Mission To Siena

Chapter Vll

CORNERED

Felix - no one except the French police knew him by any other name - was indulging in his favourite pastime. He was standing before the big mirror above the fireplace, admiring his reflection. He was as handsome as any movie star could hope to be. He had dark, glossy hair, wide-set, dark-blue eyes, clean-cut features, a deeply tanned complexion and magnificent teeth that he took trouble to show when he laughed; a difficult feat as his upper lip was a shade too long, and unless he made the effort to curl it back, the effect of his gleaming white teeth was lost. His mouth was thin and cruel and this, combined with his better features, gave him a reckless, dashing appearance that most women found irresistible.

He was thirty-two years of age. Six of these years had been spent in prison. Before he was caught, he had roamed the French Riviera, plundering the villas of the rich. His success had been phenomenal. In sixteen months he had cleaned up fifty million francs, most of which he had lost at the Monte Carlo Sporting Club in two feverish and spell-binding sessions at the roulette table. To recoup his losses, he had gone after a diamond necklace reputed to be worth twenty-five million francs. He succeeded in stealing it although he had been forced into a hand-to-hand fight with a night watchman whom he was fortunate enough not to kill. The fence to whom he had taken the necklace refused to pay more than seven million francs for it, explaining at length the risk involved and the fact that when the necklace was broken up1, its value was negligible. Knowing the police would have a description of him from the night watchman and that he would have to get out of France, Felix endeavoured to persuade the fence to raise his offer. His method of persuasion consisted of beating up the fence with fists carefully protected by leather gloves, the knuckles of which were ornamented with brass studs.

This was an error of judgment, for while the beating was in progress, the fence's wife alarmed by the uproar, called in the police, and for the first time in his life, Felix found himself inside a French prison.

Identified by the night watchman and betrayed by the fence, Felix was sentenced to fifteen years on Devil's Island. He spent six of these years in the steamy hell of the island before managing to escape. Taking refuge in Rome and knowing that a single false move would send him back to the island, he lived cautiously, getting himself a job as a tout for a shady nightclub. It was at this club that he met Lorelli.

Before meeting her, Felix regarded all women as amusing toys to be brutally used, discarded and forgotten. Lorelli, he quickly discovered, had other ideas in her beautiful head besides satisfying his physical needs. It was she who had suggested he should offer his services to Simon Alsconi, and it was she who had arranged the first meeting.

He was adjusting his tie in the mirror when the door opened and Lorelli came in. He turned to smile at her, but his smile froze when he saw her expression and how white she was. "What is it?" he asked sharply.

Lorelli shut the door, slipped off her coat and came over to the fire.

"You remember I told you about the man who followed me in London and put the police on to me?" she said a little breathlessly. "And I told you I was followed last night? The same man was in Pedoni's shop just now. He asked Pedoni for a book on the history of Siena that would explain how the wards acquired their names. He mentioned the Tortoise ward."

Felix stiffened.

"Sure it's the same man?"

"Almost sure. He's the same build. I didn't see his face in London or last night, but I'm practically sure."

"Who is he?"

"I don't know. I gave Willie a description of him and he's looking for him now."

Felix lit a cigarette and sat down by the fire.

"Is he from the police?"

"I shouldn't think so. He's certainly not a policeman. He is an American and he looks wealthy. He mentioned Genga and Vaga: he seems to know their history." She clenched her fists. "I've always thought this was dangerous. We're giving too much away. I had a feeling sooner or later someone with a few brains would get on to us."

"Take it easy," Felix said. "You're getting into a panic. Let's face it: up to now it's worked like a charm. Okay, I admit I was doubtful myself at one time that this set-up did give too much away, but Alsconi insisted on playing it that way or not at all. He genuinely believes he is levelling old scores. We couldn't have worked up a racket like this on our own.

It's the publicity that's done it. Look at the way the suckers have paid up: we scarcely have any trouble. Look at the money we're making."

"The money won't help us if we're caught," Lorelli said. "This has gone on long enough, Felix. I'm sure this American is on to us. He'll tell the police. It's time for us to quit."

"Quit? What do you mean?" Felix demanded, his eyes hardening.

"You know what quit means, don't you?" Lorelli said, her voice rising. "We've got to get out of here before we're caught! This has gone on long enough. I was so sure of myself before I went to London. I must have been mad to have had anything to do with Gina's murder. They could hang me for that! I didn't realize what I was doing until we had her in the car, then it was too late to back out. I can't sleep at night, thinking of what happened.

Now this American is on to us. He'll tell the police. I know he will!"

"Stop it!" Felix said angrily. "You've got cold feet.' Pull yourself together!"

"How can you talk like that?" Lorelli said wildly. "Can't you see...?"

He got up and took hold of her.

"Shut up," he said violently and gave her a little shake. "Listen to me: you play your cards according to the cards you hold in your hand. If you win you win; if you go down, you take it. Right now you and I have a straight flush. We have never been so well off. No damned American is going to make you or me chuck in a hand as good as a straight flush."

She pulled away from him.

"You stupid fool!" she said angrily. "I've been waiting for this. I knew sooner or later someone would get on to us. I knew it! We have had our run; now it's time we got out. We've got to get away from here before the police move in! We could go to Buenos Aires."

Felix stared at her.

"Gould we?" He smiled unpleasantly. "Is that what you have been hopefully planning when you couldn't sleep? It's a charming thought. Can you imagine Alsconi's delight when we announce we are leaving him?"

"Oh stop it!" Lorelli said angrily. "He wouldn't know until it was too late to do anything about it."

Felix flicked his cigarette into the fire.

"Do you imagine he would shrug his shoulders and forget about us?" he asked. "You must be suffering from a touch of the sun, my beautiful nit-wit. He would find us wherever we went. We wouldn't have a moment's peace, and when he did find us..." He shrugged his shoulders. "But for the sake of an argument, just suppose a miracle did happen and we did manage to lose ourselves in Buenos Aires. How long do you think we would remain unrecognized? He has agents in every country in the world. They would be hunting for us. And just in case it enters your pretty head to go without me, let me remind you that you would never feel safe for a moment. Every step you heard behind you would turn you cold with fear. Every man who looked at you would make your heart skip a beat. You should know as I do, the last thing Alsconi would do is to let any of his organization walk out on him. There have been other fools who have tried to break away - look what's happened to them."

"So what are you going to do?" Lorelli asked, staring at him.

"I'm not going to panic," Felix said. "This American isn't going to rattle me. If he looks dangerous, I'll fix him."

"It might be too late."

"Now look," Felix said, "go to bed and relax. You're worked up. Maybe he has an idea we are here, but he hasn't found us yet. You seem to forget we'll need some finding."

"So you won't come away with me?" Lorelli asked, looking strangely at him.

"There's no question of going away," Felix said curtly. "We're in this to the end. You might as well make up your mind about that. Now go to bed."

"Are you going to tell Alsconi?"

"Not yet. I want some more information first."

She picked up her coat and moved to the door.

"Willie will be telephoning."

"Okay, I'll stick around until he does."

When she had gone, Felix lit another cigarette and moved about the luxuriously furnished room, his brows drawn down in a frown.

If this American thought he was going to bust up a racket as good as this one, Felix thought, he had another think coming. Maybe the best thing to do was to move in quickly and wipe him out before he made any more of his clever discoveries. He was still pacing the floor when Willie came through on the telephone.

"I lost him," Willie said. "He wandered around the streets for a while, then he went back to Via Pantaneto where he had a car. That beat me. He headed out of the city."

"Get the car number?" Felix snapped.

"I got that," Willie said. "It's registered in England." He gave Don's car number and Felix wrote it down.

"So it doesn't look as if he's staying at any of the hotels?"

"He left the city," Willie said.

"Then find out from the agents if anyone has recently rented a villa. I want to know where this guy hangs out. It's urgent."

"Can't do anything until tomorrow morning," Willie said sulkily. He hated any form of work.

"Get something for me by tomorrow," Felix returned and cut the connection. He called the operator.

"Give me Museum 11066, London," he said.

A half an hour later he was speaking to Crantor.

"Find out who owns car number PLM 122," he said. "It's urgent. Call me back as soon as you know."

Crantor said he would have the information in an hour.

As Felix replaced the receiver he heard the alarm bell in the hall start up. For a moment, he stood motionless, his hand still on the receiver, his heart hammering. The bell told him someone was in the grounds: someone who had no business to be there.

He jumped to the desk by the window, jerked open a drawer, snatched out a .45!, then opening the casement windows, he stepped out on to the terrace.

It was after eleven o'clock before Don returned to the Trioni villa. He had wandered the streets and alleys of Siena in the hope of finding Lorelli again, but finally, realizing the futility of such a hunt, he had returned to see if Harry and Cherry had had better luck.

He had been unaware of a small, swarthy man, dressed in shabby black with a black slouch hat pulled down over his eyes to shade his white, pock-marked face, who had followed him like a shadow wherever he went. He was still unaware of him when he had slid into the Bentley and had driven out of the city, leaving the pock-marked man glaring balefully after him.

As Don pulled up outside the villa, the front door jerked open and Harry came down the steps to meet him.

"Any luck, sir?" Harry asked.

Don could tell by the tone of his voice he had had more success than he had.

"Nothing really," Don said, entering the lounge with Harry at his heels. "Where's Cherry?"

"Gone to bed, sir. That nigger nearly walked him off his legs'. He led us a proper dance all over the city. He takes about three times the normal stride and Cherry had to run most of the time to keep him in sight."

Don went over to the bar, poured two beers and gave one to Harry.

"Where did he go?" he asked, sitting on the arm of a chair.

Harry took a long pull at his beer, sighed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Well, sir, after taking enough exercise to tire a horse, he got into a Citroen and belted off. Even if I had had the car, I couldn't have followed him without giving the game away. The road was straight for miles, and that was "a bit of luck. I watched his headlights for a couple of miles, then he suddenly turned off the road, and it's my bet he turned into the drive of a house. How would it be if we took the car now and investigated? I'm pretty certain I could find the spot where he turned off."

"Right," Don said, finishing his beer. "Come on; let's go then."

They went down to the car, Don slid under the driving wheel.

"I'm still trying to make up my mind if I dropped a brick tonight," he said, as he drove down the drive to the lane. "I was fishing for information. I thought that bookseller fellow might have some knowledge about old man Vaga. His reaction was most odd. I had an idea I scared the life out of him. He wanted my name and where I was staying. Maybe I'm getting too suspicious-minded, but it struck me il signor Pedoni might not be such a white-washed lily as he looks."

"Well, you can't call that nigger white-washed," Harry said. "Cor! What a size he is. The way he worked through that icecream made Cherry's eyes pop. I wouldn't like to have a scrap with him."

"Nor would I. He didn't spot you?"

Harry shook his head.

"He never looked around once. He just kept on walking like he was exercising himself. He certainly exercised Cherry.

Turn left here, sir," he went on as Don drove through the old gateway of the city. "That's where he parked his car, under those trees. He went up that road on the right."

Using his fog lights in preference to his tell-tale headlights, Don drove up the straight road that climbed steadily, passing on his left the Franciscan monastery. Beyond the monastery they came to hilly, open country.

About a mile further on, Harry said, "It can't be far off now, sir. Would it be an idea to leave the car and walk?"

Don nodded and pulled on to the grass verge. He turned off the lights and leaving the car, they started up the hill on foot. The road continued without a sign of any building, and after walking ten minutes, Harry said, "We couldn't have passed it, could we? I didn't think it was this far ahead."

"It's hard to judge from where you were. Let's go on for another mile," Don said. "I'm sure we haven't passed any side road."

A few minutes later, Harry said, "Here it is. Look, just ahead."

In the bright light of the moon, they could see a narrow lane that made a T-joint with the main road. It went straight for a hundred yards or so, and then disappeared around a curve into a wood.

"No sign of a house. Looks as if we've still got some walking to do," Don said and moved on, keeping to the grass verge to deaden the sound of his footfalls.

Harry followed him, and in single file they walked to the curve in the lane and into the wood.

It was almost pitch dark in the wood, but Don kept going, moving more slowly, just able to see the dim outlines of the tree trunks.

Ten minutes' walking brought them out of the wood to the foot of a hill, and ahead of them, seeming to rise out of ground to confront them was a massive stone wall, some fifteen feet high that ran along the edge of the lane and out of sight into the darkness.

Clear of the trees, the bright moonlight lit up the wall as if it were daylight. Don paused. Some fifty yards further on he could see double iron-studded wooden gates set in a massive stone archway. The gates were closed.

"I bet this is the place," he said. "Looks right out of the Middle ages, doesn't it?"

Harry stared up at the high wall

"Can't see much from here. Shall I give you a leg up, sir?"

"That's the idea." Don moved close to the wall. He put his foot in Harry's hand and Harry heaved him up towards the top of the wall. Don's clutching fingers got a grip, and another heave from Harry gave him a safer purchase. He hooked his leg over the wall and clung on, balancing himself, keeping low so as not to be seen against the skyline. He looked over the tops of the trees to where he could see a big Gothic-style building set in a wide expanse of closely cut lawn.

"Looks like an old palace," he said and leaned down, offering his hand. "Catch hold. I can heave you up."

Harry gripped his wrist and he pulled him up. After a moment's struggle, Harry got his leg over the wall. He too stared across the garden at the building.

"It's big enough, isn't it? Shall we hop down and have a look-see?"

"I'm going, but you're staying here," Don said. "If I have to leave in a hurry, I'll want you up here to heave me up and over."

"How would it be if I went, sir?" Harry asked, hopefully. "I'm a bit more used to moving in the dark than you are."

"That's what you like to think," Don said, grinning, and holding on to the wall, he lowered himself as far as he could, then dropped.

"Watch your step, sir," Harry called softly.

Waving to him, Don set off towards the house. The first two hundred yards were easy as all he had to do was to follow a path through flowering shrubs that afforded plenty of cover, but when he came to the edge of the big lawn, he paused.

He looked to right and left, reluctant to cross such an expanse of ground without any cover. Anyone looking out of one of the windows couldn't fail to see him cross in the hard light of the moon.

Keeping to the shrubbery, he went around in a half circle in the hope of finding cover on the far side of the house. He moved silently, and it was as well that he did, for suddenly ahead of him he saw a movement, and he hurriedly ducked down behind some bushes.

Out of the shrubbery, not thirty yards ahead of him, came a thick-set man, an automatic rifle under his ami, and walking at his side, a ferocious-looking wolf-hound.

Don felt the hairs on the nape of his neck prickle at the sight of the dog. The big brute was on a chain that encircled the man's wrist. It slunk along, the moonlight accentuating the rolling muscles under its glossy coat.

Don remained motionless, watching these two as they walked quietly on, and until they had disappeared into the darkness.

He drew in a breath of relief, thinking that if he had taken the risk and had crossed the lawn, the dog would have been savaging him by now.

He looked again towards the house, reluctant to retreat, but baffled as to how he could get near it without being seen.

Refusing to give up, he started forward, moving this time much more cautiously and examining every yard of the ground before leaving cover to dart to another shrub. Moving in this way, it took him some minutes to get around to the east side of the house. Here the lawn narrowed, and the shrubs encroached. There was only forty yards or so of open ground to the house. Keeping behind a tree, he looked up at the house. On this side, all the windows were in darkness, but he couldn't tell if someone was in a dark room, looking down on the lawn.

A wide, ornate terrace with a marble balustrade and wide marble steps leading to the garden ran the length of this side of the house. Don saw that he would not only have to cross the lawn, but would also have to run up the steps on which fell the light of the moon if he were to get close to the house.

It it were not for the wolf-hound, he would have gone ahead, but the thought of the dog made him decide against taking the risk.

The next step was to find out who owned the house. It shouldn't be difficult. The great thing was not to show his hand before he was ready.

Crouching, he began to make his way through the shrubbery to where he had left Harry. He hadn't gone more than thirty yards or so when looking back, he saw something that pulled him up short.

Standing on the edge of the lawn was a wolf-hound, looking directly at where Don crouched. The dog's ears were pricked and its head was on one side as if it were listening.

Don remained motionless, his heart thumping. Had the dog heard him? The slight breeze was blowing from the dog to Don: it was unlikely the dog had picked up his scent.

He saw the dog lower its head and come forward slowly until it reached the middle of the lawn, then it stopped.

Don felt a trickle of sweat run down his face, but he was careful not to move. He and the dog remained motionless for at least a minute, and it seemed to Don to be an hour.

Then from out of the shadows around the house, the thick-set man with the automatic rifle under his arm appeared. He came out into the moonlight and paused, watching the dog.

The dog looked back at him and whined, took a couple of steps forward, then stopped to look back again.

"Come here!" the man shouted roughly. He spoke in Italian.

The dog hesitated, then turning it slunk towards the man who snapped on the chain to its collar.

Don watched the man walk away towards the west side of the house, the dog obediently slinking at his heels.

When they were out of sight, Don began to move again. He was now anxious to get out of these dangerous grounds, and he increased speed. He didn't realize that as he moved from one shrub to another he had stepped on a concealed metal plate that touched off the alarm bell in the house.

He kept on, looking for the path along which he had come, but not finding it. He paused to check his position, knowing that the path had to be somewhere close by. It was then that he heard the alarm bell ringing. The sound came to him faintly, but it was unmistakably an alarm bell.

He straightened up and looked to right and left, guessing that somehow he had touched a hidden connection that had set off the alarm. Then he saw the gigantic negro coming across the lawn and he caught the glitter of a knife the negro held in his hand.

The sight of the negro, moving across the moonlit lawn with the speed of a black panther, would have unnerved most people, but Don refused to give way to nerves. He ducked down behind a shrub and waited.

The negro entered the shrubbery fifty yards or so from the point where Don crouched. He paused to listen.

Out into the moonlight came the thick-set man and the wolfhound. He caught sight of the negro and stopped, dragging the straining dog back on to its haunches. The dog was snarling and barking-and trying to get off its chain. Three other men appeared from around the back of the house, each with a struggling wolfhound on a chain.

The negro waved to them, motioning them to wait. Then he began to walk very slowly towards the spot where Don was hiding.

Through the shrubs, Don could see the four men and the dogs,-standing in a line looking towards him. He could hear the gentle swish of leaves, as the great, muscular body of the negro came towards him. Peering up, he caught sight of the negro, now within six feet of him, his brutal black face alert, the knife gripped between his thick fingers.

Don held his breath and waited. There was a long pause. He could hear the wind sighing in the trees, the heavy breathing of the negro and the snarling of the dogs as they strained on their chains. Then he heard the negro move on, passing him by a few yards. Still Don waited. He guessed his slightest move would be heard by the negro.

The negro covered several yards of the shrubbery before it occurred to him that he was wasting time. If anyone were hiding here, the dogs would hunt him out. He stood up to his full height and shouted, "Let the dawgs in here."

Even before the four men could unfasten the chains from the collars of the dogs, Don was running for dear life through the shrubbery towards where he thought the wall must be. He ran as if the devil was at his heels, crashing through shrubs, his only thought to reach the wall and grab at Harry's welcoming hand. He could hear the savage barking of the dogs as they streaked across the lawn after him. With a gasp of relief, he blundered out of the shrubbery onto the path he had been looking for. He hurtled down the path, running as fast as he could.

He could hear the dogs coming up. Their low savage snarls sent a chill up his spine. They were close, too close and he realized he was losing the race. In another few yards they would be on him, dragging him to the ground and savaging him. Just off the path and ahead of him was a big tree. One of the dogs came rushing up alongside him. It sprang up and snapped at his sleeve. Don's fist slammed against its head, sending it rolling over, yelping but he knew the race was over. He swerved, spun around and set his back against the tree.

The other dogs swerved away, pulled up and then with the precision of sheep dogs, they spread out, crouching down and completely encircled him.

Breathing heavily, Don looked at them. He knew if he made a move in any direction the nearest dog would spring at him. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. The dogs growled at the movement and edged closer.

The soft pad-pad of feet made him look beyond the dogs. The. negro came running down the moonlit path, the glittering knife in his hand. He stopped short when he saw Don.

Don took out his cigarette case, selected a cigarette and put it between his dry lips. Then imitating the negro's slow drawl, he said, "Got a match on you, bud?"