1977 - I Hold the Four Aces

by James Hadley Chase

  Again Hinkle nodded his approval. This was Helga Rolfe as he knew her, not an hysterical weakling.

  “How do you imagine these two men, who took Mr. Grenville away, got into the villa?” he asked.

  “What the hell has that to do with it?” Helga snapped. “They rushed in here and took him away!”

  “But how did they get in?” Hinkle persisted.

  She stared at him, then drew in a deep breath.

  “Through the front door, of course.”

  “I locked and bolted the front door, madame, before retiring.”

  “You must have forgotten,” Helga said impatiently.

  “Before retiring, madame,” Hinkle said quietly, “I locked and bolted the front door.”

  Helga looked at him, then nodded.

  “I apologize. I’m worried out of my mind.”

  “That is understandable. Nevertheless, these two men must have come in by way of the front door. Did Mr. Grenville leave you to go to the lobby toilet?”

  Helga’s eyes opened wide.

  “Yes, but…”

  “Then I suggest Mr. Grenville unlocked and unbolted the front door. There could be no one else.”

  “Are you daring to suggest that Mr. Grenville engineered his own kidnapping?” Helga shrilled.

  “These photographs are fakes, madame. Mr. Grenville was the only one here who could unlock the front door,” Hinkle said. “The conclusion is obvious.”

  “No! He loves me! He would never, never do such a thing!” Helga began to beat her fists together. “I won’t listen to you! I know you hate him, but I love him! I won’t listen to you!”

  “Before leaving you with Mr. Archer, I took the liberty of turning on the tape recorder,” Hinkle said, unperturbed. “We have a recording of the conversation between you and Mr. Archer. I have also the number of his car. I suggest, madame, we should now seek the help of the police.”

  “The police? No! Chris is in the hands of the Mafia! They are threatening to cut off his ear unless I pay.” Jumping to her feet, she stared wildly at him. “What is money? I don’t give a damn as long as I get him back! I’ll pay! I’m not listening to your insinuations! You are suggesting hateful things because you hate him! Keep out of this! I am going to get him back, no matter what it costs!” She ran from the room and into her bedroom, slamming the door.

  For a long moment, Hinkle stood still, his face clouded, then he moved out onto the terrace. He stood by the terrace rail, staring out across the lake, his mind busy.

  * * *

  Archer eased his heavy body in the driving seat of the Mercedes as he drove through Cassarate and headed towards the lake road to Paradiso.

  He was feeling relaxed and satisfied. He had certainly dug the knife into that bitch and had turned the blade. He chuckled. It was a pity he hadn’t seen her reaction when she had looked at those photographs, but he could well imagine how she would have gone to pieces. To see her darling lover with blood on his face would utterly demoralize her. He was sure he would have no trouble with her. She would pay up.

  A million dollars! he thought. In three days” time, he would be able to buy himself as many suits as he wanted. He could go to the barber once a week instead of cutting his own hair. He could once again eat at the best restaurants; stay at the best hotels! She deserved no pity. She had given him none in the past. This was sweet revenge!

  It had been a brilliant idea of his to let her imagine Grenville was in the hands of the Mafia. How Grenville would laugh. Damn it! They must celebrate. Then he frowned. Grenville must keep out of sight until the money was paid, but at least they could have a bottle of champagne. Archer nodded. Yes, he thought, splendid idea - an idea Grenville would appreciate.

  After some difficulty, he found parking in Lugano, and went to the Inno store. There, he bought two bottles of good champagne, then selected a variety of hors d'oeuvres with several cheeses. They would have a little feast, while he told Grenville how clever he had been.

  Carrying his purchases, he returned to the Mercedes and headed back to his rented villa. By now, he thought, Helga would be busy examining her list of stock holdings, trying to make up her mind which to sell. Whatever stock she did sell to make up two million dollars, she would be the loser. The Dow Jones index was flat on its back. Serve the bitch right! That was her funeral, and Archer laughed. He could imagine her driving her fancy Rolls to Bern to consult her banker, panic gnawing at her. Sweet revenge!

  The four aces, he thought. I hold them all, and this time, she can’t bluff her way out! I have her exactly where I want her!

  He pulled up outside the rented villa, collected his purchases and hurried up the path. He opened the front door.

  “Chris! It worked!” he shouted.

  Silence greeted him.

  Frowning, he walked into the empty living-room, then into the bedroom, then into the second bedroom. There was no sign of Grenville. Suddenly uneasy, Archer looked into the kitchen, hurried to the bathroom and threw open the door to the toilet.

  Grenville was not in the villa.

  chapter seven

  Grenville had watched Archer drive away, then he had returned to the shabby little living-room and had sat down. He would probably have an hour to wait before Archer returned. He didn’t envy Archer.

  He had now learned that Helga could be all steel, but Archer had seemed very confident. Grenville had no doubts that she was madly in love with him. He just hoped that Archer would handle her carefully.

  He was now satisfied that he could trust Archer. All the same, he told himself, he would keep close to Archer, once the money was paid. When such a sum was involved, one couldn’t be too careful.

  He lit a cigarette, as he followed in his mind Archer’s progress through Cassarate and up to Castagnola. He looked at his watch. In another ten minutes, he thought, Archer would be arriving at Helga’s villa. It was a bore that they had to stay in this miserable little villa for three days, but he bowed to Archer’s warning that he must not show himself on the streets. It would be a complete give-away if he were spotted. The Swiss police were busy-bodies, Archer had said, and they always looked twice at foreigners. He remembered the policeman who had threatened to give him a parking ticket. He frowned.

  He had behaved stupidly. That policeman had his name and address and would recognize him again.

  Thinking about the incident, Grenville shrugged his shoulders. It didn’t matter, he told himself. In three days” time, he would be at the Geneva airport, waiting to take-off for New York, then from New York, he would fly down to Miami, spend a couple of days there, and then on to the West Indies.

  He wondered what Archer would do with his share of the money. Thinking about Archer, Grenville decided he wasn’t a bad fellow, and, there was no doubt, he had brains. Given decent clothes, Grenville thought, and a respectable haircut, he could look quite impressive. Thank God, he told himself, that he had never got so financially low as Archer had. There had always been some stupid woman to finance him, but with a million dollars, he would be free of all that, and he would be independent!

  A slight sound behind him made him look around.

  Standing in the doorway was Segetti, and just behind him, Belmont. Startled, Grenville jumped to his feet.

  “What are you two doing here?” he demanded sharply. “I thought you were on your way to Geneva.”

  “We changed our minds,” Segetti said, and moved into the room. “Didn’t we, Jacques?”

  Belmont didn’t say anything. He leaned against the doorpost and stared bleakly at Grenville.

  “So what do you want?” These two looked unpleasantly menacing and Grenville had a presentiment of danger. He moved away from the armchair in which he had been sitting.

  “What do we want?” Segetti smiled. “We want you, Mr. Grenville.”

  “What do you mean?” Grenville’s heart began to thump.

  “You understand English? We want you to come with us.”

  “That’s the last thing
I’ll do,” Grenville blustered. “Now stop this nonsense. You have been well paid. Get out!”

  “This time, Mr. Grenville, it won’t be tomato ketchup, it will be for real,” and Segetti produced a vicious-looking Luger automatic, fitted with a silencer. He pointed the gun at Grenville.

  Grenville felt a rush of cold blood up his spine. Never before in his life had anyone threatened him with a gun. The sight of that evil-looking little hole in the silencer directed at him, brought him out in a sweat of fear.

  “Don’t point that thing at me!” he quavered. “Don’t - don’t shoot!”

  “Come along, Mr. Grenville,” Segetti said. “We are going for a little drive. You will sit in the front seat. I shall be in the back seat. If you attempt to do anything foolish, you will get a silent bullet through your spine.” He smiled. “I don’t make idle threats. Let’s go.”

  Shaken, his mouth dry, sweat on his face, Grenville followed Belmont down the path to the parked VW. Segetti, pointing the gun at him, slid into the back seat, motioning Grenville to get in the front seat.

  Belmont slid under the driving wheel.

  “Where are you taking me?” Grenville asked huskily. “What do you want with me?”

  “Just keep your trap shut, Mr. Grenville, and you’ll be fine.”

  They drove along the lake road, passed a policeman who was directing a pedestrian, asking the way, and Grenville looked longingly at the policeman, but Segetti said softly, “No foolish ideas, Mr. Grenville.”

  Entering the Piazza Grande, they turned up a side street, and Belmont pulled up.

  “Be careful how you get out, Mr. Grenville,” Segetti said, “I am a very good shot.”

  For a moment, Grenville, who was now in a panic, asked himself whether, as soon as he was out of the car, he should make a dash to escape, but the street was deserted, and he hadn’t the nerve. He got out, followed by Segetti.

  Belmont pushed open a high wooden gate and jerked his head at Grenville, who followed him through the gateway into the untidy yard. Segetti followed.

  Ahead of him, Grenville saw a big building, like a barn, and he followed Belmont into the semi-darkness of the place which smelt strongly of cheeses, olive oil and anchovies. Belmont climbed steep stairs. Segetti prodded Grenville up the stairs and into a big room in which stood a bed, a table, several battered armchairs and a radio. Sitting in one of the chairs was Bernie.

  “Ah, Mr. Grenville,” he said, getting to his feet. “We haven’t met before, but we have a mutual friend - Mr. Archer.”

  Grenville regarded this short, squat, bearded Italian the way he would have regarded a big, hairy-legged spider that had dropped into his bath. In spite of Bernie’s smile, his small eyes, like two sea-washed pebbles, chilled Grenville.

  “You know Archer?” Grenville’s voice was husky.

  “Of course. Come in, Mr. Grenville, and sit down. I want to talk to you.”

  Moving shakily, Grenville sank into an armchair, aware that Segetti was just behind him, and Belmont was leaning against the door.

  “I don’t understand,” Grenville said. “What do you want with me?”

  “Let me explain,” Bernie said, resuming his chair. “Mr. Archer came to me, saying he wanted to hire two reliable men for a faked kidnapping. Mr. Archer explained the kidnapping was a joke, and, frankly Mr. Grenville, I didn’t believe this. It seemed to me that his offer to me of five hundred francs to find two men, and his offer to pay these two men eight thousand francs for a job that could get us all into police trouble was inadequate.” He smiled. “Now I discover that he and you intend to get two million dollars from this woman, so naturally, since, without my help, this kidnapping couldn’t have been accomplished, I feel our share should be considerably increased.”

  “You should have discussed this with Archer,” Grenville said, trying to steady his voice. “Why bring me here by force?”

  “That is a good point,” Bernie said. “Why bring you here by force? Because you have now been kidnapped, and this kidnapping is no fake.”

  Grenville drew in a sharp breath.

  “I still don’t understand,” he managed to say.

  “Mr. Grenville, you and Mr. Archer are amateurs. Here you have a situation involving a woman worth about eighty million dollars. You have said that you have a harpoon in her.” Bernie looked at Belmont.

  “That was what he said, Jacques?”

  Belmont nodded.

  “So,” Bernie lifted his hands “The woman is obviously besotted with you. Accept my congratulations, but when a woman is worth some eighty million dollars, no one, but an amateur, would ask two million to get her stud back. Do you see my point?”

  Grenville ran his tongue over his dry lips.

  “She - she’s difficult,” he said huskily. “I think two million is enough.”

  “But then you and Mr. Archer are amateurs. From now on, Mr. Grenville, I intend to handle this affair. Only the other week, an industrialist was kidnapped in Rome by a good friend of mine, and the ransom demand was seven million dollars, and this industrialist wasn’t nearly as rich as this woman, and yet to save his skin, he paid up.” Bernie leaned forward, pointing a stubby finger at Grenville. “I will ask ten million dollars for your return, Mr. Grenville. For your cooperation, I will give you five hundred thousand dollars, and I will give Mr. Archer the same amount.”

  Grenville stared at him.

  “Cooperation? What does that mean?”

  “You might be asked to lose an ear or a finger, Mr. Grenville, but for five hundred thousand dollars, that isn’t much to ask.”

  Grenville’s face expressed horror.

  “You can’t do that to me!”

  “Mr. Grenville, you haven’t as yet realized you have been kidnapped, and this time, it is no fake. Jacques can slice off your ear and heal the wound with a hot iron without any trouble. He can also remove one of your fingers without you suffering too much. That is no problem, and from what I hear about your relations with this woman, she will pay.”

  Grenville felt faint. He leaned back in the chair, sweat running down his face.

  Bernie got to his feet.

  “I am now going to talk to Mr. Archer. I shall want him to act as my go-between. It is safer that way. Just relax, Mr. Grenville. It is very possible you won’t lose an ear or a finger. Max and Jacques will look after you.” He turned to Segetti. “In half an hour, Max, as we arranged,” and leaving Grenville, shuddering, his face in his hands, Bernie left the room.

  * * *

  Helga paced up and down in her bedroom. She was distraught. Chris! Kidnapped! In the hands of Mafia thugs! All she could think of was to get him back unharmed. What he must be suffering! She must get the money as quickly as possible! There must be no hitch! When that swine Archer came, she must have the money ready to give him!

  She would drive to Bern immediately and see her Swiss banker. He must arrange to have the money transferred to the Mafia immediately!

  Then realizing she was in an utter panic, she pulled herself together, and some of her steel asserted itself. She sat down, her fists clenched between her knees.

  Hinkle!

  He had actually dared to insinuate that Chris had engineered his own kidnapping! Hinkle was a jealous old fool! The moment she had told him she was in love with Chris, he hadn’t been able to conceal his disapproval. When she had told him that she and Chris were going to be married, his congratulations and best wishes had been sour, and she knew why: he hated the idea of having a master again as well as a mistress. He was so goddamn selfish he didn’t want her to be happy, because it didn’t suit him! He wanted her to live her lonely, loverless life, so he could fuss over her, providing her with his goddamn omelettes, while she ached and ached for a lover like Chris!

  Tomato ketchup!

  That had been a vicious lie! She was sure Grenville had been struck down! Hadn’t that swine Archer said that Grenville had tried to be brave? She could imagine Chris in the hands of those thugs. He could h
ave found an opportunity to attack them. Yes! She could imagine him - her splendid Chris - making a fight of it. She shuddered, thinking again of those pictures, showing him lying on the floor, blood on his face.

  Tomato ketchup!

  That proved the extent of Hinkle’s possessive jealousy.

  The unlocked front door?

  Of course there was an explanation for that! Again, Hinkle had tried to undermine her faith in Chris.

  What was more natural for Chris to unlock the door to stand for a moment on the doorstep to look at the night sky and the stars and to breathe the night air? Why should he have bothered to relock the door?

  The steel in her asserted itself, and she got to her feet. She would go immediately to Bern!

  She snatched up her handbag, took a light dust-coat from the closet and walked into the living-room.

  Hearing her, Hinkle came to the door of the terrace.

  “I am going to Bern,” she said curtly. “I must arrange this ransom. I will be back some time this evening.”

  “Madame, may I suggest,” Hinkle began, but she cut him short.

  “You may suggest nothing! I am shocked by your insinuations about Mr. Grenville! I will not tolerate such a narrow-minded attitude, although I understand why you have taken this attitude. I intend to marry Mr. Grenville when I get him back! You will either serve Mr. Grenville and myself, or you must leave! Is that understood?”

  Hinkle stiffened, then looked directly at her. There was such a sad, shocked expression in his eyes that shame swept over her.

  “You are at liberty, madame, to do as you wish,” he said quietly.

  Furious with herself for feeling shame, Helga shrilled, “And I will do as I wish!” She walked fast from the room, jerked open the front door and ran down the steps to the garage.

  For a long moment, Hinkle stood motionless, then as he saw the Rolls drive away, he closed the front door and locked it.

  He returned to the living-room. For some minutes he moved around the room, his face clouded, then abruptly, as if his mind was made up, he went along the long corridor to his own quarters. In his bedroom, he hunted for and found a leather-covered address book. He thumbed back the index F and found the name he wanted: Jean Faucon.