“And the cartridges — hurry!” he said.
She brought the gun and the cartridges over to the opening.
“Quick!” Don said as he saw her hesitate. “Give it to me before he gets back!”
She slid the gun through the opening, then she handed in the seven bullets.
“Don’t lose your nerve,” Don said. “I’ll take care of you.” She then seemed to realize what she had done; she had given him her only protection not only from Felix, but worse still, from Englemann.
“No! Give it to me back!” she cried. “I didn’t mean to let you have it. I must have it back!” She made as if to thrust her hand
through the opening, but Don slid the plate across just as Felix came into the room.
Lorelli spun around. One look at Felix’s white, sweating face sent her hands to her mouth.
“I can’t open the door at the end of the passage,” Felix said, the edge of panic in his voice. “The current seems to be cut off.”
Lorelli shut her eyes and sagged against the wall. He went over to the telephone and lifted the receiver.
Carlos said, “Yes?”
His negroid voice was as thick and as smooth as black treacle.
“Something seems to have gone wrong with the door at the end of the passage,” Felix said. He had to make a tremendous effort to keep his voice steady. “I can’t open it.”
“That’s right, Mr Felix,” Carlos said cheerfully. “Boss’s orders. He told me to cut the current off.”
Felix suddenly felt he wanted to be sick.
“Okay. I’ll have a word with him,” he said. “He can’t know I’m down here.”
“He knows all right.” There was ajeering note in Carlos’s voice. “He asked who was down here before he told me to cut off the current.”
“Put me through to him!” Felix snarled.
“Right away, Mr Felix.” Carlos pulled out the plug, then rang Alsconi’s room.
“Yes?” Alsconi asked.
“Mr Felix wants you, boss.”
“Does he? Tell him I’m busy,” Alsconi said. “I’ll talk to him tomoiTow morning and not before.”
“Yes, boss,” Carlos said, his thick lips coming off his teeth in a delighted grin. He got back to Felix. “Sorry, Mr Felix, but the boss says he’s busy. He’ll talk to you tomorrow morning.”
Felix slammed down the receiver. Sweat ran down his face as he turned to look at Lorelli.
“You clever little…” The word he used made Lorelli flinch. “We’re trapped down here. Alsconi’s on to us. He’s cut the current off, and there’s no way out. I hope you’re pleased with yourself and your bright ideas.”
Lorelli collapsed into a chair. She held her head between her hands.
Felix went out of the room at a run and into his room. He flung back the door and entered, not looking at Willie’s body that lay half under the toilet basin. His .45 automatic lay on the top of his chest of drawers. He snatched it up, and as he was about to push it into the shoulder holster he wore under his coat, he paused. The weight of the gun in his hand told him it wasn’t loaded, and yet he knew an hour or so ago, before he had killed Willie, he had checked the gun, making sure it was loaded.
With shaking hands, he pulled out the clip and found it empty. He turned swiftly, jerked open a drawer in the chest for the box of cartridges he always kept by him. It usually rested in the right-hand comer under a pile of shirts. When he moved the shirts, he saw the empty hollow where the box had been, but the box itself was no longer there.
He had used Willie’s gun when he had hit him over the head. He had dropped the gun beside Willie’s dead body. Now he looked for it, but couldn’t see it. He kicked Willie’s body aside, but the gun wasn’t there.
He stood still, his heart pounding, his hands clenched at his sides. Someone — probably Carlos — had been in his room while he had been wasting time talking to Lorelli and had unloaded his gun, taken his slugs and also Willie’s gun.
Well, at least he had Lorelli’s gun, he thought. It was only a toy, but it was better than nothing. He could guess what would happen. When Alsconi was ready he would tell Carlos to move in and take him. Felix knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against Carlos unless he had the .25 which would slow Carlos down if it didn’t stop him.
He went back to Lorelli’s room.
She was still holding her head in her hands. He scarcely looked at her. He went to the dressing table for the .25. He had left it there with the seven bullets arranged in a neat row beside it and he could scarcely believe his eyes when he saw it was no longer there.
“Where’s your gun?” he said, his voice off-key.
Lorelli started and looked up.
“Where’s the gun?” he repeated.
“Why? What do you…?”
She jumped to her feet when she saw his vicious expression.
“Where’s the gun?” he snarled, moving towards her.
“Don’t look like that at me!” She backed against the wall. “Keep away from me!”
Felix came up to her. He grabbed hold of the front of her dress with his left hand and pulled her against him.
“Where is it?”
“I gave it to Micklem.”
“You-what!”
“He asked for it. I wasn’t thinking. I — - He…”
“Micklem? Are you crazy? What are you yammering about?” Felix shook her. “I want the gun! Where is it?”
“There was an opening in the wall. Micklem was…”
She broke off and screamed as Felix’s open hand struck her on the side of her face, jolting her head back.
“Where’s the gun?” he shouted. “You little fool! Someone has unloaded my gun. Carlos can move in now and take us.
How do you think either of us can stop that black ape without a gun? Where is it? Do you hear? Where is it?”
Lorelli’s eyes rolled back and she sagged against him in a faint.
Don had seen and listened to this scene. He now quietly closed the slot. He had the gun, and he was now on equal terms with anyone who tried to stop him. Lorelli would have to look after herself for the moment. He told himself he would do something about her later. He paused only long enough to load the gun, then he set off down the tunnel to the ramp, climbed it and when he reached the steel door, he pressed the rubber-headed button. The door moved inwards, and holding the .25 in his hand, the safety catch back and his finger on the trigger, he stepped into the lighted corridor.
He looked to right and left, then he shut the door, having first made sure he could open it by another rubber-headed button on the corridor side of the door.
Opposite to where he was standing was the door leading to the bathroom; the door further up led to Englemann’s surgery. The door opposite must be the control room door. At the far end of the corridor was the steel door that led to Alsconi’s room. Moving quickly and silently, Don made his way down the passage to this door, pressed on the rubber-headed button, but nothing happened. He tried once more, then gave up. He returned to the control-room door and paused to examine it. The door was of solid steel. There was no handle nor bolt to it. Don decided not to rush his fences.
He would make his bid to escape that night. It would be easier to get through the grounds under cover of darkness than now.
He looked down the corridor. There were three more doors to his left. Carlos would be in the control room. Englemann should be in his surgery. He went over to the door on the left-hand side of the bathroom, listened, then hearing nothing, he turned the handle and eased the door open. The room beyond was in darkness. He entered and closed the door.
Turning on his flashlight, he sent the beam around the small room which was furnished as a bedroom. He found the light switch and turned on the light. From the books in the bookcase that ran the length of one wall, he guessed this must be Englemann’s bedroom.
The telephone on the bedside table caught his eye. He went over to it, and lifted the receiver. His face lit up with a delighted g
rin as he,heard the dialling tone that told him he was connected to an outside line.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, the .25 in his left hand, he dialled the number of the Trioni villa.
The villa’s bell had scarcely begun to ring when there was a click on the line and Harry’s voice growled, “Ullo? Who’s that?”
“Scarcely a respectful way to address your lord and master,” Don said softly. “Can’t you do better than that?”
He heard Harry gasp.
“Is that you, Mr Micklem?” he bawled.
“Sure, it’s me,” Don said, jerking the receiver away from his ear. “Pipe down: you nearly deafened me.”
“Where are you, sir?” Harry said, slightly lowering his voice. “Blimey! We’ve been worried sick about you.”
“I’m still underground, but I’ve managed to gain a little freedom, and I’ve been lucky to find a telephone, but I’m a long way from getting out.”
“We’re going to fix that, sir,” Harry said excitedly. “It’s all laid on for tonight. Giuseppe is coming with a bunch of his pals. That red-head’s sold the gang out. Miss Rigby…”
“I know all about that, but it’s come unstuck,” Don broke in. “A character named Willie was listening to your plans.
He’s given her away. At the moment she’s trapped down here with me, the negro and another character called Felix.”
“Oh!” Don could hear the excitement drain out of Harry’s voice. “So what do we do?”
“You’ll have to leave it to me to find my own way out,” Don said. “How many men is Giuseppe bringing?”
“Six.”
“Fine. Now listen, Harry, your job is to take care of the four guards and the dogs, so once I’m out of the house I’ll have a clear run. The dogs will take a bit of handling. I’ll leave it to you to work out how you’re going to fix them. I don’t think you have a hope of breaking in here. The doors are of three-inch steel and they’re electrically controlled. I’ll make my attempt to break out at half-past one tonight. Get your men outside the walls by then. Give me twenty minutes and then move in. I’ve got a gun. If you hear shooting, break into the house. If nothing happens by two-fifteen, you’ll know I’ve come unstuck.”
“If that happens,” Harry said grimly, “we’re coming in after you, even if we have to pull the joint apart, brick by brick.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Harry, it’ll be a bigger job than you think. The entrance to where I am now is in the big front room with the casement windows leading to the terrace. The door is on the left-hand side as you enter the casement windows.
It wants finding. The police missed it.”
“We’ll find it,” Harry said. “I told Giuseppe to bring some dynamite with him. We’ll get to you somehow.”
“Give me a chance to get to you first. If I don’t show up by two-fifteen, the ball is in your court. I’d better get under cover now, Harry.”
“Okay, sir, and good luck,” Harry said. “We’ll be right with you.”
Don replaced the receiver. He got to his feet and crossed to the door.
Englemann said from behind him: “Don’t move, Mr Micklem, or I’ll have to shoot you.”
Don stood motionless.
“Drop that gun,” Englemann went on.
Don let the gun slide through his fingers. It fell on the carpet with a little thud. Then slowly, he looked over his shoulder. Part of the bookcase had swung inwards and Englemann stood in the lighted opening, a .38 in his hand.
Chapter XII
THE WATERTRAP
As Harry put down the receiver, Marian came hurrying into the lounge.
“That was Mr Micklem,” Harry said and grinned when he saw Marian’s face light up.
“I thought from the way you were shouting it must be,” Marian said. “Is he all right, Harry? Where is he?”
“He’s fine, miss, but he’s still down there. He’s managed to get hold of a gun, and he thinks he’ll be able to break out. He says he’s going to have a go at half-past one tonight.” He looked at his watch. “It’s just on six-thirty. Giuseppe should be here any moment now. We’re to be in the grounds, ready to help him when he breaks out.”
The sound of his excited voice brought Cherry into the room. He was told the news. Harry went on to give them a full account of his conversation with Don.
“If this man Willie was watching the villa,” Marian said, “it’s possible he or another of the gang is still watching us.”
Harry thumped his forehead with his fist.
“You’re right, miss. I should have thought of that. I’ll see if I can spot anyone.”
“Be careful, Harry,” Marian said anxiously. “We’d better wait until Giuseppe comes…”
Harry grinned.
“Don’t worry about me. If he’s there, I’ll find him before he finds me. We don’t want him reporting back that we’ve got reinforcements.”
Cherry said, “I’m coming with you.”
“This isn’t your line,” Harry said patiently. “You stay here with Miss Rigby. I can handle this.”
Cherry’s fat face turned obstinate.
“I intend to walk down to the gates,” he said. “He may try to make a bolt for it if he sees you. I shall be in the position to head him off.”
“You’ll probably be in the position to collect a thick ear,” Harry said. “These blokes are tough. Better leave him to me.”
“I shall have my sword stick,” Cherry said. “I can more than look after myself.”
He marched out before Harry could argue further, put on his black felt hat, picked up the walking-stick that concealed the thin-bladed sword and set off down the drive.
Harry shook his head.
“Obstinate old goat,” he said, “but he’s got lots of guts. I’ll get off.” He opened a drawer in the desk and took out Don’s Beretta. “Here you are, miss, just in case Willie or his pals head this way. Shoot him in the leg if you spot him, but don’t shut your eyes when you pull the trigger.”
“I don’t want it. You must have it, Harry.”
“Not for me,” Harry said. “I can get along all right with these,” and he clenched his big knuckly fists, grinning.
Unaware what was in store for him, Jacopo sat in a thicket, seventy-five yards or so from the villa. The evening sun was comfortably warm, the apple he was eating was sweet and crisp, and he was contented in mind and body. Jacopo liked nothing better. than to sit in the shade and relax. He was the least important member of the organization, and he was proud of it. He had no ambition, no thirst for money, women or cars as Willie had. All he wanted was a life of peace and to do as little work as possible. He was one of a dozen men Alsconi employed merely to shadow people. His job was to sit by the hour in cafes, hotel lobbies or in cars, waiting for one of Alsconi’s victims to show himself. It was the job Jacopo was born to do, and apart from his ability to sit and do nothing for hours and not to raise suspicion, he had no other money-making talents.
He watched Cherry come out of the house and stride down the drive towards the gates and wondered casually where he was going. His instructions were to watch the villa. He was only to report to Felix if the police arrived. He imagined Cherry was going for an evening stroll. He wasn’t given the chance of seeing Harry steal out of the villa for Harry left by the rear exit and melted into the shrubs like a ghost.
During the war, Harry had served in a Commando unit, and he hadn’t forgotten his training. One of his specialities had been the knifing of German sentries. Many a time he and other members of his unit had been landed on the sand dunes of France. Harry had gone forward alone, moving soundlessly, until he had located the sentry. He had reached the unsuspecting man and had driven his knife into his neck and the sentry had died without knowing who had struck the blow.
Jacopo wouldn’t have relaxed as he munched his apple if he had known that Harry was moving silently in his direction.
As it was, he flicked the core of the apple away and turned his thoughts to Wil
lie. He wondered what information Willie had that he was so excited about. Jacopo wrinkled his nose in disgust. He had no time for Willie: all the man could think of was money, women and cars.
Jacopo’s one interest in life was singing. He had a natural tenor voice, and if he hadn’t been so hopelessly lazy he might have become a second-rate tenor in some third-rate opera company. He hummed a snatch of La donna i mobile under his breath which was a mistake for Harry was within forty yards of him. Harry hadn’t seen him, but his shaip ears caught the hummed tune and his blunt-featured, pugnacious face lit up with a grin.
Jacopo felt in his pocket for another apple. He wished now he had thought of bringing a bottle of wine along with him.
It would be another two hours before Menotto relieved him. Menotto was another of Alsconi’s watchers. He and Jacopo got on well together. They were both lazy, both unambitious and both disliked violence. He found the apple, rubbed it on his sleeve and looked at it with a contented expression on his thin, swarthy face.
As he was about to bite into it, Harry who was by now within three yards of him seemed to Jacopo to rise out of the ground and drop on him.
Jacopo nearly died of fright as Harry’s hands closed around his throat. He felt steel-like fingers that bruised his flesh tighten unbearably on each side of his neck. He had one brief, horrible moment as he realized he was being killed, then a red light flashed before his terrified eyes and he plunged down into darkness.
Harry got to his feet. Cupping his mouth with his hands, he bawled at the top of his voice, “Hey, Cherry!”
He then took from his pocket two lengths of cord he had purposely brought with him and set about tying Jacopo’s wrists and ankles together.
Puffing and panting, Cherry came lumbering up the drive, the sword drawn and flashing in the sun.
Harry waved to him.
“I’ve got him all right,” he said. “I didn’t want you to get sunstroke standing out in the open.”
Cherry snorted. He came and stood over the unconscious form of Jacopo and gave him a poke with his sword.
“Hey, steady on,” Harry said. “That sticker’s dangerous.”
Mission to Siena Page 17