1977 - I Hold the Four Aces

by James Hadley Chase

  She drew in a long, slow breath, and the steel in her exerted itself. She now remembered she had behaved very badly last night. She had completely lost control of herself. As soon as she heard the car drive Chris away, she had run screaming down the long corridor to Hinkle’s room. He had been marvellous. She had clung to him, sobbing, and he had picked her up, speaking soothing words as if she were a child, and had carried her to her bedroom and laid her on the bed. Then he had sat by her side, holding her hand while she hysterically told him what had happened.

  “I can’t lose him! I must get him back!” she cried. “Hinkle, what am I to do? I must…”

  “You mustn’t distress yourself. You must remember this happens so often these days. You must try to relax.”

  “Hinkle! They could hurt him! I love him! I can’t bear to think he is in the hands of those awful brutes!” She began to sob again. “I couldn’t live without him! He is my life now! He is everything I’ve ever longed for!”

  “Madame Rolfe!” A sudden steely snap in Hinkle’s voice startled her. “You are being hysterical. I have told you: this has happened before. I will alert the police and…”

  “No! No! No! You’re not to go to the police! They said they would kill him if the police came into it! You don’t know how vicious they sounded!”

  “Then we must wait for the ransom demand,” Hinkle said. “In the meantime, madame, kindly control yourself.”

  But Helga was beyond control, and turning on her side, burying her face in the pillow, she sobbed her heart out.

  Hinkle regarded her, disapprovingly, then he went into the bathroom, found her sleeping pills, mixed four in a glass of water, then returned to her. He pulled her around and held the glass to her lips.

  “I don’t want it! I don’t want it!”

  “Drink it, and stop acting like a child!” Hinkle barked.

  She drank, shuddered and dropped back on her pillow.

  “I love him so much,” she moaned. “Pray God they don’t hurt him.”

  Holding her hand, Hinkle watched as the drug took effect. Still crying, still moaning, she drifted off into sleep.

  Remembering how she had behaved, and how Hinkle had handled the situation, she looked shame-faced at him as he poured the coffee.

  “You have been wonderful, Hinkle,” she said. “I don’t know what I would have done without your help, and I am ashamed I behaved so badly last night.”

  “It is understandable, madame,” Hinkle said. “In a few days, Mr. Grenville will be back with you, and you will be happy again.”

  “I hope so!” She drank some of the coffee. “They said the ransom demand would be today. Will they telephone?”

  “That, I believe, madame, is the usual procedure. I will draw a bath for you. If there is a telephone call, I will take it.” He looked at her. “And, madame, this could be a trying day for you. A woman faced with a difficult situation is always at her best when she is looking her best.”

  He walked into the bathroom and turned on the mixer.

  Helga bit back her tears. He is right, she thought. He is so loyal and kind! She waited until he had left the room, then she took a bath, worked on her face, put on a pale-blue silk shirt and black trousers and regarded herself.

  I am Helga Rolfe, she told herself. I am in love! Chris will come back to me. I am one of the richest women in the world! I hold Herman Rolfe’s magic key! I will buy Chris back no matter what it costs!

  She walked out onto the terrace where Hinkle was watering the flowers. He regarded her and nodded his approval.

  “If I may take the liberty, madame, you are very beautiful,” he said.

  “Thank you, Hinkle, and you are so very kind.”

  “There are a number of dead blossoms that need attention, madame,” Hinkle said. “If I may suggest, you might care to attend to them. I find gardening very soothing, and we may have some time to wait.”

  He indicated secateurs and a basket near her and obediently, knowing he was trying to be helpful, Helga began to cut the dead flowers: something she had never done before. And, of course, Hinkle was right again. The task was soothing, but she continually thought of Grenville.

  At 11.15, Hinkle appeared with a shaker and glass.

  “I suggest a little refreshment, madame,” he said.

  She nodded and went indoors, washed her hands, then returned to the terrace.

  “Aren’t they going to phone, Hinkle?”

  “Yes, madame,” Hinkle said, as he poured the drink. “You could call it a war of nerves, and I am confident that your nerves will remain steady.”

  She sat down.

  “It’s only that I keep thinking they will hurt him. I can’t bear the thought!”

  “Why should they, madame?”

  “They sounded so vicious.”

  “It may be some time before they telephone. I suggest an omelette for lunch. You must keep up your strength.”

  Then they heard the front door bell ring. Helga slopped her drink and turned white.

  “Please, madame,” Hinkle said, completely unperturbed. “It is probably the postman. I will see,” and he walked sedately across the terrace to the front door.

  Opening it, he found himself face to face with Archer. The two men looked at each other, then Archer said jovially, “How are you, Hinkle? You remember me?”

  It said much for Hinkle’s steel control that his expression didn’t change. He lifted his eyebrows as he said, “Mr. Archer, I believe.”

  “That’s right. I want to talk to Madame Rolfe.”

  “Madame Rolfe is not at home,” Hinkle said stiffly.

  “She’ll see me. Tell her I am representing Mr. Grenville’s interests.”

  Hinkle stared for a long moment at Archer who continued to smile.

  “If you will wait.” He paused to look Archer up and down, surveying his shabbiness, then he closed the front door, shooting the bolt.

  Helga, tense, turned around, as Hinkle came onto the terrace.

  She stiffened.

  “Madame, Mr. Archer is calling,” he said.

  “Who?”

  “Mr. Jack Archer.”

  Helga’s eyes lit up with anger.

  “Archer! How dare he come here! Get rid of him! I would never have that man in my house!”

  “I suggest, madame, you should see him,” Hinkle said quietly. “He said he was representing Mr. Grenville’s interests.”

  The shock made Helga close her eyes. The she pulled herself together.

  “Is he behind this?”

  “I don’t know, madame, but it would appear so.”

  The steel in Helga asserted itself. She stood up and walked into the living-room. Her mind flashed back to these few, but dreadful days, when Archer had been locked up in the cellar and had broken out, but she also remembered that she had beaten him, just when he had thought he had triumphed. She had known Archer for some twenty years. When she and he had worked in her father’s firm, they had been lovers. It had been Archer who had persuaded her to marry Rolfe so that he could handle Rolfe’s affairs in Switzerland. He had stolen two million dollars of Rolfe’s money and had lost the money in a stupid speculation. He had tried to blackmail her not to tell Rolfe, but she had refused. She had beaten him that time: she could do it again, she told herself.

  “Send him in, Hinkle. I will see him alone.”

  “Very well, madame.”

  As Hinkle passed the hi-fi set, he pressed a switch and a button.

  Archer came bouncing in, smiling broadly.

  “My dear Helga, how good to see you again!” he said in his booming voice. “It is such a long time, isn’t it?”

  Hinkle quietly closed the door on them.

  Helga, standing motionless, her head slightly back, gave him a steely stare. She looked him up and down, and then her lip curled.

  “Ah! You see a change in me,” Archer said, still smiling. “At the moment I am at low ebb, but the tide is rising.” He sat down, uninvited, and crossed on
e fat leg over the other. “You still look most impressive, Helga. I really don’t know how you do it at your age. But then, I suppose, money does make all the difference. Beauticians, hairdressers, massage, and of course, clothes.” He laughed. “Even I could look impressive if I had some money, but you really did put me in a hole, Helga. You really did.”

  “What do you want?” she said, steel in her voice.

  “What do I want? Shall we say revenge? I remember so well - when was it? Ten months ago? When you said you held the four aces. Now it is my turn to hold four aces.” As she said nothing, but stood, waiting, he went on, “I have often dreamed of this moment, Helga, when I would make you drink gall as you made me drink gall. Perhaps I should say vinegar,” and he laughed.

  Although a brilliant international lawyer, Helga’s father was given to old-fashioned clichés. So often he had said to her: What you put in, you take out. Offence is better than defence. They were clichés that remained in her mind. Once, when she had a difficult problem, he had said to her: If you are in a tight corner, let the other man talk. Know your enemy. Listen hard enough, and you will find a weak spot.

  Know your enemy!

  It was the soundest advice he had ever given her, and Helga remembered.

  After a pause, Archer, smiling, said, “Nothing to say?”

  “I’m listening,” Helga said.

  “Yes, you were always a good listener. You were always a good bluffer too, but this time, Helga, I hold the four aces.”

  “Will you come to the point?” she said. “I suppose it is money. You look shabby enough to need money.”

  Archer flushed slightly. Before his theft, he had always prided himself on his appearance. He used to change his shirt twice a day, was always immaculate and paid a visit to the barber once a week. His enforced shabbiness was like a nagging toothache.

  “Since you refused to help me in my trouble, life has been a little tiresome,” he said.

  “Your trouble was that you became an embezzler, a forger and a blackmailer,” Helga said. “You have only yourself to blame.”

  “Not quite the way to talk to me,” Archer said, a sudden snarl in his voice. “ I . “

  “But it is true, isn’t it? Don’t tell me you will deny that you are an embezzler, a forger and a blackmailer?” Helga said, lifting her eyebrows. “Don’t let me add liar as well.”

  Feeling she was taking the initiative, Archer decided it was time to assert himself.

  “I told your servant I was representing Mr. Grenville’s interests.”

  He saw her stiffen at the mention of Grenville’s name, but she still was upright, and still had that steely look in her eyes.

  “Well?”

  “It is rather an odd story, Helga,” Archer said. “Do sit down. It will take a little time, and I find it disturbing, seeing you standing there like the wrath of a goddess.”

  Helga moved to a chair and sat down.

  Archer glanced out on to the terrace.

  “Ah, how nice! A shaker and a glass. Your usual vodka martini, I suspect. Actually Helga, I haven’t had a vodka martini for many months. Excuse me.” He got up, crossed the terrace and poured the drink into Helga’s unfinished glass. He drank, refilled the glass and carrying it back, settled in his chair again.

  “Your servant still makes excellent vodka martinis. How lucky you are to be able to afford a servant.”

  She sat still, her hands in her lap, her face expressionless. Inwardly, she was boiling with fury.

  “As I was saying,” Archer went on, “this is rather an odd story. Two days ago, I was approached by a man - obviously an Italian - who asked me if I would represent him for a fee of ten thousand francs.”

  Archer paused to sip his drink. “Since you refused to help me over this little trouble with your husband’s money, I have found it difficult to make a living. It would seem your husband had me blackballed. Whenever I applied for work, I was turned down, so ten thousand francs was a godsend to me.” He smiled at her. “There may possibly come a time when you might lose your money, although I think this is doubtful, but let me tell you, when you have no money, when you are forced to wear a suit like the one I have on, and don’t know when you will be able to buy another, when you are forced to eat at some lowly bistro, and sometimes go without dinner, you will find your attitude towards what is right and what is wrong alters. So, when this man approached me, I listened. He told me you were living with Grenville, and that you appeared to be besotted with him. My client - I will call him that - has been watching both of you. He knows how rich you are. It seemed to him a good idea to kidnap Grenville and hold him to ransom, feeling confident you would want him back. My client is tough and vicious.” Archer paused, then went on, “In fact, he made no secret that he is connected with the Mafia. Somehow, he learned that you and I were once close.” Archer smiled. “And we were, weren’t we, Helga? Let us say, we were very close.”

  Helga remained motionless and listened but her hands turned into fists.

  “He considered me - since I had this old association with you - to be the right man to negotiate the ransom. So here I am.”

  “I will deal with this man direct, and not through you,” Helga said.

  “You have no choice. My client wishes to remain in the background. If you want your fancy man back, Helga, you must deal with me. And besides, I need my client’s fee.”

  Helga regarded him with loathing.

  “So you are not only an embezzler, a forger and a blackmailer, you are now a creature of the Mafia!”

  Again Archer flushed.

  “I will remind you, you are not in a position to be abusive,” he said, a snarl in his voice. “You will pay two million dollars if you want Grenville back. My client is prepared to give you three days to collect the money which is to be paid into a Swiss bank. So, at this time in three days” time, I will call on you. It is up to you.” He finished his drink, set down the glass, then got to his feet. “I need not remind you, when dealing with the Mafia you should be very, very careful. It would be quite lethal for Grenville, so my client tells me, if you contact the police.” He smiled. “My client also said that if the money isn’t paid within three days, you will receive one of Grenville’s ears.”

  Helga lost colour, but not her steel.

  “It is a savage thing,” Archer went on, “and it shocks me, but that is the way the Mafia works. They are utterly ruthless people. Don’t think this is an idle threat. It has been done before, if you recall the Getty affair. So I would advise you to look through your stock holdings and sell to your advantage - that is, of course, if you want Grenville back. I haven’t met him, but if you have taken a fancy to him, knowing your taste, I assume he must be handsome. With an ear less, he could be less handsome.” As he made for the door, he paused. “I was almost forgetting. My client gave me this sealed envelope. It is for you.” He put the envelope on the table. “I hear Grenville tried to be brave: a mistake, when in the hands of the Mafia.” He paused, then went on, “Well then, Helga, expect me in three days” time. “Bye for now.”

  Leaving the villa, he got into the Mercedes and drove away.

  Her heart hammering, Helga snatched up the envelope, tore it open, and took out three polaroid coloured prints. She took one horrified look at them, stifled a scream and dropped them on the floor as Hinkle came quietly into the room.

  As Archer had anticipated, the photographs completely shattered Helga. She loathed violence. She could never watch any violent movie. Time and again, she had snapped off the TV set when someone was about to be shot or hurt. All the steel in her evaporated. She buried her head in her hands and began to sob wildly.

  “They’ve hurt him! I knew they would! They’ve hurt him!” she moaned.

  Hinkle gave her a disapproving look and picked up the photographs. He regarded them, pursed his lips, then putting them on the table, he touched her lightly on her shoulder.

  “I suggest, madame, you should control yourself,” he said severel
y.

  She stared up at him, her eyes wild.

  “Look what they have done to him! They are fiends! I must get the money at once! I…” and she began to sob again.

  Hinkle went over to the hi-fi set and snapped down the switch. Then he went to a drawer, and from it, took a powerful magnifying glass. Picking up the photographs, he examined them carefully. At first glance, they were impressive, showing Grenville lying on the floor, blood on his face, his eyes closed.

  After studying the photographs under the magnifying glass for some moments, Hinkle nodded, and put them down on the table.

  “Madame, if you can cease being hysterical,” he said, a snap in his voice, “I wish to tell you something.”

  Her face tear-stained, her body shaking, Helga looked up at him.

  “Leave me alone! Go away!”

  “Madame, I wish to tell you something.”

  “What is it?”

  Picking up one of the photographs, he waved it at her.

  “This looks to me remarkably like tomato ketchup,” he said.

  Helga was so astonished, she stopped crying.

  “Tomato ketchup?” Her voice was husky and unsteady. “Have you gone mad? What are you saying?”

  “Before I entered Mr. Rolfe’s service, madame, I had the misfortune to look after a gentleman in the movie business,” Hinkle said. “From him, I learned the art of make-up. Apparently, tomato ketchup is used to simulate blood.”

  “What are you trying to tell me?” The steel came back and her voice snapped.

  Hinkle nodded his approval.

  “I am suggesting, madame, that Mr. Grenville is not hurt. It would appear these photographs are fakes.”

  Helga stiffened.

  “You really think so, Hinkle? You don’t think they have hurt him?”

  “I think it is most unlikely, madame.”

  “The devils!” she clenched her fists. “But I must get him out of their hands. I…”

  “Madame, I would like to ask you a question.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, don’t be so pompous!” she shrilled at him. “I’m going out of my mind. What is it?”