my head.”

  “That’s easily solved. Take a look, monsieur, and you’ll see I have much more faith in you than you have in me.”

  I did look then, warily raising my eyes just above the line of the keel, and what I saw filled me with a reluctant admiration for my adversary. He had moved away from any concealment and stood there in the middle of the clearing before me, the easiest target in the world, even for a small-caliber automatic like the one I had trained on him.

  “You see?” De Villemont held his arms wide. “And as for my man—” He half turned and made a sharp gesture toward Cimino’s place of concealment. However the gunman felt about it, one didn’t lightly disobey that sort of command from Henri de Villemont. Slowly and reluctantly, Cimino appeared from behind his tree, and as de Villemont continued to stare hard at him, even more slowly and reluctantly thrust his gun away in a shoulder holster.

  I got up and walked around the hull of the boat toward de Villemont, keeping the automatic on him, and making sure he stood between Cimino and me.

  “What gives you such faith in me, Doctor?”

  “Your understanding of your position, Monsieur Davis. You already know Pietro is as efficient with his pistol as you are with your fists. Any attempt to kill me would, therefore, mean your own death, and, of course, Madame’s. Beyond that, where will you go, what will you do, if by the wildest of miracles, you could dispose of both Pietro and me? Run in circles until the police catch up with you? Or even more likely, until my angry and vengeful friends do?”

  “What do you offer instead?”

  “Safe conduct out of the country. My boat returns here tonight, and under cover of darkness you can be started on your way to the Dalmatian coast. Later, your transportation to South America will be arranged.”

  “Penniless and without luggage?” I said, to sound him out. “My valise was in the boat Pietro sent away.”

  “Pietro is not that stupid. The valise is among those trees there. And money will be provided.”

  “And all my other belongings? My clothing and books and manuscripts that were taken from the house on the rue de Courcelles? What happened to them?”

  “I will not dissemble,” said de Villemont. “Charles Leschenhaut felt that instead of being an extraordinary fool, you might perhaps be an extraordinarily clever agent of the CIA or British Intelligence. Your belongings were therefore removed to his apartment, where he could investigate them at his leisure. He has now assured me that nothing indicates you are any sort of an agent.”

  “Just a fool.”

  “Very much so. But I must admit, one who has a way of getting what he wants.” There was no humor in the cold smile he gave me. “In an amazingly short time, you have won the affections of my son, you have taken my wife as your mistress—”

  “Doctor, if we were alone—”

  De Villemont nodded contemptuously in Cimino’s direction. “That lout doesn’t understand French. We’re free to discuss your triumphs with all frankness.”

  “Will you listen to me?” I said angrily. “You’re wrong about your wife and me.”

  “Am I? No, I’m afraid you’ve been found out, my friend. Still, I have no intentions of behaving about it like a cuckold in a bad joke. If you wish Madame as your escort when you leave tonight, I’d say I was well rid of her.”

  “And what then?” It was Anne, and she came to her feet before I could warn her not to. “What then, Henri?”

  “Hubert,” snapped de Villemont.

  “Henri. Colonel Henri de Villemont.” Anne almost spat out the words. “My husband, who would let his son be murdered to protect his own skin. What are the plans this time, husband? Last time, it was to be an accident in the mountains. What is it to be now? A drowning in the Adriatic?”

  De Villemont was not disconcerted by this. He coolly looked his wife over from head to foot and seemed amused by the dirty, disheveled appearance she made.

  “What a spectacle,” he said. “Obviously, madame, you were never cut out for life as a vagabond.”

  “Don’t try to put me off, Henri. For Paul’s sake alone, let’s be honest with each other. The organization wants my money, but it would be hard for them to get it until I’m proved dead. That’s what you’re arranging now, isn’t it? Some convenient way of getting rid of me so that my body can be recovered to settle all legal questions of my will and Paul’s guardianship at once!”

  “My
dear, if you persist in these delusions, you will most certainly wind up in the madhouse.”

  “I? Am I the one who butchers innocent people for the sake of an insane dream? Am I the one who made our son a hostage to a real madman like Charles Leschenhaut?”

  “Yes!” de Villemont exploded. “If you had been understanding—if you had tried to make yourself my wife instead of my enemy, do you think I would have agreed to such a terrible arrangement? Do you think I love Paul less than you do? But look at where we are now, at the disaster you and your lover threaten. Isn’t this proof that Charles was wise to demand such an arrangement? If it weren’t for that, you would gladly have sent me, your husband, to the guillotine long ago, would have destroyed the one movement capable of making the world a fit place for my son to live in! You were the one, madame, who made the child a hostage!”

  Disregarding my gun, he moved toward her as he spoke, but when I sharply said, “Hold it!” he stopped in his tracks and turned toward me, struggling for composure.

  “Ah, yes, the valiant lover himself. Well, what is it to be? Since you both know the child is a hostage for my safety from the authorities, I don’t see what you can do but accept the generous terms I offer. In exchange—”

  “Yes?” I said.

  “There is a certain membership list you stole from a drunken countryman of yours. It must be returned to me.”

  “Membership list?”

  “Please, monsieur, let’s not have these clumsy efforts at acting. Pietro has already established that the list is not in your valise; the inadvertent motion of your hand to your pocket when I mentioned it makes clear where it is. Hand it over, and our bargain is made.”

  “What if I’d rather entrust it to some friend, just to make sure the bargain is kept?”