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  He slept well, and there were no interruptions. He had no time to prepare any breakfast, and the car arrived outside the house punctual to the minute.

  Brian was taking only one large case with him. In it the automatic and cartridges were packed as securely as he could pack them, and, he hoped, away from the eagle eyes of the Catanese customs authorities, but he felt happier because the red-marked cartridge was in his pocket.

  The chauffeur waiting for him was a stranger, who saluted, said good morning, opened the door for him, and then hurried to the wheel.

  A small attache-case was on the seat of the car, a saloon of some luxury.

  Brian surveyed the case uncertainly, then wound down the partition between the tonneau and the driver and asked: ‘Do you know anything about this case, driver?’

  The man did not turn his head, but said: ‘You will find some sandwiches and coffee there, sir.’

  ‘Oh, good work,’ said Brian with enthusiasm.

  The journey took a little more than an hour and a half; good time because the roads were comparatively clear of traffic. At five minutes to eight the big car turned into a road leading from a small seaside village, and reached a large bay of clear, unruffled water, on which a seaplane was riding. No one but a few land officials were on the small jetty, where a motor-launch was tied up, and apparently Brian was the last passenger. He was assisted into the launch and taken to the seaplane, which he boarded with a feeling of excitement not reflected in his impassive expression.

  Chapter Six

  An American Lady, and ‘Rolfo’

  The sun was shining over that fair city of five hills when Brian first saw it from the air. If by night it was a fairyland of forbidden lights, by day it was a magic prospect, built on the heights and in the valleys, with the wide estuary of the Guan greeting the sun and receiving the shadow of the flying-boat on its calm, blue bosom.

  A young American girl with whom Brian had talked freely on the flight looked at him with a wide smile.

  ‘That didn’t take so long, did it?’

  ‘No,’ said Brian. ‘It’s been pretty good going, and we picked the right weather for it. Are you staying long?’

  ‘I’m probably going on to Lisbon right away,’ she said.

  She was something to do with the Red Cross, Brian had gathered. A first he had been inclined to resent the discursiveness of the girl, but her pleasant manner had won him over.

  There were seventeen passengers, and a single launch was enough to take them ashore, where they were greeted by officials of the Overseas Airways Company and Catanese customs officers. There was nothing to choose between the English and the Catanese for friendliness and courtesy, and the customs examination was over more quickly than Brian had expected.

  The American girl was standing by a taxi when he drew up.

  ‘I was wondering if we could share a taxi,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ smiled Brian. ‘I’m for the Hotel del Roso.’

  ‘That’s dandy, so am I.’

  Soon the taxi stopped, and a commissionaire outside a modern white-fronted building opened the door.

  ‘It doesn’t look too bad,’ the American girl said.

  ‘No,’ agreed Brian. They went inside, Brian aware that he should at least suggest that they had a meal together but anxious to be on his own, when the girl exclaimed: ‘Excuse me.’ She hurried across the foyer to a tall, square-shouldered man, good-looking and smiling. ‘Rollo!’ Brian heard her exclaim, and saw them shake hands. He hurried to the lift, preceded by a tiny boy, glad that she had met an acquaintance so early.

  His rooms were on the first floor. They had been arranged for him, and he had hardly opened his mouth downstairs, except to give his name. He stepped into a well-furnished apartment with two doors leading from it. The boy followed, threw open one of the doors which led to the bedroom, indicated the bathroom, and then waited. Brian tipped him, was warmly thanked, and was then left alone.

  When his luggage arrived, he bathed and changed. Soon he felt relaxed, the tension of the air journey fading.

  After half an hour he strolled to the stairs. He passed a tall, round-shouldered and rather vacant-faced man who looked slightly familiar but gave no sign of recognition. In the crowded foyer he saw no sign of the American girl or her companion, but his visit was rewarded, for he noticed a saturnine-faced man who had been on his flight from Britain in earnest consultation with a plump, red-faced Catanese.

  His knowledge of Catanese was good enough for him to approach an attendant with confidence. He proffered an English half-crown, which he knew would be more popular than any coin of local currency, and said: ‘The tall gentleman, dressed in black. I travelled with him, but I have forgotten his name. Do you know it?’

  Brown eyes stared at him.

  ‘Si, señor. It is Señor Vasca Bombarda. You wish me to take a message to him?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ said Brian. ‘I’ll see him later.’

  He stayed in the foyer for some minutes, and when Bombarda went out, followed him as far as the boulevard. Bombarda entered a taxi with his companion. Brian shrugged and turned back to the hotel. He was growing a little impatient for sight of Drusilla, but imagined she would send word to his room when she wanted to see him. He strolled upstairs, not troubling about the lift, and opened his door.

  He stopped abruptly.

  He heard a rustle of movement inside, faint but unmistakable. For a moment he stood with his hand on the door, his heart beating fast. He stepped inside the outer room cautiously, looking towards the other doors. Both of them were closed. He waited for a moment, frowning, and then there was another sound from behind the door.

  He swung round.

  ‘Drusilla, confound your eyes! You had me scared!’

  Drusilla regarded him smilingly.

  ‘I wanted to see you jump.’ She watched him turn the key in the lock of the door, and then stepped towards the window. ‘Did you have a good journey?’

  ‘First-class,’ said Brian. ‘And now let’s get this over—I was absolutely astonished when I heard that you were in Z.5. It was nearly as big a shock as learning about the Marquis.’ He proffered cigarettes. ‘That covers that,’ he added lightly. ‘How are things here?’

  ‘Everything on the surface is quiet,’ said Drusilla, ‘and I’m hoping that you’ve brought some news from the Marquis. I’ve some tea in my room,’ she added, ‘let’s go in there and exchange notes.’ She walked across the room, and Brian turned to the door again to unlock it, stopping when she said: ‘You don’t need to do that.’

  Wide-eyed, he saw her open one of the other doors. It led to her suite, one like his own, and he nodded approval.

  ‘We can see each other when we want to without making it too obvious,’ said Drusilla; ‘and we’ll find it useful in other ways, too.’ The window of her outer room was open, and tea was set English fashion on a low table near it. Drusilla dispensed tea from a silver tea-pot, Brian sat back in an easy-chair and relaxed.

  In the next hour she learned most of what had happened and what the Marquis had said. Brian saw that she was perturbed at the story of the attack on the towpath, but neither the man nor the monkey meant anything to her. She made little comment, but took up the story of what had happened in Orlanto beyond the point where the Marquis had given him information.

  ‘Clive is staying here,’ she said, ‘and Palfrey pretends that he doesn’t suspect him. In fact they’re getting on famously! Clive is going to get a surprise one day, although there are moments when I wonder if he isn’t just a little more clever than I think.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to meeting Palfrey,’ said Brian.

  ‘You’ll like him, once you’re used to him.’

  ‘How is he getting on with the unknown invalid?’

  Drusilla frown
ed.

  ‘As far as it goes, all right. Don Salvos gladly took the man in, and there’s been no hint of trouble. Palfrey keeps getting little notes from Hermandes, apparently to keep him up to scratch. The sick man hasn’t talked at all yet, and I don’t think he will for some time. He’s worse than Sap—Palfrey made out at first, I think.’

  There was a tap on the door.

  ‘Who is it?’ called Drusilla.

  ‘Palfrey,’ came a pleasant tenor voice.

  Brian stood up, eyeing the man who entered with keen interest. He was startled when he saw that it was the round-shouldered and rather vacant-looking man who had passed him in the passage, and was also disappointed. His smile was wide enough, however, as he shook hands. There came his first surprise, for Palfrey’s grip was cool and firm. At close quarters the doctor’s eyes held a smile which suggested that he had some idea of what Brian was thinking.

  ‘Have a nice trip?’ asked Palfrey. The faint air of diffidence he usually showed towards strangers was absent.

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ said Brian. ‘You’ve been doing things, I’m told.’

  ‘People have been doing things to me,’ said Palfrey with a shrug. I suppose we’ll have to expect that from now on.’ He looked pointedly at Brian’s black eye. ‘You didn’t do that yourself, either. How come?’

  Feeling his disappointment fading, Brian plunged into his report again. Palfrey sat on a high chair, his hands clasping his knees, eyeing him all the time, nodding occasionally, and giving the impression that he would not need involved explanations. Brian finished his story, and for a few moments no one spoke. Then Palfrey smiled. ‘Look at the Cheshire cat,’ said Drusilla. ‘He’s been up to something this afternoon and hasn’t told me about it. What is it, Sap?’

  ‘Oh, just an idea,’ said Palfrey airily. ‘I saw Don Salvos, and worked on him to some effect.’ He chuckled and took his pipe from his pocket. ‘It’s almost a shame to use the old fellow like it, but—well, he’s game.’

  ‘Like what?’ demanded Drusilla.

  Palfrey deliberately stuffed his pipe.

  ‘As you told me two days ago, my dear, we can’t hurry in this business. But we can move quickly if the occasion offers, and with Don Salvos in a mood of exaltation because he isn’t going to die yet, he’s also in a mood of extreme generosity. He is now thinking of installing a small—mind you, small—nursing-home on the outskirts of the city, to take in a limited number of patients from the poorer classes—patients suffering from his own malady, of course. I think it will be under way in a matter of weeks.’ He beamed at them. ‘Not bad?’

  ‘Good lord!’ exclaimed Brian. ‘It’s first-class. If it goes through, we’ll have a place to hide our men.’

  ‘Ye-es.’ Palfrey’s smile faded. ‘First catch your fish, then fry him. What time is the meeting with the other agents, Drusilla?’

  ‘At seven-thirty,’ said Drusilla promptly.

  ‘Then we’ve a couple of hours to spare,’ said Palfrey. ‘Care for a stroll, Debenham?’

  ‘It’s an idea,’ said Brian.

  Both men stood up, and were about to suggest that Drusilla joined them when their expressions changed, for she was looking at them reproachfully and shaking her head.

  ‘Now what?’ demanded Brian.

  ‘Oh, of course!’ exclaimed Palfrey. ‘You and I aren’t supposed to know each other, Debenham.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘The Marquis told me that one of the advantages I would have was inexperience.’

  ‘He told me that one, too,’ said Brian.

  ‘He took it for granted that you would learn quickly,’ said Drusilla sweetly. ‘Until we’re away from Orlanto, we don’t know one another except as very slight hotel acquaintances, and we won’t develop the “let the English get together” thesis too much, please. If you must go out for your interminable fresh air, go alone.’ She glanced at Palfrey. ‘Can’t you get your Rollo to go with you?’

  ‘Sad to relate, he’s got a date,’ said Palfrey, obviously elated by his arrangement with Don Salvos.

  ‘Someone new?’ asked Drusilla quickly.

  ‘Yes. A woman I haven’t seen here before. What’s troubling you, Debenham?’ He broke off at Brian’s change of expression, and Brian said quickly: ‘Did you say “Rollo”?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Meaning the man Clive?’

  ‘We’re on intimate terms,’ Palfrey assured him gravely.

  ‘Well, I’m damned!’ exclaimed Brian. ‘There was a little American Red Cross girl on the ’plane, as friendly as you please, but on the curious side. I thought I would have to do some duty-entertaining, but she met a “Rollo”. Is he a tallish, good-looking fellow, with very wide shoulders?’

  Palfrey and Drusilla eyed him steadily. Palfrey nodded slowly, and the atmosphere in the room grew tense.

  ‘We’re having a good time,’ said Brian at last. ‘Clive has a lady friend who came with me from England—damn it, that must be more than coincidence.’

  ‘It looks perilously like a wide leak on the other side,’ said Palfrey slowly. ‘It isn’t going to be easy, we’re blocked even before we start.’

  ‘Well get unblocked,’ said Drusilla, but obviously the news had shaken her. ‘I wonder—’

  She stopped abruptly, looking at an expression in Brian’s eyes. The room was silent, although from outside there came a little chattering sound, like badly-played castanets. Brian stared towards the window, and then moved slowly forward. The others stared at him, bewildered. He reached the window, which was open, and peered right and left. Finally he continued to look right, towards his own room. The chattering continued, and Brian raised a hand and beckoned them.

  ‘Be careful,’ he said softly, ‘but have a look there.’

  One after the other they followed, keeping behind the curtains to make sure that they were not observed from windows opposite, or from the boulevard. In turn they saw the little grey monkey standing on the sill of the window of Brian’s room, chattering angrily and peering inside.

  Chapter Seven

  Six People Meet in Orlanto

  They turned back into the room, none of them speaking until Brian said slowly: ‘You did see what I saw?’

  ‘The monkey of the Richmond towpath, you think?’ said Palfrey. ‘Yes. Very nicely timed, too. What are you going to do?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be a bad idea if I went into my room and found out what was happening,’ said Brian – ‘if anything.’ He frowned, and then went on: ‘They’d expect me to go to the window, of course, and try to catch the little beggar. His owner had a good shot at killing me yesterday. Do two and two make four?’

  ‘In this instance, I’d say yes,’ said Palfrey.

  Brian nodded and stepped to the door.

  ‘Be careful,’ said Drusilla quickly.

  ‘I’ll watch for trouble,’ Brian assured her. He went swiftly to his own room, and stepped through. There was a slight breeze stirring the curtains, but this did not disturb the monkey, whose shrill chatter increased at Brian’s approach.

  Brian stepped forward, putting out a hand to touch it.

  He was half prepared for trouble, and deliberately took the chance. Consequently he went swiftly, and ducked down. As he went he heard a sharp crack from somewhere far off. He did not see anything, but a split-second later heard a dull sound behind him, followed by a little shower of plaster.

  Breathing hard, he backed into the room.

  The high-pitched chattering ceased as the monkey swung down the stonework beneath the window. Brian forced back a temptation to look out, turning instead and looking at the wall.

  A small hole in the plaster held a dark, round centre; a small-calibre bullet was buried there. He rubbed the back of his head as he surveyed it. Then the communicating door with the next room opened and Palfrey stepped through.<
br />
  ‘Hallo,’ he said. ‘Was that a shot?’

  ‘Believe me it was a shot,’ said Brian. ‘But we’re crazy, we should have done something about that. You should have gone downstairs before I showed myself.’

  ‘I’ve just thought of it,’ admitted Palfrey. ‘Where’s the little fellow?’

  ‘In the street by now, I fancy.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can find,’ promised Palfrey.

  He hurried into the passage, and Drusilla joined Brian. She said nothing, and they approached the window cautiously, careful to stand behind the folds of the curtain. In a few seconds they saw a crowd gathering on the opposite side of the road, and heard a burst of laughter. Soon they saw a man walking slowly along the pavement, and heard the faint strains of sweet piccolo music coming upwards. The player had a little grey monkey on a long chain, and the monkey was causing much amusement jumping from shoulder to shoulder.

  Palfrey came into sight.

  ‘Is that the Richmond man?’ Drusilla asked.

  ‘No,’ said Brian. ‘He’s too fat and too short. Will Palfrey be able to do anything?’

  ‘At best he’ll be able to follow him,’ said Drusilla, ‘but he won’t really have time. I know someone who will. Stay here, will you?’

  She hurried out of the room to the lift, and went to the fifth floor. At a door half-way along the passage she tapped, and was admitted quickly by a small, dark-haired man with the air of a dandy. His blue jowl was powdered, his dark hair carefully greased and brushed. He bowed, bringing the wasp-waist of his suit into greater prominence.

  Drusilla closed the door.

  ‘Pedro, there is an urgent task,’ she said quickly. ‘Outside you will see a street musician, leading a monkey on a long lead. Follow him and find where he goes tonight, will you?’ She spoke in Catanese, keeping her voice very low, and the man’s big dark eyes watched her closely all the time. As she finished he stepped to the door: ‘I will send word as soon as I can, señorita.’