Street of the Five Moons

Chapter Twelve

HE LOOKED so young. The sulky frown on his face made him appear like an unhappy child, several years younger than his real age. I couldn’t believe what I had heard. If it hadn’t been for the gun, I wouldn’t have believed what I was seeing.

‘You had better stop calling me stupid,’ he said, glowering at Bianca. ‘That was how she spoke to me. Stupid child, infant, innocent . . . me, the most important of all! Without me you could not have done it. The rest of you can be replaced; but without me, there was no plan! It took me too long to realize that. But now I am in control, I take my rightful place. And none of you will laugh at me again, do you understand?’

She was no coward, I’ll say that for her. She was in greater danger than I was at that moment; he was as unstable as a two-legged table, his adolescent ego smarting and hurting. But she didn’t cower or cringe or try to apologize. She gave me a twisted smile.

‘Like other tyrants, I have been supplanted, you see. A palace coup. Behold the new ruler.’

‘He’s right, of course,’ I said smoothly. ‘Without him, you couldn’t have done it. He’s a genius. You know, Luigi, you could be the greatest jeweller the world has ever seen.’

He liked the first part of that disingenuous speech. His scowl smoothed out as he turned towards me. But at the last sentence he shook his head.

‘Jewellers are artisans, craftsmen. I am an artist. If my father had not tried to crush my talent, this would not have been necessary. I am no stupid craftsman!’

‘Cellini was a maker of jewellery,’ I said. ‘Holbein designed jewels for Henry the Eighth.’

‘That is true,’ he said thoughtfully.

It was like trying to cross rotten ice; a false move, a single wrong word could break through the flimsy rapport that lay between us. He was thinking, too. He wasn’t stupid, that boy, even if he was crazy.

‘What was it you said to her just now?’ he demanded. ‘About letting you go away from here? You have laid a trap. What is it?’

I hesitated. His eyes narrowed and his finger tightened on the trigger of the gun.

‘I didn’t understand,’ I said quickly. ‘I didn’t realize you were involved, Luigi – not like this. I don’t want to get you in trouble.’

‘Wait,’ he said, as if to himself. ‘Let me think a moment. You have some scheme . . . Ah! The telephone calls you made. My father told me, it was to some man in Munich. That is your plan, is it not? If you don’t telephone this person, he will send the police. You see, I am more clever than you thought!’

His young face beamed with pleasure. My brain knew this handsome, charming boy was a killer, but my emotions just wouldn’t take it in.

‘You are clever,’ I said. ‘Yes; that was my idea. But I won’t – ’

‘Make your call.’ The gun dipped towards a low table that held a telephone. ‘Go on, make it. You will be very careful. You will say all is well. And to be sure you are careful – ’ He turned. ‘Bruno! Bring him in here.’

I looked at the principessa. She raised slim shoulders in that ineffable Italian shrug.

‘Fat lot of help you are,’ I said bitterly.

The door through which Luigi had come was still open, the draperies flung back. I heard footsteps, very slow and dragging. Then John appeared, supported by Bruno. His face was bruised, and he had the makings of a magnificent black eye.

‘I was questioning him,’ Luigi explained simply. ‘I wanted to know where you were hiding, with the information he had given you.’

John and I contemplated one another across the length of the room. He was leaning heavily on his captor. I couldn’t read his expression, his face was too battered, but his first words left me in no doubt as to his state of mind.

‘You’ve really mucked it up this time, haven’t you?’

‘You might have warned me,’ I said, stung to the quick. ‘You knew – damn it, that’s why you looked so funny, in the apartment, when I said – ’

‘Warned you! I didn’t have time to take a deep breath with those gorillas battering at the door. I have heard of stupid heroines in my time, but you are the prize. I risk my life and limb to save you from violent death, and you turn right around and walk back into – ’

Luigi, who had been listening with a disapproving frown, put an end to John’s tirade – which I had to admit had some justice behind it – by pointing the gun at him.

‘Enough,’ he snapped. ‘That is no way to talk to a lady, especially when she has risked herself to save you. You should be ashamed.’

I thought for a minute John was going to laugh, and I made a horrible grimace at him. Luigi seemed to be very sensitive about being ridiculed.

‘You are right,’ John said, after a moment of struggle. ‘I apologize. Maybe we ought to try something more in keeping with this hideous farce we seem to be involved in. How about this? Oh, darling, how brave and how foolish of you! Don’t you know I would rather die a thousand deaths than see a single hair of your silly little head in jeopardy?’

‘But, sweetheart,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t go on living if your unfortunate habit of reticence had cost you your life. I had to come, if only to die with you.’

John had that effect on me anyway, but there was some method in our madness – at least, there was in mine. Maybe if we stalled long enough, Luigi would forget about the telephone call. It was an awfully dim chance. Even if Schmidt called the police promptly at five, it would take them a long time to get rolling, and even longer to extract an admission from Pietro that the principessa was one of the conspirators. In fact, the chance was so dim as to be nonexistent. If I could have thought of any sensible alternative, I would have tried it.

John had launched into another speech. I turned my wandering wits back to him in time to catch the last part of it.

‘. . . the memory of your courage and unthinking devotion. Fear not, my dearest, we will not die in vain. The minions of the law will avenge us, and as my last request I would like to compose a suitable epitaph, which I feel sure our gallant adversaries will have carved on our tombstones. “They were lovely and beautiful in their lives, and in their deaths – ”’

I might have known he would get carried away and go too far. Luigi finally caught on that he was being kidded. His face darkened ominously.

‘You mock me!’ he exclaimed.

‘Impossible,’ said John. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t dream of it, Luigi.’

‘The telephone,’ said Luigi. ‘Call. Bruno – ’

Bruno let go of John, who promptly collapsed onto the floor. Luigi snapped out an order; Bruno picked John up and dumped him into a chair. Luigi pressed the gun to John’s forehead.

‘Do watch your words, love,’ said John. There was nothing for it but to place the call. With the perversity of things in general, this one went through as smoothly as silk. I didn’t even have to penetrate the impenetrable wall of Gerda’s chitchat. Schmidt answered the phone himself.

‘Ah,’ he squeaked, as soon as I had identified myself. ‘There you are, Vicky. Gerda told me you had called. I am sorry I was not here. What is the emergency?’

‘Oh, it’s still here,’ I said heartily, wishing Schmidt’s voice wasn’t quite so shrill and penetrating. I wondered whether Luigi knew any German. The principessa probably spoke it quite well.

‘You don’t understand me,’ Schmidt said. ‘I hear you quite well; can you not hear me?’

‘Oh, yes,’ I said, laughing hysterically. ‘I can hear you just fine. But I’m afraid you can’t understand me.’

‘But it is an excellent connection.’

‘Oh, no, it isn’t,’ I said.

‘How is the case proceeding?’

‘Not too well. You might even say disastrously. At the moment, that is.’

‘I am so sorry,’ Schmidt exclaimed. ‘But I have great faith in you, Vicky. You will solve it; I know you will.’

I felt like biting the telephone. I had been as direct as I dared. I thought of referring obliquely to Herr Feder of the Munich police, but I was afraid to risk it; the principessa might know who he was, and Luigi was already uneasy; he was mouthing suggestions at me from across the room, and the muzzle of the gun was pressed so hard against John’s head that it dented the skin. John didn’t dare move, not even his lips, but his eyes were eloquent.

‘It’s all right,’ I said feebly. ‘I – goodbye, poopsie. Auf Wiedersehen. I hope.’

The phone clattered as I put it back onto the stand. My hands were shaking.

‘Poopsie?’ Luigi repeated incredulously.

The principessa stirred.

‘It is the name given to him by his intimates,’ she said.

It took me a minute to realize what she had said, and what it meant. She met my surprised stare with a slight shake of her head. Her back was to Luigi. Her lips silently shaped a word.

I put a hand to my forehead.

‘Oh,’ I said weakly. ‘I feel so strange. I think I’m going to faint.’

It wasn’t all an act. My knees were getting very shaky. I couldn’t see what good this was going to do, but at least Bianca was on our side. Maybe she had something in mind. Mine was an absolute blank.

I fluttered lithesomely onto the sofa, and Bianca bent over me.

‘She is ill,’ she exclaimed. ‘My smelling salts, Luigi – in my bathroom cabinet. And fetch a blanket from the closet, she is in shock, I think.’

‘Bruno – ’ Luigi began uncertainly.

‘No, I will not have that ape touching my things! Give him your gun, if you don’t trust me.’

I didn’t dare open my eyes, but my ears were tuned to their highest pitch. After a suspenseful moment Luigi trotted out of the room; his light, athletic footsteps could not be mistaken for anyone else’s. As soon as he was gone, the principessa began to speak soothingly, as if she were trying to bring me out of my faint. But she spoke German.

‘There is only one hope. We must fetch the count here. He is at the palazzo, in Rome. Think.’

I groaned artistically, and muttered in the same language,

‘The boy hates his father. What good – ’

‘These thugs – there is another man, in the hall – they will obey their master. All this happened last night after I had drugged Pietro. It was a mistake, I admit it; but they were willing to take orders from me until the boy defied me. It is a feudal feeling, you understand. He is the heir. If we can reach Pietro, he will not – ’

In her distress she slipped, and mentioned a name.

‘Pietro’ sounds the same in any language. Bruno cleared his throat.

‘Why do you speak of the master? Do not speak. I do not trust you.’

‘She is delirious,’ Bianca said. ‘She asked for the count; she could not believe he would let this happen. You know, Bruno – ’

‘I obey the young master,’ Bruno said sullenly.

‘But he has not told you to injure the signorina,’ John said suddenly. ‘He has gone to get medicine to help her. Hark – I think she calls me!’

‘John,’ I moaned obediently. ‘Oh, John – ’

‘There, you see? Don’t shoot, Bruno, old chap, I’m just going to hold her hand.’ He dropped to one knee beside the couch. At close range his face looked even worse. ‘The Fernsprecher, you bloody idiot,’ he said tenderly. ‘Mio tesoro, mein Liebchen. . .’

He broke off abruptly as Luigi came trotting back.

‘What is going on?’ he demanded. ‘Bruno, you let them speak, you let them – ’

‘You did not tell me they could not speak together,’ Bruno exclaimed.

‘Never mind. You, Smythe, back to your chair. Here are the smelling salts. Is she – ’

‘I’m better now,’ I murmured. The incredible young creature was bending over me, looking genuinely worried. I smiled at him. ‘Thank you, Luigi. You are kind.’

He helped me to sit up and hovered anxiously while Bianca waved the smelling salts under my nose. I sneezed.

‘You are very good,’ I said, blinking at Luigi. ‘I know you don’t want to hurt me, Luigi. I can’t lie to you. I respect you too much. That call to Munich . . . it wasn’t the important call. There is someone else I must reach. If I don’t call him, he will open the envelope I left with him.’

‘Who? A lawyer?’ Luigi asked. ‘The police?’

‘A lawyer,’ I said.

‘Then call him. Now. Quickly.’

I dragged myself up off the couch and went with faltering steps toward the phone. Then a thought hit me, and I really did falter. I didn’t know the number of the palazzo.

I turned a horrified face towards John, who had returned to his chair and was watching me intently.

It might not have been ESP, just plain common sense. But ever since that moment I’ve had a sneaking, half-shamed belief in thought transference. John folded his arms and began holding up fingers.

Thank God we’re on the decimal system. I don’t know how we would have managed with a system of twelves, like the Babylonians used. All eyes were on me, so nobody noticed John’s contortions, which were done with considerable skill. The only number that gave him any trouble was nine.

The system worked fine, but I dialled slowly, because I needed time to think. There were so many obstacles to be overcome. The first one was the fact that Pietro probably wouldn’t answer the phone himself.

He didn’t. The voice was that of his butler, very smooth and impersonal. Obviously I couldn’t ask for Pietro.

‘This is Signorina Bliss speaking,’ I said slowly. ‘I am calling for Sir John.’

Luigi, who had recovered his gun from Bruno, looked at me suspiciously. I smiled and nodded at him. After all, he couldn’t know what arrangements I had made with the fictitious lawyer. It was not surprising that I should mention John’s name.

The butler might or might not be in on the plot, but he certainly knew about John.

‘Sir John?’ he repeated, forgetting his dignity. ‘Is it Sir John Smythe that you speak of, signorina?’

‘That’s right.’

‘But then you will wish to speak to his Excellency.’

‘That’s right too.’

‘I will call him. Please to wait, signorina.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, trying not to gasp with relief. I turned to Luigi. ‘The secretary is calling him to the phone.’

‘Be very quick,’ said Luigi suspiciously. ‘No tricks.’

He pointed the gun at John, who folded his arms and tried to look inconspicuous.

Then the familiar high-pitched voice came on.

‘Vicky? Vicky, is that you?’

‘Yes, that’s right; Signorina Bliss. I am with Sir John.’ Pietro started to splutter. I raised my voice and went on talking. This was the dangerous moment. There was a chance Luigi might recognize the familiar paternal shout. ‘No, everything is fine; we’re having a drink with Bianca and some people she knows, having a nice time . . . You must meet her some time, she’s anxious to meet you. I can’t talk now; my friends won’t let me.’

I hung up and smiled brightly at Luigi.

Perhaps he had half recognized Pietro’s voice, or perhaps he was affected by the tension that gripped the rest of us. He scowled.

‘That did not sound right,’ he said. ‘If you have tricked me, signorina . . .’

‘I wouldn’t do that,’ I said. ‘I admire you too much. Luigi, I wish you would tell me how you learned to do goldworking. You are such an all-around genius; just like Cellini, only better.’

This time the flattery didn’t work.

‘There is no time to talk,’ Luigi said. ‘I must – I must act.’

The trouble was, he didn’t really know what to do. He didn’t have Bianca’s experience or intelligence, he had simply flipped his lid and flown into action, and a bizarre combination of circumstances had put him in temporary control of a situation he could not handle. He would be caught sooner or later, but by the time the police or his father stopped him, a lot of people would be dead – including me.

I’m sure the Freudians could glibly account for Luigi’s breakdown. His father’s dislike and contempt, his mother’s death (I assumed she was dead, since nobody even mentioned her), the succession of cheap women who had replaced her in his father’s life . . . It doesn’t matter; nobody really knows why some people crack and some don’t.

‘What are you going to do?’ John asked, nervously eyeing the gun that was waving around six inches from his head.

‘I suppose I will have to kill you,’ Luigi said uncertainly. ‘I regret, Signorina Bliss; you have been simpatico, but you understand – ’

‘There is an alternative,’ I said. ‘You’ve been so busy you probably haven’t had time to think about it.’

‘What is that?’ Luigi asked.

How long would it take Pietro to get from the palazzo to the Gianicolo? It was after five, rush hour in Rome; the traffic would be appalling.

‘We could make a deal,’ I said, with my most engaging smile. ‘Bianca is already involved; she doesn’t want to go to the police. I’m sure she would be happy to continue in her present role – under your direction, of course. The same thing applies to – er – Sir John.’

‘And you, signorina?’ Luigi asked. ‘You are a scholar, an honourable lady. You came here to stop us. My father told me so.’

Here we were, back on the rotten ice. The wrong word, the false step . . . I couldn’t be too obvious about my change of heart. Paradoxically, the boy’s respect for me depended on that honourable facade I had presented to him.

‘It is difficult for me,’ I said truthfully. ‘But there are circumstances where the ordinary rules of conduct do not apply. There are men who stand outside the conventions of society. You are such a man, Luigi. How can I presume to judge you?’

‘You are right,’ said Luigi modestly.

He stood pondering. I risked a glance at John, and what I saw made my breath catch. He hadn’t forgotten the gun, which was now dangling in perilous proximity to his body; but his eyes were narrowed with amusement. As I caught his eye it closed in a wink, and the corners of his no longer well-shaped mouth quivered.

‘But the woman,’ Luigi said suddenly. ‘I killed her, you know. The filthy whore, she took my mother’s jewels – lived in her room . . . She had no right. And when she came to me, laughing at me, and yet touching me, stroking me, as if she wanted . . .’ His lips curled in savage disgust. ‘I killed her and she deserved it. But . . . I didn’t mean to, you know. I only meant to stop her, shut her dirty mouth. She was saying such things . . .’

I forgot discretion in sheer pity.

‘Luigi, I understand. You won’t have to go to prison. There are doctors. You are sick, you can’t help – ’

‘Foul,’ John said suddenly.

It was too late. I had seen my mistake too, but I couldn’t take the words back.

‘So that is what you think,’ Luigi whispered. ‘You think I am mad. You want to lock me up in a . . . They had my mother in one of those places. I remember. I remember how she wept when she came home for a visit, and my father forced her to go back . . .’

Well, there it was. A nice facile textbook explanation. I had thought the dowager’s concern for Luigi’s health was only grandmotherly fussing. She had reason to worry. Whether his problem was congenital or not, having a mother who had to be confined in an institution hadn’t done the boy’s mental health any good.

Poor old Bruno was staring at the boy in bewilderment. Luigi’s face was unrecognizable. He was crying, but the tears didn’t dim his vision. The gun was pointed straight at me.

It wavered when we heard an automobile horn blare and the crunch of gravel as a heavy car screeched into the driveway. I had just time enough to damn Pietro – why hadn’t he brought a couple of police cars, with sirens? – when John came up out of his chair like a jack-in-the-box. His shoulder knocked the boy’s arm up, and the bullet whined over my head. Not for the first time, I regretted my inches.

The room exploded into chaos. I hit the floor, Bruno hit John, the principessa streaked towards the front door, and Luigi fumbled wildly for his gun, which he had dropped. I got to it before he did, but I needn’t have worried. The boy slumped over in a sobbing heap before I plucked the weapon from under his fingers.

I pointed the gun at Bruno, who had John in a bear hug.

‘Let him go,’ I gasped.

‘Don’t shoot,’ said Bruno and John in chorus.

The front door banged and an outraged miniature fury came stalking into the room. Pietro must have been changing when my call came. He was still in his dressing gown, a gorgeous heavy green silk affair; and I knew then why even the fatter, funnier-looking Caesars had been able to command an empire.

‘Bruno,’ he thundered. ‘Drop him!’

So Bruno did. John hit the floor like a sack of wet cement. It had not been one of his better days. He was unconscious when I crawled over to him and lifted his head onto my lap.

‘Where are those smelling salts?’ I asked.

Thanks to his kindly disposition, and a five-thousand-lira bribe, the little man at the door of the terminal let me go out onto the field to make sure the crate was loaded properly. There was no mistaking which one it was; it was the biggest box on the truck, and as it passed me I heard a low grumbling sound coming from it. The vet had given Caesar a massive dose of tranquilizers, to prepare him for the flight, but even in a semiconscious state Caesar had his doubts about the whole thing.

Standing beside me, one hand in his jacket pocket, and the other arm supported by a black silk sling, John looked dubiously at the crate.

‘What the hell are you going to do with that monster?’

‘Take long walks,’ I said dreamily. ‘Late at night. Through the slums of Munich. I can hardly wait.’

‘I’m glad you warned me. I shall try to limit my nocturnal activities to other cities.’

‘I don’t suppose you would consider getting a job. An honest job.’

‘What, go straight? Me, the local successor to Raffles and the Saint and all those other debonair, gallant British adventurers?’ John started to smile and then thought better of it; his lower lip was still a peculiar shape. ‘Anyhow, I can’t very well quit now, with the police of at least three countries after me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

‘Oh, that’s quite all right. I’d hate to have your little conscience harassing you because you had failed in your duty. Are you at peace with yourself, my child?’

‘Luigi is under treatment, so that’s all right,’ I said, refusing to be baited. ‘My poor little conscience will be at rest once restitution is made to those stupid millionaires. But Pietro is going to weasel out of it, you watch. He’ll say – ’

‘That he sold his jewels through an intermediary, in good faith, and had copies made because he was embarrassed to admit to the world that he had been forced to sell his family treasures. He had no idea his emissary would cheat his customers! He was quite candid about it,’ John said. ‘I was the intermediary, and I am therefore the logical scapegoat. I’d be in for it anyway, so why not take all the blame?’

‘I suppose he sweetened his candour with a considerable bribe,’ I said.

‘Oh, quite. You must admit he has behaved rather well.’

‘I guess I can’t blame him for anything except being dishonest. Bianca was the one who wanted to have us put down.’

‘Oh, didn’t she explain that? She never intended any such thing. Pietro misunderstood her.’

‘So she says. I can’t think too fondly of dear Bianca. She helped us with Luigi, but only because he threatened her. I feel sorry for Pietro, though. He’s awfully upset about Luigi. And with reason.’

‘I think the boy will be all right,’ John said gently.

‘I wish I thought so. But everything possible will be done. Pietro really loves the kid. Too bad he didn’t realize it until the damage was done.’

‘Didn’t he offer you a little present?’ John asked.

‘Yes, he did. The most gorgeous necklace – emeralds and opals. Of course I couldn’t take it.’

‘Why not?’

‘It wouldn’t have been ethical. Besides,’ I added, with a rueful laugh, ‘I’d never be sure whether it was real or fake.’

‘It was such a beautiful swindle,’ John murmured wistfully.

‘And the only one who is going to suffer for it is you. Damn it, John, I really am sorry. I know you don’t believe me, or understand, but – ’

‘I understand. I don’t agree, but I understand. I had the same trouble myself, years ago. Only constant practise can overcome the disability. The day I forged my first check I really felt quite uncomfortable for a few hours. The second time – ’

‘Can’t you ever stop joking?’

‘No, why should I? Laughter is one of the two things that make life worthwhile. Aren’t you going to ask me what the other one is?’

‘That was totally meaningless,’ I said haughtily, lowering my eyes before his meaningful regard. ‘Merely an interlude. It would never have happened if you hadn’t taken unfair advantage last night – flaunting your cuts and bruises and pretending to be helpless. That, and the fact that I was curious about . . .’

‘About what? Don’t be so mysterious.’

‘Never mind,’ I said, with my most mysterious smile. There was no sense in telling him what Bianca had said – or that I was inclined to agree with her evaluation. The man’s ego was swollen to monumental proportions already.

‘It was just one of those things,’ I repeated. ‘One of those crazy things . . .’

‘Not for me, it wasn’t. Never before in my life . . . Well, perhaps one other time, but she was Spanish, and you know how these Latin – ’

‘Ships that pass in the night,’ I said loudly. ‘Never to meet again . . .’

‘Oh, we’ll meet again,’ John said coolly. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

‘How? One red rose, once a year?’

John forgot himself and started to laugh. ‘Caught you,’ he said, dabbing tenderly at his lower lip. ‘I knew it; I knew that under that tough exterior you were a secret romantic. The Prisoner of Zenda, for God’s sake.’

‘No, Rupert of Hentzau. And I’m not a romantic, I’m a compulsive reader. Mother has shelves of books like that -Graustark, The Scarlet Pimpernel . . . I read everything in the house, including old Sears, Roebuck catalogues.’

‘You protest too much.’

The loudspeaker overhead burst into a babble of Italian, in which I caught the word ‘Monaco.’ That’s Italian for Munich.

‘My flight,’ I said. ‘Goodbye.’

‘Time for one last passionate embrace,’ said John, and put his arm around me.

I braced myself; even with one arm he could literally sweep a lady off her feet, as I had good reason to know. But instead of pulling me close to him he just stood there looking into my eyes. His face was unmasked and vulnerable – and dangerously appealing. It was an unbelievably effective performance; my insides started to go soft, like melting jelly. I had to remind myself that with John it was hard to tell what was real from . . . a forgery.

He brushed my lips gently with his, and stood back.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said again, and walked away.

‘One red rose?’ I called. He turned.

‘Nothing so jejune. I won’t tell you what the message will be. You’ll know.’

That was six months ago; but he was right. When the message came, I knew who it was from.

It arrived yesterday. There was no note, nothing in writing. Only a little box containing Marie Antoinette’s engagement ring. Six rose-cut diamonds encircling a ten-carat sapphire.

It’s in the Louvre. I think.

I have some leave time coming. Schmidt agreed I didn’t have to count the Rome trip. Getting kidnapped, hit on the jaw, and threatened by a mixed-up kid with a gun is not anybody’s idea of a vacation – not even Schmidt’s. I’ve always wanted to go to Paris. They say if you stand on the Champs Élysées, sooner or later you will meet everyone you’ve ever known.