"Stop it! Stop it!" Helga cried. "Larry! Stop it!"
He frowned, looked blankly at her, and for a moment he didn't seem to recognize her, then his face relaxed and he grinned, stepping back.
"He's okay, ma'am ... just trying to be younger than he "Leave him alone!"
"Sure, ma'am." Larry moved further away, then looking down at Archer, he said, "Come on, Fatso, get up. You're not hurt ... yet. Come on."
Very slowly, Archer crawled to his feet. He staggered to the wall and leaned against it, breathing heavily and sagging at the knees. The right side of his face now showed a black bruise, tinged with red and a trickle of blood ran from the side of his mouth. Helga looked away. The sight of his face sickened her.
"That's the boy," Larry said. "Now go in there and collect your teeth, then write that letter." Archer glared at him, then at Helga.
"By God! I'll make you two pay for this," he mumbled. He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed the blood from his mouth. The spite and viciousness in his eyes chilled Helga.
"Sure ... sure," Larry said softly. "We know all about that. Go ahead ... get in mere!"
Unsteadily and moving like a cripple, Archer walked into the sitting–room. He picked up his denture and put it in his mouth.
"Maybe, ma'am, you'd better write the letter. I don't reckon he's up to it," Larry said, eyeing Archer.
"Yes," Helga said.
"Sit down," Larry said to Archer. "Take it easy."
Archer sank into a chair and held his face in his hands. His breathing was very laboured and alarmed Helga. "Is he all right?"
"Oh, sure, ma'am ... he's fine. Don't worry about him," Larry said. "You get that letter written."
Helga went to the desk, took a portable Olivetti from one of the bottom drawers and put it on the desk. Her hands were shaking a little, and the paper rattled as she threaded it into the typewriter. She hesitated for a long moment, breathing deeply until she regained some composure, then she began to type.
The only sound in the big room was the clacking of the typewriter and Archer's laboured breathing.
Larry stripped a stick of chewing gum and put it in his mouth,
It took Helga only a few minutes to complete the letter. She ripped the sheet out of the typewriter and checked what she had written.
Villa Helios
Castagnola 6976
The Manager,
Central Bank of Vaud.
Lausanne. 1003.
Dear Sir,
Yesterday, I mailed to you an envelope marked "To be opened in
the event of my death."
I now find I need to make additions to the document contained in
the second sealed envelope. Will you please return this envelope,
unopened, to me by registered and express mail at the above
address. Your immediate action will oblige.
Yours truly,
John Lee Archer
She put the letter on the desk and looked at Archer who still sat motionless, his face in his hands. "Jack ..."
He didn't move and Larry, frowning, gave him a hard poke in his back with his finger.
"The lady's speaking to you, buster," he said.
Archer looked up slowly and her heart sank when she saw the expression in his eyes. She saw then he had more steel in him than she had imagined. He had absorbed the first shock, and now his bruised face was set and his eyes glittered with the viciousness of a cornered animal. "I'll read the letter to you," she said.
He pressed his hand to his aching face and continued to glare at her.
Her voice a little husky, she read the letter aloud. He just sat there, now staring down at the carpet and mopping at his bleeding mouth.
"Will you sign it?" she asked. He looked up.
"I forged your signature ... go ahead and forge mine." The hate in his eyes sickened her. "Go ahead and see how far it'll get you."
Larry made a slight movement towards him, but Helga gestured to him to stay where he was.
"Jack ... I told you I hold four aces. You'll sign sooner or later. I must have those photographs," she said, her hands into fists on the desk. "I hate this. I want to spare you although you don't deserve any consideration, but I do want to spare you. Please sign this letter."
"You and your pimp can go to hell!" Archer snarled. "As long as I have those photographs I'm safe ... without them, I'm not."
"If you sign this letter Jack, and I get the photos, I give you my solemn promise that Herman won't prosecute, but you'll have to lose the account. I promise you won't go to prison."
"What's your promise worth to me? It's stalemate, you bitch. I'm not signing."
"Larry promised me he would make you sign," Helga said, trying desperately to quell the panic and despair rising in her. "That means he will ill-treat you. For God's sake, Jack! I don't want you hurt. Please sign this letter!" Archer stared at her, his eyes narrowing.
"I told you ... it's stalemate! If this ape starts knocking me about, he could kill me. "In the event of my death" ... remember? I'll tell you something I haven't told anyone. I have a bad heart. My quack warned me on no account was I to over-exert myself. So go ahead if you want me dead. Tell your ape to start knocking me about."
Larry, chewing gum, was listening to all this, his eyes shifting from Helga to Archer and back to Helga again. He saw the dismay growing in Helga's eyes and he moved into action.
He went up to Archer.
"Up on your feet!" he said. "You and me are going downstairs. Come on." "No!" Helga's voice was shrill. "Don't touch him!"
"It's okay, ma'am. I'm not touching him unless I have to. I want to talk to him. On your feet, buster." Archer stood up.
"Keep away from me! I'm walking out of here and I'm daring either of you to stop me! Now, get out of my way!"
With a movement like a striking snake, Larry's big hand closed over Archer's wrist, twisted, had Archer spinning around and then bending his arm he had him in a paralysing grip. Helga jumped to her feet. "Larry! No!"
"It's okay," Larry said quietly. "He doesn't want to drop dead, do you, Fatso? Move with the legs."
Her heart hammering, Helga watched Larry march Archer out of the room. She heard them going down the stairs and she walked unsteadily to an armchair and sank into it and put her hands to her face.
Her bluff had been called. From the moment she had agreed to let Larry help her, she had a feeling it would end in disaster. She dare not risk Archer dying. It would be better to submit to his blackmail. Jumping to her feet, she ran into the hall and paused as she saw Larry coming up the stairs from the cellars. "What have you done with him?"
"He's okay, ma'am. I've locked him in one of the cellars ... the one at the far end ... the empty one. He can't get out. I thought maybe you and me ought to have a talk before we do anything more."
She went back into the sitting-room.
"We must let him go, Larry."
"Do you think he's bluffing about his bad heart, ma'am?" She lifted her hands helplessly.
"How do I know? He looks like a man with heart trouble. I don't know, but if you try to force him to sign and he the dies ... no, Larry, we can't do it."
Larry rubbed the back of his neck. "Mind if I have a beer, ma'am?"
"No ... help yourself ... have anything!"
He went over to the bar, opened the refrigerator, took out a bottle of beer. "This is pretty handy, isn't it, ma'am? You've certainly got it all laid on. Do you want something?"
"No."
She sat in despair, trying to think of a way out and finding none. I'll make you two pay for this!
He would, of course. He knew Larry was an Army deserter. He would inform against him. Herself? He would be merciless, bleeding the account with impunity, making her cover up his embezzlement.
"Look, ma'am, take it easy," Larry said. He carried his glass of beer from the bar and sat down opposite her. "We can still fix this. Have you got a copy of his signature?"
She stiffened and look
ed quickly at him. "Yes, but I could never forge it."
"Could I see it, ma'am?"
"But why? I don't understand." "Could I see it, ma'am?"
She went to the desk, found a file containing the dozens of letters Archer had written to her concerning business transactions. She looked at the almost indecipherable signature. No... to forge that wasn't possible.
She handed one of the letters to Larry who looked at it. "A real mean signature, isn't it, ma'am?"
"Yes, but his bank knows it. It is impossible to forge."
"Maxie could do it with his eyes shut."
She stiffened. "Who?"
"Maxie Friedlander ... the guy who fixed my passport. He could do it."
The feeling of utter defeat and despair that was crushing her lifted. "Would he?"
Larry smiled his warm, friendly smile.
"From what Ron tells me, ma'am, Maxie would cut his own throat if the money was right. Yeah ... he'd do it."
"He wouldn't ask questions?"
"No, ma'am."
"But he would have to see the letter, Larry. It gives my address. He could blackmail me."
"He needn't see the letter. You could cover it up. Anyway, Maxie wouldn't want trouble. You pay him enough and there'll be no kick-back." "How much would he want?"
"I don't know that, ma'am. Maybe what you paid him for my passport. I'll get it as cheap as I can."
She leaned forward, clasping her hands. "Will you do it?"
"Why, sure, ma'am. Ron told me I was to help you and that's what I'm going to do. Give me the money and I'll go now if you'll let me have your car. I reckon it'll take me a little over five hours to get to Basle." He looked at the ornate clock on the overmantel. "It's now nearly two o'clock. I'll be with Maxie around seven o'clock. Maybe he'll take an hour for the job. I'll be back here by two in the morning. How's that?"
Again she had the feeling of pending disaster, but she could think of no other alternative. "Thank you, Larry. Take the car. What about ... him?"
"I'll fix him up before I go. He'll want something to eat and a bucket to pee in. You leave all this to me. I'll be off in half an hour." He went briskly into the kitchen.
She sat mere for some moments, trying to convince herself that this new plan could save her, but she was too shaken and uneasy to think coherently. She got up and went into the kitchen to find Larry boiling four eggs and defrosting bread in the oven.
"This will keep him going, ma'am, until I get back. Keep away from him. I'll be as quick as I can."
"Don't take risks, Larry. For God's sake, don't have an accident." "I'll watch it, ma'am. Will you get the letter ready?"
"Yes."
She went back to the sitting-room, found two sheets of typing paper and put the letter between them, leaving room for the signature space to protrude. She taped the two sheets together, completely concealing the letter. She folded it carefully and put it in a large envelope.
It would mean another day's delay, she thought. She had to see the letter before she posted it to the Bank. She had to be sure the signature would be acceptable.
Then she went into the room. Herman used as a study, pushed back one of the oak panels to reveal a small safe. She spun the dial, opened the safe and took from it a leather folder. From the folder, she counted our forty one hundred franc notes. Returning the folder and relocking the safe, she went back to the sitting-room. "Larry?"
As he didn't reply, she went to the kitchen, but he wasn't there. She went to the top of the stairs leading to the cellar. She could hear him talking. Moving quietly, she went down a few of the stairs to hear better.
She heard him say, "Make yourself at home, Fatso. You've got food now and it won't be long before we let you go. Just take it easy."
She heard a door slam, then Larry came running along the passage, pausing when he saw her. He grinned.
"Nothing to worry about, ma'am. Just keep clear of him. He can't get out. I'll get going. You got the letter?"
They climbed the stairs together and went into the sitting-room.
"Here's four thousand francs, Larry. Do you think it'll be enough?"
"Yeah, ma'am. I'll talk him into it. Sure, it's more than enough." "And here's the letter."
She took the letter from the envelope and showed him how she had concealed the letter.
"Stay with him while he does it, Larry. Make sure he doesn't see what's written here."
"You bet, ma'am."
She put her hand on his arm. "And thank you, Larry, for all you're doing for me."
He smiled. "Thank you, ma'am for giving me the chance to put things right. Don't you worry ... I'll fix it. See you around two tonight."
"Don't take risks."
"I won't. Well, so long, ma'am ... be seeing you," and he went out of the living-room, out into the hall, snatched up his baseball cap, then opening the front door, he ran down the steps to the garage.
Standing by the big window, Helga watched him drive down the grit strewn road until the car disappeared from sight. She suddenly felt very alone.
chapter six
For some moments, Helga stood thinking. There must be no loose strings, she told herself. Had Archer checked out of the Eden hotel? It would be awkward if the hotel began an inquiry. Then she remembered he had booked an air taxi to take him back to Lausanne.
She knew Toni Hoffman, the secretary of the Flying Club at Agno. Quickly she looked up the telephone number and in minutes, was speaking to Hoffman.
As soon as she introduced herself, he became friendly and attentive.
"A wonderful surprise, Madame Rolfe! Are you needing a plane?"
"No, but my husband will be arriving next week. Mr. Hoffman, I believe Mr. Archer has chartered an air taxi?"
"Mr. Archer? Yes ... that's right He's due to take off in an hour."
"Would you please cancel the flight? Mr. Archer has been detained. He will, of course, cover the cost. When he is ready to leave, he will make another reservation."
"Certainly, Madame Rolfe. I'll tell the pilot. How is Mr. Rolfe?" They chatted for a few minutes, then Helga hung up.
Should she call the Eden hotel? She thought for a moment. If there was a suitcase in Archer's car she would know he had checked out. Slipping on her coat, she left the villa and went to the garage. She found a suitcase lying on the back seat of the Fiat. So he had checked out, she thought as she closed the garage door.
Then she remembered it was possible that Herman might send her a Telex. He had a mania about sending messages by Telex. She had to be sure the Eden didn't Telex back that she had checked out.
She returned to the villa and called the Eden. As soon as she was put through to the Reception Manager, she asked if there had been a Telex from her husband.
"No, Madame Rolfe. Are you expecting one?"
"It is possible. If one comes would you be kind enough to telephone me? I am at my villa."
"Certainly, Madame ... a pleasure."
Again she stood thinking. Knowing how busy Archer always was it was certain his secretary had set up appointments for him the following day. She must stop her making inquiries. She hesitated, then dialled Archer's office number.
While she waited for a reply, she calculated how long Archer would have to remain under lock and key. When Larry returned, she would drive to Lugano's Central Post Office and post the letter to catch the first mail out. The letter wouldn't reach the Bank until the following morning. The Bank would post the envelope to the villa the same day and it would arrive the following morning. Say three days. Today was Tuesday. To be on the safe side, she would say Archer wouldn't be back in Lausanne until Sunday evening.
A moment later he was speaking to Betty Brownlow who had worked under her when she had been Archer's personal assistant and who had taken over from her when she had married Herman. "Hello Betty, this is Helga."
"Why, Helga, how nice to hear your voice again. How are you?"
They chatted for a few moments, then Betty said, "Have you se
en Jack? He is in Lugano."
"Yes ... that's why I'm phoning. Something important has come up. My husband has sent a Telex. He has asked Jack to go to Rome to fix a deal. Jack asked me to call you to cancel all his appointments. He won't be back until Sunday night."
"He's gone to Rome? But he can't have!"
Helga stiffened and her heart missed a beat.
"He has. What do you mean?"
"He hasn't his passport with him!"
Helga flinched. Fool! Not to have thought of that. Why hadn't she said Archer had gone to Zurich? "Are you sure?" She forced her voice to sound casual.
"Yes. His passport is in my drawer. I asked him if he wanted it and he said he didn't." Helga forced her mind to work.
"It'll be all right. The last time I went to Milan I forgot my passport. There was a bit of a fuss, but they accepted my driving licence. Jack will manage." "Do you think so?" A pause, then Betty went on, her voice worried, "He usually stops at the Grand. I could post the passport to him express. He might get it tomorrow. It would save a fuss when he leaves."
God! Helga thought, couldn't this woman stop being so damned efficient?
"Not the Grand," she said. "He phoned ... they're full. He is taking pot luck. Don't send the passport, Betty. He would be furious if it got lost. I'd forget it ... I know he will manage."
"Well ... if you think so. Anyway he will be telephoning me. He always does when he's away and I can ask him what to do."
Helga closed her eyes, then opened them. She should have thought of that too.
"I don't think you will hear from him, Betty. He's going to be very busy. In fact he told me to tell you not to worry if you don't hear from him."
"Not hear from him?" Betty's voice became alarmed. "But I have a mass of queries I have to ask him about!"
Helga had had enough of this.
"That's what he said, darling. You'll manage ... I always did. 'bye now," and she hung up.
Her hands were moist and she sat for some moments trying to convince herself that she had convinced Betty. She decided there was nothing Betty could do. At least she wouldn't be alarmed and start making inquiries. What else had she to do? Then she remembered that the cleaning woman would be arriving the following morning. Still another telephone call. She found the number, called the cleaning agency and told them to stop the woman from coming. She said she would telephone again when she wanted the woman.
1971 - An Ace Up My Sleeve Page 11