The Joker in the Pack

Chapter four

In the hotel lobby, Helga saw Dr. Bellamy coming from another elevator. The big, coloured doctor gave her an uneasy smile, changed direction and came over to her.

‘I was inquiring for you, Mrs. Rolfe. I was told you were out.’

She looked up at him: here was a massive, well-built man, she thought, but not for her. He had no confidence in himself, and she could imagine he would sweat distressingly when making love.

‘I’ve just returned. How is he, doctor?’

‘His progress is reassuring. I am going to call Dr. Levi.’ Bellamy moved with her away from the crowd to a quiet corner of the lounge. ‘Please sit down, Mrs. Rolfe.’

She sat on a settee and opened her handbag for a cigarette. Dr. Bellamy joined her. He fumbled rather frantically for a match but she had already lighted her cigarette before he found one.

‘I am suggesting to Dr. Levi that your husband could be moved from here to Paradise City hospital tomorrow. He has gained strength and, under sedation, I feel sure the journey wouldn’t distress him. However, there is a slight risk and this I will discuss with Dr. Levi. His heart.’ Bellamy lifted his hands. ‘And he is worrying. Nurse Fairely tells me he is worrying about a letter.’

‘Yes.’ Helga looked down at her hands. ‘He has so many papers. I don’t know which particular letter it is that is worrying him.’

A pause, then Dr. Bellamy said, ‘If Dr. Levi agrees, you may make arrangements to leave sometime tomorrow.’ He got to his feet. ‘I will be in again this afternoon when I can tell you the exact arrangements.’

When he had gone, she walked out into the bright sunshine and wandered in the hotel grounds. Already people were playing tennis and the swimming pool was crowded. She found a secluded seat under the shade of a palm, then making sure no one was near, she took out the tape recorder and played back the tape. The boy’s frightened voice came to her clearly. It was an excellent recording and she nodded her satisfaction.

She thought of the boy. He couldn’t be more than nineteen years of age. She was twenty-four years his senior: old enough to be his mother. The tormenting desires moved through her. None of her lovers had been so young as he and yet, sitting there in the shade, feeling the heat of the sun, she wanted him desperately. She could teach him how to make love, she thought. His confession on tape gave her complete control over him. He was a young animal and young animals could be trained. Tomorrow she would be back in the big villa in Paradise City. Herman would be in hospital. She sat still, thinking, then she finally gave a little nod. She would take the boy back to Paradise City. He was in no position to refuse. Once there... she drew in a quick, sharp breath. And besides, she would get him away from Jackson. That was important. Then she thought of the big, fat woman who must be the boy’s mother. First, she must talk to her before telling the boy. Mothers could be difficult and suspicious. A West Indian! She was confident she could handle her. One thing at a time, she told herself. Offense I better than defense! She must stall Jackson and gain a little time.

Returning to her suite, she sat at the desk and turning on another of the recorders, still lying on the desk, she made a copy of the tape on the other recorder. She played the copy back, then satisfied, she put the original recorder in a stout envelope, sealed it, wrote her name on it, then put the second recorder in her bag. She picked up the telephone book. She found Jackson’s telephone number and asked the operator to connect her.

Jackson’s hearty voice came on the line.

‘Discreet Inquiry Agency. Jackson talking. Good morning.’

‘Good morning, Mr. Jackson, you sound full of life,’ she said, steel in her voice.

‘Who is that?’ His voice sharpened.

‘Don’t you recognize my voice, Mr. Jackson? I thought you were a professional.’

‘Oh... you.’

‘Yes. Our little transaction will be slightly delayed. The bank here needs confirmation from my bank. Absurd, isn’t it? I will call you again,’ and she hung up.

That would take care of Jackson for a while. She was confident he wouldn’t take action until he was sure she wasn’t going to pay. The delay would give her a breathing space.

The telephone bell rang. She smiled. No, Mr. Jackson, you must learn to wait, she thought. Picking up the envelope, leaving the bell ringing, she went down to the lobby. The assistant manager was behind the reception desk.

‘Please put this in your safe.’ She handed him the envelope. ‘I will be keeping all four recorders. They will make amusing presents. Please bill me.’

‘Certainly, Mrs. Rolfe.’

He gave her a receipt which she put in her bag, then crossing to the Hall porter, she said, ‘I want a small car, please. U-drive.’

‘Certainly, madame. The new Buick, perhaps?’

‘No... a Mini will do.’

He lifted his eyebrows and bowed.

‘In ten minutes, madame.’

‘Would you know where Hinkle is?’

‘On the second terrace, madame. Should I have him called?’

‘No, thank you.’

She walked along the wide terrace, down the marble steps to the second terrace. She saw Hinkle sitting in a canvas chair, reading a book. He was wearing a white suit, a floppy bow tie and a large panama hat that rested on the back of his head. He looked like a bishop enjoying a well deserved vacation.

‘What are you reading, Hinkle?’ she asked.

He glanced up, then rose to his feet, removing his hat.

‘An essay by John Locke, madame.’

‘John Locke?’

‘Yes, madame. A seventeenth-century English philosopher. In this essay he makes a case against the dogma of innate ideas and successfully proves that experience is the key of knowledge. It is remarkably interesting.’

Helga blinked.

‘Why, Hinkle, I had no idea you were so learned.’

‘I endeavour to improve my mind, madame. Was there something I can do for you?’

‘Please sit down.’ She sat in a chair near his. After hesitating, Hinkle lowered his portly frame into his chair, resting his hat on his knees. ‘Dr. Bellamy tells me that Mr. Rolfe could be moved tomorrow to the Paradise City hospital providing Dr. Levi approves.’

Hinkle’s face brightened.

‘That is indeed good news.’

‘Yes. It is very possible that you will have to attend Mr. Rolfe at the hospital. I want to engage extra staff to take over some of your less exacting duties at home, Hinkle.’

‘Indeed, madame?’ His voice turned chilly. ‘I assure you I can manage perfectly well without additional staff.’

She expected opposition and was prepared to over-ride him. She was determined to have her way.

‘There is a young boy working at the hotel,’ she said curtly. ‘He appears intelligent and a deserving case. When I can assist young people I like to do so. I am engaging him and I would like you to give him minor duties, Hinkle. Will you do that for me, please?’

Hinkle regarded her, saw the steel in her eyes, pursed his lips, then inclined his head.

‘If that is your wish, madame.’

‘No news of Miss Sheila?’ She got to her feet.

‘No, madame, not yet.’ He too stood up.

‘Then I will leave you with Mr. Locke.’ She smiled. ‘Dick Jones... that’s the boy’s name. Pay him a hundred and all found and see he earns it, Hinkle. I will tell him to contact you.’

‘Very well, madame.’

She returned to the hotel where she found a Mini-minor waiting. She thanked the Hall porter, then getting into the little car, she drove out of the city and to North Beach road.

Pulling up outside No. 1150, she got out of the car, opened the rickety gate and walked up the weedy path. She was aware that, opposite, coloured people, sitting on their stoops and on broken down verandas, were gaping at her.

Paying no attention, she rapped on the front door. There was a pause, then the big, fat woman stood before her. Her eyes, black and a little bloodshot, widened at the sight of this slim, elegantly dressed white woman standing on her stoop.

‘Mrs. Jones?’ Helga smiled. ‘I want to talk to you about Dick.’

The big woman regarded her. Since Helga last had seen her sitting on the stoop reading a magazine, she had changed into a red cotton dress, neat and clean and had wound a red and yellow handkerchief around her head.

‘My son?’ The voice was soft and rich. Helga could imagine a splendid contralto singing voice coming from this vast frame.

‘I am Mrs. Herman Rolfe,’ Helga said. ‘Could we talk?’

‘Mrs. Rolfe?’ The eyes opened wide, then they shifted past Helga to the gaping people from the opposite houses. ‘Come in, please.’

She led the way into a small, immaculately kept living room. There was a worn settee, two equally worn armchairs, an old T.V. set, a table on which stood a potted fern. On the wall was a large photograph of a tall, gay looking white man who smiled at Helga from the gilt frame. He wore shabby whites and there was an air of seediness in his jocular pose: a gay failure, Helga thought, probably a sugar planter who hadn’t worked hard enough. Looking more closely at the photograph she saw from whom Dick Jones had got his good looks.

Mrs. Jones closed the door.

‘I was reading about Mr. Rolfe this morning,’ she said uneasily. ‘Accept my condolences. It is a terrible thing for so fine a man to be stricken.’

‘Thank you.’

There was a pause while the two women from utterly different worlds looked at each other, then Mrs. Jones said, ‘Will you sit down, ma’am? This ain’t much of a place but it is a home.’

‘Is that your husband?’ Helga asked as she sat down.

‘That is Henry Jones... a no good man, but he gave me Dick, thank the Lord.’

‘I want to talk to you about your son, Mrs. Jones,’ Helga said. She felt in need of a cigarette, but had an instinctive feeling that this big coloured woman wouldn’t approve and she was anxious to have her approval. ‘He does my suite at the hotel. He appears to me to be nicely mannered, intelligent and willing. I have a staff vacancy in my home in Paradise City... it is quite close to Miami. It would be a good opportunity for him, but before I talked to him, I felt I should first ask you.’ Again she smiled. ‘My majordomo would train your son, the pay would be good and there would be opportunities to travel to New York and Europe.’

‘The good Lord bless me!’ Mrs. Jones threw up her hands. ‘Why should a grand lady like you, ma’am, be bothered with my son?’

Helga forced a laugh.

‘I am like that, Mrs. Jones. With my money, I am able to help people. Watching your son work, I thought I could help him and he could help in my house. I know how mothers feel about their sons. I wouldn’t want to be parted from a good son, but I would tell myself he should have his chance.’

Mrs. Jones looked directly at Helga, her eyes suddenly curious.

‘You got kids, ma’am?’

You’re over-talking, Helga told herself. Be careful.

‘Unhappily no, but I do know how my father felt about me,’ she said glibly.

‘Dick is a good boy, ma’am,’ Mrs. Jones said. ‘He is an ambitious boy. Let me tell you something. He wanted a motorbike. He was crazy in the head to have this bike and he saved and he saved and he saved. They pay him seventy bucks at the hotel. That’s good money for folk like us. He gives me thirty for his keep and he saves the rest. Then suddenly he comes home on this bike. He has saved a thousand bucks. Imagine that, ma’am! A thousand bucks! And do you know how he did it? No girls, no movies, no drinks, no cigarettes: scraping and saving and finally he has his bike. That’s my son, ma’am, and a good son: couldn’t be better.’

Looking at the proud, beaming face, Helga wondered how this believing mother would react if she knew her son’s motorcycle had cost over four thousand dollars.

‘I will pay him a hundred dollars and all found,’ Helga said. ‘He will, of course, have to work for it, but it will give him an opportunity to save.’ She smiled. ‘I would like to know if you have any objections to his working for me, Mrs. Jones.’

‘Me?’ The big woman shook her head. ‘Ma’am, I come from Haiti. I worked on a sugar plantation. That’s where I met Henry Jones. When my boy got to twelve years of age, I told myself I had to get out. I’ve saved and I came here. It was hard, but I wanted Dick to have a chance and he got this chance at the hotel. I live for my son, ma’am. You take him. I’ll miss him, but to be able to go to New York, to Europe, to work for such fine people as the Rolfes... this is something I couldn’t even dream about.’

Helga got to her feet.

‘Then I will arrange it. It is possible my husband and I will return to Paradise City tomorrow. Dick will come with us.’

Mrs. Jones put her big, work worn hands against her floppy bosom.

‘So soon, ma’am?’

‘Yes, but don’t worry. He’ll be all right.’ Helga saw tears in the big, black eyes. ‘You are an understanding and wonderful mother.’

Mrs. Jones drew herself up.

‘I’ve got a wonderful son, ma’am. Nothing is too good for him, and thank you, ma’am and may the good Lord bless you.’

Returning to her hotel suite, Helga called the housekeeper.

‘I want to speak to the man who cleans my suite,’ she said. ‘Dick, I believe his name is. Please send him to me.’

‘Is there something wrong, madame?’ the housekeeper asked, alarm in her voice.

‘Nothing is wrong. I wish to speak to him,’ Helga said coldly.

‘Certainly, madame. I will bring him to you immediately.’

‘Send him to me. Your presence is not required,’ and Helga hung up.

That will give them something to gossip about, she thought wryly, but she was beyond caring. She lit a cigarette and glanced at her watch. The time was 12.45. She felt in need of a drink, but decided to wait until she went down to the grill-room.

She waited three long minutes, then a soft tap came on the door.

‘Come in,’ she snapped.

Dick Jones entered slowly. His large dark eyes showed fear. In the hard sunlight flooding the big room his smooth skin sparkled with sweat.

‘You wanted me, ma’am?’ He could scarcely get the words out.

‘Come in and shut the door.’

He moved further into the room, shut the door, then faced her.

‘Now, listen to me, Jones. You are in trouble. I have been talking to your mother.’ She saw him flinch. ‘She believes you saved for your motorcycle. She believes what you told her: that it cost a thousand dollars. I know it cost more than four thousand dollars. I can prove this to her. What do you imagine she will say to you when she knows?’

He raised his hands imploringly.

‘You wouldn’t tell her, ma’am,’ he said huskily. ‘Please don’t tell her.’

She took the recorder from her bag and set it on the table.

‘Listen to this,’ she said and switched on the play-back.

They remained still as their voices from the tape came distinctly to them both. When the tape finished, she switched off and looked at him.

‘That is a confession, Jones, that you stole a valuable document.’ She paused, then went on, ‘The police would act on it. You and your friend Jackson could go to jail for at least fourteen years.’

He shivered.

‘I just wanted the bike, ma’am.’

‘To get your bike, you became a thief. Your mother told me you are a wonderful son. Would she call a thief a wonderful son?’

He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, sweating, his face ashen.

She let him sweat, then after a long pause, she said, ‘You are going to leave here, Jones. You are going to work in my house in Paradise City. I want you away from Jackson. You will be paid, but you will do exactly as you’re told. My major-domo, Mr. Hinkle, will take charge of you. I don’t expect any trouble from you. Your mother has agreed that you should go. You will pack and be ready to leave tomorrow. Do you understand?’

His big black eyes widened.

‘But, ma’am, I don’t want to leave here. I have my home here. I have a good job here. I don’t want to leave!’

‘You should have thought of that before you turned thief,’ Helga said ruthlessly. ‘You will do what I say or I will turn you over to Mr. Henessey who will have no mercy on you, understand?’

He wrung his hands.

‘What’s to happen to my bike?’ he said. ‘Ma’am.’

‘Damn your bloody bike!’ Helga said furiously. ‘Get out! You leave tomorrow!’

Staring at her, horrified, the boy backed to the door.

‘Hinkle will send for you. Do exactly what he tells you and keep away from Jackson. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Then get out!’

Like a whipped puppy, he slunk out of the room.

She crushed out her cigarette, aware her hand was shaking. Offence is better than defence. She hated herself for terrifying this half-caste boy, but she had to do it. She was fighting for her future.

Consulting the telephone book she found the only other inquiry agency was The British Agency: Mr. Frank Gritten. She asked the hotel operator to call the number.

A woman answered, her voice brisk and efficient. ‘British Agency. Can I help you.’

Helga hesitated, then she said, ‘This is Mrs. Herman Rolfe. I would like to consult Mr. Gritten this afternoon at three o’clock.’

‘Mrs. Herman Rolfe?’

Helga could imagine the startled expression on the woman’s face.

‘Yes.’

‘Certainly, Mrs. Rolfe. Mr. Gritten will be happy to see you at three o’clock.’

Helga hung up.

For a long moment, she sat motionless, thinking. She was taking a big risk, but she had everything to gain also everything to lose.

She left the suite and rode down to the lobby. She told the Hall porter she would have lunch in the grill-room and would he reserve a quiet table for her, then she went out on to the terrace. There was no sign of Hinkle. She couldn’t imagine him in the sea, but nothing Hinkle might do would surprise her.

Driving the Mini, she went to the Nassau Bank and asked to speak to the manager. She was immediately shown into his office. The plaque on his desk told her his name was David Freeman: a stout, red-faced breezy Englishman who rose to his feet.

‘Happy to see you here, Mrs. Rolfe,’ he said offering her a chair. ‘What may I do for you?’

As Helga sat down, she said, ‘Yesterday I arranged to be able to cash fifteen thousand dollars with you, Mr. Freeman.’

‘That is quite right. It has now been arranged.’

‘I want ten thousand dollars in one thousand dollars bills. I want you to make a note of the numbers. I will sign the receipt and I want the numbers of the bills on the receipt.’

Freeman looked sharply at her, but seeing her cold, hard expression decided not to be curious.

‘Certainly, Mrs. Rolfe. I will arrange this immediately.’ He picked up the telephone receiver, issued instructions, then went on, ‘I trust Mr. Rolfe is improving.’

‘He is better, thank you.’ Helga braced herself, ‘Mr. Freeman, can you tell me the standing of The British Agency: the inquiry agents? Are they reliable?’

‘Yes, Mrs. Rolfe.’ Freeman’s red face showed his surprise. ‘You can have every confidence in them. Mr. Gritten, who runs the agency is an ex-Chief Inspector of the Nassau police. He happens to be an old friend of mine. He is utterly reliable, honest and a man of integrity.’

‘There is also the Discreet Agency,’ Helga said.

Freeman frowned.

‘In confidence, that agency should be avoided.’

‘Thank you.’

A girl came in with ten one-thousand dollar bills and the receipt which Helga signed, making sure the numbers of the bills were on the receipt. She put the bills in her bag.

Looking at Freeman with her cold, hard eyes, she said, ‘Please keep this receipt safely, Mr. Freeman. It could figure in a criminal charge.’

‘I understand, Mrs. Rolfe.’

Freeman’s bewildered expression clearly showed he wished he did understand, but this was Herman Rolfe’s wife and you didn’t ask questions when dealing with the wife of one of the richest men in the world.

Satisfied with her morning’s activities, Helga returned to the hotel. She had a lonely vodka martini on the terrace, then a light lunch in the grill-room. She had an hour before she called on the British Agency. She went to her suite and lying on the bed, rehearsed what she would say to Mr. Gritten.

The telephone buzzed, interrupting her thoughts.

‘This is Dr. Bellamy, Mrs. Rolfe. I have consulted with Dr. Levi. He agrees that Mr. Rolfe can be moved. Dr. Levi has spoken to Mr. Winborn. There will be a chartered plane ready to leave tomorrow at 14.00.’

‘This is splendid news, doctor, and thank you for all you have done.’

She called the Hall porter and asked him to find Hinkle. Ten minutes later Hinkle appeared. She told him what Dr. Bellamy had said.

‘Please arrange for someone to pack my things tomorrow morning, Hinkle. Will you also interview this boy, Dick Jones and see he is ready to travel with us?’

Hinkle inclined his head.

‘Yes, madame.’

When he had gone, she left the hotel and drove to Ocean avenue where the British Agency had their offices.

Checking the directory board she saw that the Discreet Inquiry agency: Mr. Harry Jackson was on the fourth floor. The British Agency: Mr. Frank Gritten was on the fifth floor.

She took the elevator to the fifth floor.

An elderly, brisk woman welcomed her.

‘Mr. Gritten is waiting for you, Mrs. Rolfe,’ she said and led Helga into a large, sunny inner office.

The V.I.P. treatment, Helga thought. How long will it last?

Frank Gritten looked what he was: an ex-police officer, big, bulky, thick white hair, steady blue eyes and a calm expression that gave confidence.

‘Please sit down, Mrs. Rolfe. I was sorry to read about Mr. Rolfe.’

Helga sat down. She looked directly at Gritten.

‘I have been talking to Mr. Freeman of the Nassau Bank. He tells me I can have every confidence in you, Mr. Gritten.’

Gritten smiled.

‘Freeman and I have been good friends for years.’ He sat down at his desk. ‘Yes, Mrs. Rolfe, you can have confidence in me. What can I do for you?’

‘My husband, Mr. Gritten, has been ill for some time. This illness has affected his mind. He has got it into his head that I am being unfaithful to him,’ Helga said and looked directly at the thoughtful, but probing policeman’s eyes. ‘Three days ago, he hired an inquiry agent to have me watched: a man called Harry Jackson.’

Gritten nodded, his face expressionless.

‘A day after Mr. Rolfe hired this agent, he suffered this stroke. The agent is worried about his fees. According to him, no terms were discussed when my husband hired him. The agent has approached me, asking me to pay him. According to him he has worked for two days, hiring two people to watch me. I would like to ask you what would be a reasonable fee to pay him?’

Gritten reached for a battered pipe.

‘May I have your permission to smoke, Mrs. Rolfe?’

She made an impatient movement.

‘Of course.’

As he filled his pipe, he said, ‘He is entitled to a retainer. The minimum would be three hundred dollars. For a client of Mr. Rolfe’s standing, he could reasonably ask one thousand dollars. Then he would also be entitled to one hundred dollars a day expenses. For two days’ work, you can pay him one thousand two hundred dollars, but not a dollar more.’

‘Mr. Jackson is asking ten thousand dollars.’

Gritten’s blue eyes turned steely.

‘Have you proof of that, Mrs. Rolfe?’

‘Nothing in writing.’

‘You are speaking to me in confidence,’ Gritten said. ‘Nothing you say to me will leave this office. In my turn, I will speak to you in confidence. For the past six months, the Nassau police have been trying to revoke Jackson’s licence. They suspect he is a blackmailer, but so far they have no proof. If you could and would supply evidence that he is asking for ten thousand dollars for two days’ work, the police would put him out of business.’

‘How is it then, Mr. Gritten, that he is associated with Lawson’s Inquiry Agency in New York who I understand is a highly reputable firm?’

Gritten puffed at his pipe.

‘Jackson was one of their operators. Four years ago he came down here and set up on his own. Lawson’s backed him. A year ago, Jackson got himself involved with a nightclub singer. She is demanding and to hold on to her, Jackson has been spending. He is now short of money and from what you are telling me, he appears no longer fussy how he gets it.’

Know your enemy!

Helga felt a moment of triumph. The cards were falling her way.

‘Do you know anything about this woman, Mr. Gritten?’

He removed his pipe and began to rub the bowl.

‘If you want to put Jackson where he belongs, Mrs. Rolfe, you should come with me to the police who will give you every assistance and in the strictest confidence.’

‘Thank you, Mr. Gritten, but I prefer to handle Jackson myself,’ Helga said curtly. ‘I would appreciate any information you can give me. Who is this woman?’

‘Her name is Maria Lopez. She works at the Blue Bird club. She is married to Ed Lopez who owns and captains a mail boat that runs between here and the Out islands,’ Gritten pulled at his pipe. ‘Lopez is an interesting character. For sometime now, the police have been watching him. He leads a waterfront gang known as the Death’s Heads. This gang terrorizes those who work on the waterfront, exacting dues, fines and so on. Lopez is as dangerous as a mad dog, Mrs. Rolfe.’

‘Doesn’t he care for his wife?’

Gritten smiled.

‘Yes, he cares very much. As I said, Lopez is an interesting character. When he trusts someone, he trusts them. He trusts his wife.’

‘And yet she and Jackson...’

‘She is greedy and Jackson spends money on her. They both know the danger they run and their affair is more than discreet, so discreet no one, except the police, know about it.’

‘So you could say Jackson is playing with dynamite?’

Gritten’s smile broadened.

‘That, Mrs. Rolfe, is an understatement.’

She got to her feet.

‘Thank you. You have been more than helpful. What do I owe you?’

Gritten levered himself out of his chair.

‘Mrs. Rolfe, I have read about you. If you will pardon me, it seems that you are what my American friends call a tough cookie. Anything I have told you that can fix Jackson is for free. You have my best wishes, but please remember that Jackson is also a tough cookie. If you need help, I am entirely at your service.’

‘I won’t need help, Mr. Gritten, but thank you for the offer.’ Then flashing on her most charming smile, she left the office and not bothering to wait for the elevator, she ran down the stairs.

On her way back to the hotel, she glanced at her watch. The time was 16.20. She thought of the long hours ahead of her before confronting Jackson.

If only she wasn’t so alone! If only she had someone to help her pass the hours until the morning. She must take no risks. She would stay in her suite, have a lonely dinner on the terrace and take two sleeping pills for company.

She smiled bitterly. One of the richest women in the world and alone!

At 09.00 the following morning, Hinkle appeared with the service trolley.

‘I trust you slept well, madame,’ he said as he poured the coffee.

‘Yes, thank you.’ The two sleeping pills had given Helga an excellent sleep. She was feeling relaxed and her mind was very alert. ‘I am sure you will be glad to get home, Hinkle.’

‘Yes, madame. I find hotel life disagreeable.’

‘Did Mr. Rolfe have a good night?’

‘Apparently. He is under sedation, madame.’

She stirred her coffee.

‘You saw Jones?’

Hinkle’s face darkened.

‘Yes, madame. He will be ready to travel after lunch.’

Casually, she said, ‘He seems to be intelligent.’

‘It would appear so.’ Hinkle’s voice conveyed his disapproval. ‘He has, of course, a lot to learn.’

So Dick — she was now thinking of him as Dick — had made no difficulties. She felt a surge of excitement.

‘I have to go out this morning and I will lunch in the grill-room.’

‘Everything will be packed, madame. I will take care of the hotel cheque. We will leave at 13.30.’

‘You are a great comfort to me, Hinkle.’ She smiled fondly at him.

‘It is good of you to say so, madame. I have already packed Mr. Rolfe’s clothes and papers.’ Hinkle paused. ‘The red folder containing the letter to Mr. Winborn is missing.’

Helga felt a chill run over her. She should have thought of this possibility. Her mind worked swiftly. It was vital to her to retain Hinkle’s trust. This was a sudden and dangerous situation. She had to keep him on her side.

‘You have been good enough to tell me that you approve of me,’ she said quietly, forcing herself to look directly at him. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you confided in me. I consider your confidence to be the act of a true friend, and Hinkle, I do need a friend.’

Hinkle’s fat face softened. He bowed slightly and his eye’s turned moist. She saw at once she was using the right approach.

‘You advised me to read this letter. I did. Hinkle, I apologize. When you said Mr. Rolfe’s mind was affected, I didn’t believe you. I couldn’t believe he has become a mental case. I saw him yesterday and I realized he has become a mental case. I now realize you are much wiser than I am. He looked at me with frightening hatred. I know people suffering from mental troubles turn on those they love the most. He and I have always been so close... so happy together. I have done everything I could do for him.’ She put her hands to her face and caught her breath in a choked sob, willing the tears to come.

‘Please, madame, don’t distress yourself,’ Hinkle said, his voice unsteady. ‘May I say...’

She looked up. A tear rolled down her cheek.

‘No, please don’t, Hinkle. This is distressing for us both. You have been so kind to me. I read the letter. If Mr. Winborn reads it, my future is finished.’ She lifted her hands in a gesture of despair. ‘I know, as you know, if Mr. Rolfe had been normal he would never have written such a cruel, unjust letter. I took it.’ She closed her eyes and another tear rolled. ‘Dr. Levi tells me that Mr. Rolfe can’t live much longer. I will keep the letter safely. If he recovers I will put the letter back among his papers, but if he dies — and pray God he won’t and I pray God this dreadful mental illness will pass — then I intend to destroy the letter.’ She looked directly at him. ‘Tell me if I am doing wrong.’

‘Madame,’ Hinkle said huskily, ‘I wouldn’t have suggested you read that letter unless I hoped you would remove it. This is a sad and shocking thing. I am afraid Mr. Rolfe is a very sick man and what you have done is right. It will give me great satisfaction, madame, to continue to serve you.’

Helga turned away, frightened he would see the triumph that jumped into her eyes.

‘Thank you, Hinkle,’ she said huskily.

She waited until the door closed, then she drew in a long deep breath. The cards were still falling for her. Trusting, kind Hinkle! She felt a pang of shame for deceiving him which she immediately dismissed.

Offence is better than defence.

Now for Jackson!

An hour later, she found parking in Ocean avenue and took the elevator to the fourth floor of Jackson’s office block. She tapped on the frosted glass panel of his door, turned the handle and walked into a small office.

She was calm and the steel in her gave her fatalistic courage. Before long she would know if bluff and courage would defeat Jackson or if he was really the tough cookie that Gritten had said he was.

Facing her was a battered desk at which sat a young coloured girl with frizzy hair. She was wearing faded blue Levis and a man’s crude coloured shirt, the tails knotted at her waist. She was reading a movie magazine and seeing Helga, her black eyes opened wide. Helga had deliberately dressed severely in a slate grey costume, relieved only by a string of pearls. Her cold sophistication and her hard, searching stare seemed to mesmerize the girl.

‘Mr. Jackson,’ Helga said, her voice snapping.

‘Yeah, ma’am.’

The girl slid off her seat and opened a door on her right.

‘You gotta customer,’ she said into the room.

Helga brushed the girl aside and entered a shabby office only slightly larger than the outer office. She looked around, noting the two windows were grimy, the carpet threadbare, the steel filing cabinets badly scored.

Jackson who had been reading a racing sheet, jumped to his feet, dropping the sheet on the floor.

‘Well, this is a surprise,’ he said, forcing a grin.

Helga looked him over. This wasn’t the immaculate blackmailer who had met her at the Pearl in the Oyster restaurant. This was Jackson in his working clothes; a shabby suit that needed pressing, a shirt with grubby cuffs and a food stain on the tie.

She waited until the girl had closed the door, then moving to a well worn leather chair by the desk, she sat down.

‘I am rather rushed, Mr. Jackson,’ she said. ‘Mr. Rolfe and I are leaving Nassau on the two o’clock flight. He has asked me to settle your account.’

Just for a moment, bewilderment showed in Jackson’s eyes, then he recovered himself and laughed.

‘That’s swell of him, Mrs. Rolfe. I’m happy to hear he has made such a quick recovery.’

‘How much does he owe you?’

Jackson’s eyes narrowed.

‘We had agreed about that, Mrs. Rolfe.’

‘How much does he owe you?’ Helga repeated.

‘You agreed to pay me ten thousand dollars.’

‘Mr. Rolfe will find that excessive.’

His face suddenly bleak, Jackson said, ‘That doesn’t concern me, Mrs. Rolfe.’ Then the confident jeering smile appeared. ‘That’s for you to arrange with him, isn’t it?’

Helga shrugged. She opened her bag and took out the ten one thousand dollar bills. She counted them so he could see them, then put them in her lap.

‘If you will give me a receipt for ten thousand dollars for two day’s work to give to Mr. Rolfe, I will pay you.’

His confident smile faded.

‘So you are still trying to act tricky. I warned you about that, didn’t I? That kite won’t fly. I’ll give you a receipt for one thousand dollars, the rest of the money is strictly between ourselves.’ He paused, then leaning forward his eyes like stones, he asked, ‘Have you got one of your fancy recorders in your bag?’

She nodded.

‘I have, but it is not recording.’ She took the tiny recorder from her bag. ‘I brought it along so you could hear a recording I made yesterday. It is a conversation between myself and Dick Jones, your fink as you call him.’

Jackson stiffened.

‘You may be a professional peeping Tom,’ Helga went on, ‘but you are a very amateur blackmailer.’

‘You think so?’ Jackson leaned forward, his face now an ugly snarling mask. ‘Listen to me, baby, I’ve got you over a barrel! Give me that money or I’ll take it!’

‘You could be stupid enough to do just that.’ She placed the roll of bills on the desk. ‘So you are not only a blackmailer, you are also a thief.’

Jackson reached for the money, then he paused and withdrew his hand. His eyes turned shifty as he stared at her.

‘What are you cooking up?’

‘A good question to use your own phrase,’ Helga was beginning to enjoy herself. ‘The bank has the numbers of these bills. The police, so I am told, are only waiting for you to make a slip and away goes your licence. I can prove this money belongs to me. Can you prove you didn’t steal it? But go ahead and take it.’ She paused, then said in a soft, deadly voice, ‘Providing, of course, Mr. Jackson, you have the guts.’

For a long moment, he stared at the money, then at her. Blood rushed to his face.

‘Right!’ he said. ‘That’s it, baby! You have had your chance! The letter goes to Winborn!’

She laughed.

‘Have you lost your nerve, Mr. Jackson? I am surprised. You are just a cheap phoney. How about the five hundred thousand you and your fink are going to share? Haven’t you got the guts to fight for that?’

‘Listen, you bitch...’

‘No, Mr. Jackson, you listen to this,’ and she switched on the recorder’s playback.

As Dick Jones’ voice came from the tiny speaker. Jackson stiffened. He remained like a stone man until the recording finished, then he snatched up the recorder and put it in his pocket.

‘Don’t panic, Mr. Jackson, I have a copy,’ Helga said.

He glared at her, his good looks marred by vicious fury.

‘Do you imagine anyone would believe a half-caste bastard’s word against mine?’

‘Don’t you? You look worried.’

‘Nice bluff, baby, but it won’t work. You nearly had me going.’ He forced a grin. ‘Nearly, but not quite. No Judge would rule a tape recording. The first thing he would want to know is what was in the letter and how did you get hold of it from your husband’s papers. You’d look pretty stupid wouldn’t you, trying to explain. No, baby, you don’t bluff me. Now let’s cut out the smart tricks. I want clean ten one-thousand dollar bills and I want bearer bonds for five hundred thousand or else...’

She studied him and realized he played a King to her Queen, but she wasn’t dismayed, she still held the trump card.

‘I did hope the tape would frighten you into giving me the letter, Mr. Jackson,’ she said quietly. ‘I see I have misjudged you.’

He stared suspiciously at her, then his face brightened and he laughed.

‘It was a good try, baby. We all make mistakes. Now here’s what you do.’

‘I know what I am going to do.’ She leaned forward and stared fixedly at him. ‘Something I don’t want to do because, although you are a four letter man, Mr. Jackson, I don’t wish you dead as I don’t wish anyone dead.’

His eyes narrowed.

‘Are you threatening me?’

‘Regretfully, Mr. Jackson, you force me to blackmail you as you are blackmailing me.’

‘What are you yakking about? Suppose you cut out this double talk? Here’s what you do...’

‘I telephone Ed Lopez and tell him you are screwing his wife,’ Helga said, speaking each word slowly and distinctly. ‘I will tell him to contact Frank Gritten for proof. You have been watched, Mr. Jackson. That’s what I will do unless you give me that letter immediately!’

Jackson reared back: blood left his face, his mouth turned slack and his eyes became glazed.

‘If you have anything to hide, Mr. Jackson, never try blackmail,’ Helga said. ‘Give me that letter!’

Five minutes later, the red folder in her hand, she swept out of the office, past the staring young coloured girl and down the stairs to the street.