Carlos came up behind him, pressed on another rubber-headed button.
“I’ve got Micklem here, boss,” he said.
Don saw then the negro was speaking into a microphone let into the wall. A moment later the door swung inwards and Carlos gave him a little push forward. He walked into a large, airy, luxuriously furnished room. The sun came in through the big open casement windows. Beyond the open windows, Don could see the wide terrace and stretching away into the distance file ornamental garden with its flowering shrubs, conifers and cypress trees. It was a tempting sight, and for a very brief moment, he had to resist the urge to dart forward and through the casement windows to the garden below, but the dogs, as if anticipating such a move, brushed past him and went out on to the terrace where they lay down in the sun, blocking the exit. Simon Alsconi, wearing a fawn linen coat, sat in his padded chair. The Persian cat lay on his lap; its blue eyes stared at Don with inquisitive insolence. The sun caught the sparkle of a large diamond on Alsconi’s little finger as he waved his hand towards a chair opposite him.
“Come in, Mr Micklem,” he said. “This is a great and unexpected pleasure. Forgive me for not getting up. You see I am encumbered by Balthazar. We must, I feel, always show consideration to the feelings of animals. Please sit in that chair where we can see each other in comfort.”
Don crossed the room and sat down in the big lounging chair. He looked at Alsconi with interest. Was he the Tortoise?
he wondered. He looked harmless enough — or did he? There was something odd about his eyes perhaps. Don was puzzled for a moment why Alsconi’s eyes should strike him as odd, then he realized they were flat like the eyes of a snake: flat, glassy and as dark and as expressionless as pools of Indian ink. A door opened at the far end of the room and a short, stocky Italian in a white mess jacket came in carrying a tray. He set the tray down on a table between Alsconi and Don, poured out two cups of coffee and then silently left the room.
“You must need some coffee, Mr Micklem,” Alsconi said. “We have had rather a busy morning, and I am afraid we have neglected you. Help yourself to a cigarette too.”
Don wanted the coffee badly and he didn’t hesitate to accept the invitation.
Carlos was standing by the window, watching him, and Alsconi waved him away.
“I’ll ring when I want you, Carlos,” he said.
The negro went out on to the terrace. The two wolf-hounds edged forward. They stared through the open casement doors at Don, their eyes watchful and alert.
Don looked into the big hearth before the empty fireplace. His eyes alighted on a heavy steel poker. He would have.to get to his feet and take two quick steps forward to grab it. He would have time to do it before the dogs reached him. He had no doubt he could settle the dogs before they could do him much damage, but what then? How far away was Carlos? Were the four guards with their automatic rifles still in the garden? Even if he laid out the dogs, knocked this fat, smiling Italian over the head and reached the garden, he would still have over a thousand yards of lawn and shrubbery to negotiate before he reached the fifteen-foot high wall. There would be no Harry waiting for him to swing him to the top. By then the other two dogs would be after him. He reluctantly decided the chances of failure were too great.
Alsconi who had been watching him said, “Very sensible of you, Mr Micklem. For a moment I feared you were going to give way to an impulse. That poker is tempting. One of my other visitors attempted to make use of it. Jacopo who sits behind that tapestry on the wall — a really splendid example of the best Florentine work, don’t you think? — had no alternative but to shoot him.” The white fingers fondled the cat’s head. “Enjoy your coffee; have a cigarette, but please don’t do anything foolish.”
Don lit a cigarette. He looked over at the tapestry on the wall facing him. Then he shrugged.
“Are you the man who arranged Guido Ferenci’s death?” he asked quietly.
Alsconi smiled.
“I suppose you might say I was indirectly responsible. I have people who attend to the details of my organization.
Perhaps I had better introduce myself. My name is Simon Alsconi. I am the last surviving male member of the Vaga family. I understand you have been investigating our sad history.”
“The police are investigating it too,” Don said.
Alsconi chuckled.
“I have been disappointed that they have taken so long to discover the connection. No doubt you gave them the clue. I have never made any secret of my connection with the Vaga family. In actual fact this palazzo is built on the original site of the Vaga home. My mother was the last of the women Vagas. But your discovery is of no value either to you or to the police, Mr Micklem. There is no evidence to connect me to the organization I have built up nor can the money I have made from the organization be traced. The people I employ don’t know me: the few who do can disappear and reappear at a moment’s notice. Even if I admitted I was the Tortoise, there would be no evidence that would convince a jury.” “Most murderers are confident they can evade the police,” Don said.
“There’s always the give-away, the false move or the squealer. You’re just kidding yourself if you think you’re going to get away with this for much longer.” Alsconi laughed: he sounded genuinely amused. “My position of safety has had an interesting test this morning,” he said. “I have been hopefully waiting for such a test for the past two years. Until one’s plans and security measures are submitted to a worth-while test, there is always an element of doubt. This morning six police officers have been here, looking for you. You should be flattered. Rossi, who is the head of the Rome police and an extremely clever man, flew up here and conducted the search in person. He conducted it under considerable opposition from the Sienese authorities. I happen to be an important person in Siena. I am regarded by the authorities and the church not only as a benefactor, but also as a pillar of Society. When Rossi appeared at police headquarters with a search warrant, the authorities were horrified. The circumstances were, of course, fantastic. An Englishman in the lowly position of a chauffeur was complaining that I — one of the most influential as well as the most wealthy citizens of Siena — had kidnapped his master. Unbelievable and incredible. However, Rossi is a man who is not easily put off. He has been trying to break up my organization for the past three years. The arguments the authorities raised against disturbing me were brushed aside. He came here with three detectives from Rome and three from the Siena police.
Naturally I gave him every facility to satisfy himself that you were not hidden here.”
Alsconi thrust his fingers deep into the cat’s fur, and the cat opened its eyes to look lazily up at him and it stretched, its paws opening and closing.
“I have spent a considerable sum of money constructing a system of underground rooms here, Mr Micklem, where people I don’t wish to be seen, can shelter. The entrance to these rooms has been so cleverly made that the police failed to find it. I was, of course, in a stroiig position. Why should I be held responsible for an American who breaks into my garden like a common thief? I have hundreds of acres of garden. I suggested it was possible that this American had met with an accident and was concealed somewhere in the garden. A considerable time was spent searching the garden, but the American was not found. It was then that I lost patience. I had been sympathetic, I had been co-operative, I had permitted six heavy-footed policemen to tramp over the whole of my house. I had answered questions. But now I became angry. Who was this man who complained that his master had been kidnapped by me? I asked; could it be possible that he is a maniac? Or perhaps a practical joker? Did the police know for certain if this American really was missing? What was this nonsense about me being the Tortoise? What proof had the police to offer to support such a suspicion? I worked myself up into a royal rage — and the result? Rossi apologized.” Alsconi laughed. “A fascinating morning; a morning I have to thank you for.”
Don concealed his dismay as best he could.
“It m
ay have been fascinating to you,” he said, “but how does it affect me? I must admit I should be depressed if I thought I was going to spend the rest of my days here.”
“You are at liberty to leave whenever you wish, subject to two conditions,’’ Alsconi said. “The first is you give me your word you will cease to bother me and you will tell no one what I have told you. You are a man of honour, and I am prepared to accept your word. The other condition is the payment of a ransom for your liberty. You are a rich man and I think it is only fair that you should pay for the trouble you have caused me. I think a contribution from you of five hundred thousand dollars would meet the case. I am in need of dollars at the moment. No doubt you could arrange to transfer that amount from your American bank to your Italian bank fairly quickly.”
“And if I don’t agree to pay?” Don asked quietly.
“My dear Mr Micklem, other people have said that to me. I assure you it would not be difficult to persuade you to pay.
Don’t imagine you will be submitted to any torture. I have no patience with that form of persuasion. There are more subtle methods of persuading a man to do what you wish without inflicting on him physical pain. You have met Dr Englemann?”
“I’ve met him,” Don said.
“Dr Englemann is a brain specialist. Unfortunately for him, his enthusiasm led him into a number of reckless experiments. The police are now looking for him to charge him with murder. He is happy to be under my protection. I am able to finance his experiments, and in return, he does me a number of favours. At the moment he is working on a theory that the mind can be influenced by a series of intricate nerve operations. For instance, if a man has weak powers of concentration, by an ingenious nerve graft these powers can be stimulated. Dr Englemann is only in the theory stage at the moment. He needs men and women to experiment on. Anyone who resists my wishes is handed over to him. Only a month ago I had an obstinate man who refused to pay his ransom. I would like you to see him. I must ask Englemann to show him to you. The operation the doctor attempted was ambitious and a complete failure, but the results interested me. The patient lost the use of his arms, he is unable to talk fluently and his memory appears to be impaired. He is altogether rather a miserable creature, although the doctor finds him still useful for further experiments. So you see, Mr Micklem, it might be disastrous for you if you also tried to resist my wishes. Dr Englemann is very anxious to see if he can rejuvenate the optic nerves. If you refuse to pay your ransom I will offer you to him as a guinea pig. think it is only fair to tell you that although Englemann’s theories are brilliant, he has to nerve himself to perform any operation. He is, I am afraid,-inclined to drink far too heavily, and his hand is not as steady as it should be. I feel fairly certain this is the reason why he has had so many failures.
It is possible that if you have the operation you might easily become blind and very possibly paralysed.”
Don stared at the fat, smiling face. His own face had lost some of its colour, and his eyes showed the anger that made him want to jump up and get his hands on Alsconi’s fat throat.
“You have the advantage now,” he said, “but you may not continue to have it. You’re not fit to live, Alsconi. If I get the chance I shall kill you. Remember that: you won’t have a second warning.”
Alsconi chuckled.
“So many people have threatened my life that it ceases to mean anything,” he said. He touched a bell on the table beside him and Carlos came into the room. “I shall give you an hour to decide what you will do. If you agree to pay, you will write a letter to your New York bank, authorizing them to pay the money to your bank in Rome. When the money arrives, you will write a cheque for the amount and a covering letter to the bank, stating the bearer of the cheque has your authority to collect the money in bonds. When the bonds are in my hands, you will be immediately released.” ¦
“And how do I know that?” Don asked.
“You have my word: a gentleman’s agreement. After all, I am prepared to accept your word to say nothing about what has passed between us. You must be prepared to accept mine.” He waved his hand. “Take Mr Micklem back to his room, Carlos.”
Grinning, the negro came forward, the two wolf-hounds at his heels.
“Come on, bud,” he said.
Chapter IX
THE DEAL
Soon after nine o’clock, Felix pushed open Lorelli’s bedroom door and entered the small, blue and grey decorated room.
But for the fact the room had no windows and was artificially lighted, no one would have guessed it was thirty feet below ground.
Lorelli had slept late, and was now sitting before her dressing table, brushing her hair. She wore a pale-green silk wrap and her
small, well-shaped feet were in feathered mules. She swung around as Felix came in.
“What’s been happening?” she asked, and he was quick to note the anxious note in her voice.
“Plenty,” he said and pulling up a chair he sat astride it, resting his arms on its back. “This American we’ve caught turns out to be Don Micklem. In case you’ve never heard of him, he’s worth two million pounds sterling — not dollars. The old man’s pretty pleased we’ve got him and he’s putting the bite on him for half a million dollars.”
Lorelli put her hairbrush on the dressing table.
“Is that something to get excited about?” she asked. “If he’s worth all that money, why stop at a mere five hundred thousand dollars?”
“This is only the first instalment. It wouldn’t be possible to get a bigger sum out of him without currency trouble.
Micklem imagines he is going to go free when he pays up. Between you and me, he isn’t going to leave here until there’s no more two million, and when he does leave, he’ll go feet first with a wreath in his hands.”
Lorelli flinched. She got up and walked over to the clothes closet. Slipping off her wrap, she took from the closet a black silk frock. She made a ring of the frock and slid it over her head.
Felix eyed her compact, beautifully proportioned body.
“Doesn’t Micklem guess?” Lorelli asked as she smoothed the dress over her hips. She moved back to the dressing table and opening a drawer crammed with costume jewellery, she picked out a string of black and red wooden beads.
“That’s what foxes me,” Felix said. “From the look of the guy, he should be full of fight, but he isn’t. Maybe the old man has thrown a scare into him. He is doing exactly what he has been told to do. He’s written a letter to his New York bank, authorizing them to pay the money into his bank in Rome. The old man thought he would kick, but he hasn’t. You have the job of delivering the letter to Micklem’s secretary. She has to take it to New York.”
Lorelli stiffened.
“I have to take it?”
“Yes,” Felix said, looking at her. “There’s nothing to it…”
“Why can’t you take it, or Willie or Carlos?” Lorelli said, her voice rising.
“Don’t ask me,” Felix said sharply. “The old man said you were to take it.”
“Why do I always get picked on for the dirty jobs?”
“What’s dirty about this one?”
“Suppose they hand me over to the police? Look what happened in London. I was nearly caught.”
“Oh, skip it!” Felix said impatiently. “This is dead easy. The police won’t be there, and Micklem’s staff won’t dare touch you so long as we have him where we want him.”
“I don’t want to do it, Felix,” she said. “I don’t see why I should do it. I want to keep out of it.”
“You don’t know it, Lorelli,” he said, looking at her intently, “but you are in trouble. This is the wrong time to say what you will or what you won’t do. You’re to take the letter to the Trioni villa in an hour from now. That’s an order.”
Lorelli turned white.
“What do you mean — trouble?”
“Alsconi isn’t as sure of you as he was. He says in an emergency you have a habit of losing your nerv
e. I told him you’d be all right and I’d be responsible for you. He wasn’t convinced. He’s sending you with the letter to test your nerve.”
Lorelli-sat down abruptly on the edge of the bed.
“There’s nothing to the job,” Felix went on quietly. “As a test it’s nothing. You’ve got to pull yourself together. Alsconi is watching you. You don’t want me to tell you what that means.”
She didn’t say anything.
“Here’s the letter,” Felix said. He took an envelope from his wallet and put it on the dressing table. “You know where the Trioni villa is ?”
“Yes,” Lorelli said.
“When you get there ask for Marian Rigby. Tell her Micklem is safe and well, and he is no longer in Siena. She is to fly to New York on the first available plane, and she is to deliver the letter to Micklem’s bank. If there is a query as to why Micklem wants such a sum, she is to say he is going to build a villa out here. Tell her that if she tells the police what is happening, Micklem will suffer. Got all that?”
“Yes,” Lorelli said.
“Okay. Get there at half-past two. Take the Citroen.” Felix lit a cigarette. “Now I’ve got that off my chest, there’s something else I want to talk to you about. You never told me how you got on with Crantor. What kind of guy is he?”
Lorelli stared at him in surprise.
“Crantor? I didn’t like him. He’s ambitious and smart and utterly ruthless. Why?”
“I’ll say he’s smart,” Felix said. “Too damned smart. Alsconi told me to phone Crantor to get some information about Micklem. I expected to have to leave it with him, but he trotted out the facts as if he were reading from a dossier. There was nothing he didn’t know about Micklem: how much he was worth, who his bankers were, what insurances he carried- the works. He said he could repeat the performance on anyone in London with an income of more than ten thousand.
That’s being too damned smart.”
Mission to Siena Page 12