North From Rome

by Helen Macinnes

  “Now really, Bertrand—how completely ridiculous!”

  “One of the guests at dinner was a friend of Miss Halley. She lunched with her on the day after Tivoli. She insisted that the quarrel was not at all serious. And certainly, today at Doney’s, I didn’t notice anything wrong. It really is so—so inexplicable. I’m a little troubled. After all—” He hesitated.

  “You are Luigi’s friend,” the princess finished for him, with a touch of amusement.

  Upstairs, Lammiter stood rigid. His anxiety was rising as steadily as a bead of mercury at noon. How many people had been at that dinner party? How many servants? Ears listening, tongues repeating. Tivoli. Tivoli. Throw one small stone into a pool, and the ripples spread out and out.

  The princess had moved to the gates. In Italian, she gave Maria the command to unlock them.

  “Would you tell Luigi I’d like to get in touch with him?” Whitelaw asked.

  “Why do you keep thinking I shall see Luigi?” The princess’s voice was sharp with annoyance. “He never asks my advice.”

  “Perhaps not. But he always takes your help.”

  “Why should I give it?” she demanded. “This morning, I wished he were—he were dead. That shocks you?”

  “If you want me to be shocked—yes.”

  “Good night, Bertrand.”

  He still hesitated. “Principessa—I don’t want to alarm you, but as I rang at the gate tonight for Maria to let me in, I noticed two men in your garden—walking around the side of the villa.”

  “Servants.”

  “They seemed to vanish so quickly when they saw me.”

  “Naturally. They know very well that they are not supposed to walk in the garden. Good night.” She offered him her hand in a very final gesture.

  He kissed it. “If you need help, do call on me. At any time. And I’m sorry I troubled you so needlessly—”

  She laughed again. “I do believe you want to protect me, Bertrand! I am touched, indeed I am—Maria, open the gate!— No car, Bertrand? Did you walk?”

  “I prefer to walk,” Whitelaw said stiffly and went into the street. Maria locked the gates behind him.

  “Come, Maria,” the princess said clearly in Italian. “Let us look at the gardenias, and so to bed.”

  * * *

  Lammiter straightened his back and stretched his shoulders. What had brought Whitelaw visiting at this hour? Some talk at a dinner party? Or had the Englishman heard something more than gossip? Then Lammiter began wondering about Whitelaw himself. He ought to have asked Camden about Whitelaw, but he had forgotten. Or rather, other questions had pushed that one to the back of his mind. “Joe—” he began, but Joe made a sign for caution. Something in the garden was holding his attention.

  The princess had not gone to look at the gardenias. She was standing quite motionless in a patch of moonlight on the driveway, looking towards her house. Waiting? Suddenly the lights over the door of the villa were switched off. A man hurried from its steps, cutting across the paved garden which the driveway encircled. Lammiter’s body stiffened abruptly. The running man was Luigi Pirotta. He was now reaching the princess. He said, angrily, “I thought he’d never go! What did he want?”

  The princess lifted a hand in warning. “Voices carry,” she reminded him.

  “What did he want?” he repeated, more quietly.

  She said coldly, “You cannot leave yet. Bertrand is on foot. Walking slowly. And the street is very long.” She looked away from him, wrapping the cloak around her more closely. It was a gesture of separation.

  “I have still some things to explain,” he said gently. “Maria—”

  “She will not listen.”

  “No? Come into the garage. She can’t hear us there.” He entered the courtyard. She hesitated. “Maria,” she called softly to the woman still at the gate. “Keep watch!” Then she followed Pirotta.

  As the garage door scraped on the cement floor, Joe moved swiftly away from the window towards the door, using the sounds below to cover his own light footsteps. Lammiter had not moved quickly enough. He was caught half-way across the wooden floor. He didn’t trust either its loose boards or the treacherous light. He tested a trunk lying flat on the floor beside him. It seemed solid enough. He sat down. That way, there would be no danger of any sound from him. Joe had opened the attic door about two inches. He looked across at Lammiter and nodded; then he bent his head, listening.

  The voices came up to Lammiter faintly from the dark garage. The lights had not been switched on down there. The garage door must be open. The voices were hushed, talking in Italian, sibilant and energetic, but too quick for Lammiter to understand. And somehow he was relieved. He did not have to listen. He had had enough of the uncomfortable feeling of eavesdropping. He would be no good at this kind of business, he thought as he watched Joe. He rested his head in his hands, trying to get his own problems balanced. He had to fight hard to keep down a rising impulse to walk right downstairs, confront Pirotta, and drag him to the nearest police station. Yet it wouldn’t solve anything. Joe would be doing exactly that, right now, if it was the answer. Joe was in command here. “Follow instructions,” Camden had said. Yes, sir, I’m following instructions, sir, Lammiter thought. He was sitting on a battered trunk in a disused attic, sweating out instructions. Had Camden thought of that? Or of the sound of Pirotta’s voice, so gentle and suave? The princess had been sharp and angry at first. No longer. Pirotta was a persuader.

  Then he suddenly thought, Pirotta is here; he hadn’t been leaving Rome just before ten o’clock, travelling north on the Via Flaminia. He was in Rome when Eleanor vanished. Had she gone with Pirotta?

  Lammiter rose to his feet, but even as he moved to the door, the car’s engine started. Joe’s look of warning changed to amazement, and his signal for silence froze in the air. Caution was unnecessary, anyway, at this moment: the Lancia’s drone smothered all sounds.

  Lammiter stood in the recess at the top of the stairway, looking down into the empty garage. He was too late. Or Pirotta had been too quick. The car was already in the yard, swinging towards the driveway. The princess was standing very still at the door of the garage. Maria was beside her, anxious. “I opened the gate,” Maria said. The princess said nothing. “The gates are open,” Maria repeated, raising her voice. In the driveway, the car’s engine was running smoothly, softly, then faded to nothing.

  “Yes, yes,” the princess said wearily. But she did not move away. “Maria, did I do right? Did I?” Her voice broke, and her head dropped. Her hands went to her face to conceal it.

  Lammiter heard a light rustle of movement behind him. Joe had moved away from the door, back to the window. What had drawn his interest there? And now Lammiter heard the car once again: it was still here in the grounds. It hadn’t left, not yet. As he reached the window, he saw it start from the front of the villa to sweep down the driveway. It slowed for a brief moment at the open gates. Then it was through, turning left, travelling fast.

  “No one drives that car but me.” Joe’s low voice was bitter. “How do you like that, eh? That’s one thing I’d have sworn— Why, she’s always worrying about one little scratch, and he drives like a crazy man.” Then he looked at Lammiter. “Don’t worry, my friend,” he said gently. “I heard all their talk. It’s in here.” He tapped his forehead and grinned widely. “The princess said she would telephone Alberto to expect Pirotta. There’s only one Alberto she would telephone. He’s the caretaker of her house up in the hills. Don’t worry, we know where he’s taking the girl.”

  “Girl?”

  “Sure. His girl. He picked her up at the villa. That’s why the car stopped there. What’s wrong? Don’t—” His voice changed and his arm shot out. But Lammiter dodged.

  “That’s my girl, too, Joe.” And he started downstairs.

  16

  Lammiter slipped into the courtyard. Maria was coming away from the front gates, heading in his direction as if she would now attend to the garage doors. She di
dn’t catch sight of him until he had reached the corner of the building. She gave a hoarse little scream; and the princess, walking very slowly towards the house, halted and turned round.

  Lammiter stepped into the driveway. “Good evening,” he said to the frightened Maria, “Or good morning, perhaps.”

  “Oh!” the princess said. For once, she had nothing else to say. But as Maria rushed to her side (whether to defend or to be saved, Lammiter was not quite certain), the princess took command. “Quiet, Maria! Go to the house.” And then, as Maria retreated unwillingly, the princess said, “Good morning it is, Mr. Lammiter.” Maria, more reassured, covered another ten feet towards the villa, but there she stood, loyally disobedient, her face masked in peasant suspicion.

  The princess looked at him searchingly. She was angry. “All gates are locked. Am I to believe you climbed over my wall?”

  He looked down at his blackish-grey trousers liberally streaked with dust. He tried to brush it off. “I’m sorry—” he said awkwardly. “I just had to see you.” He hoped he sounded like a man who had indeed climbed a wall.

  “The usual way to enter is to ring the bell at the gate,” she said.

  “I didn’t want to waken everyone at this time of night.”

  “Most thoughtful of you.” She was still acid. “And why were you determined to wake me?”

  “I saw your car drive off.”

  She hesitated. “Indeed? And so you came to warn me? How very kind,” she said mockingly. She obviously believed that attack was the best defence.

  He tried a little attack of his own. “Pirotta was driving.”

  “Oh?” She stood very still.

  “And Eleanor was with him, wasn’t she?”

  “It’s very late for questions, Mr. Lammiter. Come and see me tomorrow.” She smiled, almost kindly, and turned away.

  “You have one habit I like,” he said. “If you can’t tell the truth, you don’t tell lies.”

  She halted and faced him. “Why are you here?”

  He said, “Yesterday at Doney’s you invited me to stay in Italy. I’ve decided to accept. That’s all.”

  “I gave you more than an invitation. I gave you warning.” She suddenly burst out, “Why didn’t you talk sense into Eleanor’s head and make her leave?”

  “She was leaving today.”

  “Too late, too late,” she said angrily. “Why, why did she ever come to Rome, why did Luigi have to fall in love with her? Why didn’t he marry Rosana, and there would have been none of this trouble?” She halted abruptly and controlled her emotions. “Stop glaring at me like that! Do you think I’d ever have let Luigi take my car if I didn’t believe we could still save Eleanor?”

  “From what?”

  The princess hesitated. “I only know that there is danger. She knows too much about matters that do not concern her. She must be hidden. For her own safety. Just a few days, that’s all. Please believe me, Mr. Lammiter. Do you think that I should ever have let Luigi take her away if—”

  “Was she all right?” he interrupted quickly.

  She looked at him with astonishment. “But of course!”

  “Did she go of her own free will?”

  “Really, Mr. Lammiter! One would imagine—”

  “It’s too late for imagining. I want to know. Did she go of her own free will?”

  “Yes.” She watched his face. “I’m sorry,” she said more gently. “She had to go. There was no other solution. She will be safe, I assure you.”

  “No other solution?” he asked. “You could have telephoned the American Embassy if Eleanor was in danger. You could have called the police.”

  “Impossible!”

  “Why?”

  “Because we want no publicity. There is danger in publicity. Danger for Eleanor—and for Luigi. We must keep everything discreet: no scandal, no disgrace.”

  “That’s going to be difficult.”

  “Not so difficult. Luigi has resigned from his company. You see, he, at least, took my warning at Doney’s.”

  “Do you actually believe that resigning from a company— an innocent company at that—is going to have any effect on evidence?”

  “What evidence will stand up without witnesses?”

  “His firm will know from its books that he has been up to mischief. What about the shipments of drugs he has sidetracked?”

  “But its directors may not want such publicity, Mr. Lammiter. As you say, their firm is a good one, solid, respectable. It took too long to build up that reputation. Do you think they want it destroyed overnight? One touch of scandal.”

  “Sure,” he said bitterly. “It would empty their pockets, too.” So honest men would form a solid wall of respectability around Pirotta. And the princess would cover up Pirotta’s guilt for the sake of the family name. What about the crooks who had worked for him? But criminals rarely talked. They wouldn’t give evidence against him. They would cover up for him, more than anyone, in order to save their own skins.

  The princess was watching him with marked displeasure. She said coldly, “Must Americans always think of money?”

  He looked at her, equally coldly. “But dear Luigi never thought of money, indeed not. I suppose he was only dedicated to the noble cause of spreading dope addiction?”

  For a moment, her eyes blazed with anger. For a moment, he thought she was going to turn on her heel and walk away. But she did not. She dropped her eyes. Perhaps that was as near to an apology as she could ever come. “It’s all over,” she said in a low voice. “All that degrading and evil business is over. He has given me his word.” She faced Lammiter again. “Don’t think that I am excusing anything he has done,” she said almost fiercely.

  “Has he promised to drop all his political ambitions, too? Or at least change them to open, honest politics?”

  “Politics?” She clearly did not understand what he was saying.

  “If Eleanor is in danger, it doesn’t come from the men who worked in narcotics.”

  “Do not underestimate them. They are vindictive and dangerous. Believe me, Mr. Lammiter, the danger is very great.”

  “We’re talking at cross-purposes,” he said impatiently. “What I meant—”

  “Do you know what you really mean? Why, you don’t even know what you’ve done! You are to blame for all this, Mr. Lammiter. And you stand there—”

  “I’m to blame?”

  “If anything happens to Eleanor, you will be responsible. You instigated, persuaded her to—” She made a gesture of distaste. “No doubt you had the most patriotic motives for acting as one of your country’s agents. But why draw Eleanor into—”

  “But that’s nonsense. Who told you this, anyway? Pirotta? Surely you don’t believe—”

  “Why was she trying to reach you this evening? Why did she want to see you before she left Rome?”

  “She was trying to reach me—where?” And then suddenly he remembered Eleanor’s telephone calls to his hotel. “Just let me explain,” he began quietly. “It was—”

  “How could you have drawn her into all this hideous mess?” The princess was glad to scold someone. “I hold no brief for Luigi, but he, at least, is trying to protect her.”

  “Does Eleanor believe that?”

  The princess shrugged her shoulders. “She is a very strange girl. She kept quite silent all the time she was with Maria.”

  “You were not with her?”

  “Luigi had a great deal to tell me. After all, he did owe me some explanation.”

  “And a very good job he made of it.”

  “That is quite enough,” the princess said sharply. “Maria, let this man out at the gate.”

  “This man will go when he is good and ready,” Lammiter said.

  “I shall call the police.”

  “You should have called them an hour ago.” He had scored a point: she must have had that impulse and then smothered it. Or been persuaded out of it. He pressed on. “Better still, you should have had an honest talk, a
lone, with Eleanor. Then you would have found out that she doesn’t know one thing about the narcotics racket. She is in no danger from that.”

  “But—but she is in danger.”

  “Yes,” he said very quietly.

  “From what?” she asked quickly.

  “I tried to tell you.”

  “From what?” she repeated. And now, the doubts that had troubled her and been silenced were stirring again.

  It was a good time to leave, Lammiter decided. “Ask Mr. Big,” he said.

  “Mr. Big?”

  “Mr. Big the second: Dear Luigi. Oh, he isn’t anything near that, yet. But that’s the direction he is taking. Not Fascist, of course. That’s been tried. And there won’t be any march on Rome, this time. His friends without faces have more subtle methods than that.”

  She said haltingly, “Friends—without faces?”

  “Yes, his friends at Tivoli, who don’t like being photographed. Good night, Principessa.” He bowed. To the maid he said, “Don’t trouble about the gates, Maria. I can go out the way I came in.” He smiled for her. She had not understood what he said, for he had been too tired to face any Italian verbs. It had been a mistake, after all, he thought wearily, to try to talk with the princess.

  He made an effort and walked smartly down the driveway. He was more than tired: he was exhausted. The gate was near, and the wall beside it looked higher than he remembered. His exit line had been good theatre, but a damned silly idea. He had enough sense still left to keep well away from the garage. Would the princess watch? No, probably not. She would never be caught watching anyone. But she would have no objection to Maria’s watching and telling her what the crazy foreigner did.

  He refrained from looking round. And then, almost at the gates, he noticed how the bushes and the flowering trees had been planted partly to screen the entrance to the yard, partly to soften the bleak stone. He plunged through this mass of shrubbery, and behind its shelter made his way slowly and carefully along the wall. It took some time. He reached the second gateway by which Joe and he had entered, and there was the path to lead him back to the courtyard. He couldn’t be seen here from the driveway. He halted and waited. If Maria didn’t come round the corner of the garage in the next five minutes, he’d risk that bare and vulnerable courtyard. Everything seemed bleak and purposeless. What am I doing here, anyway? he asked himself angrily. Eleanor had gone of her own free will. That was all he needed to sink him into this cold pit of despair.