You Have Yourself a Deal

Chapter Seven

Had Pfc Willy Jackson not been a light heavyweight champion, his life could easily have been made unbearable by the kidding and leg-pulling of his companions. But since Jackson could lick any man in his battalion, and since he was in an ugly and sullen mood, no one attempted to kid him about the way he had let the Commies walk off with this Swedish chick.

Jackson had recovered consciousness with a bruised and swollen jaw in the Bois. He had been reprimanded and was now on sentry detail at Dorey’s villa, the bruise on his jaw turning a pale yellow and green.

Sergeant O’Leary sent him up onto the Corniche to relieve Pfc Fairfax. The change of guard took place at 13.00 hrs., and now Jackson with his police dog, was taking his duties seriously.

He had been given a black mark by his Commanding Officer and that had hurt Jackson’s feelings. He decided that anyone acting suspiciously on this sun — roasted road should be challenged. He didn’t even sit in the Jeep nor did he allow his dog to sleep. Jackson was breathing fire and was very much on the ball.

A little after 1.30 p.m. with the traffic crawling past him in a steady stream, Jackson saw a young beatnik, carrying a violin case on the narrow sidewalk which ran along the low wall of the mountainside.

A few moments previously, there had been a gap in the traffic, and Jackson had had a clear view of the long strip of the Corniche he was guarding. There had been no pedestrians in sight, and now this young beatnik had materialised from nowhere.

Jackson hesitated only for a moment, then he shouted, “Hey, you! Just a moment!”

Jo-Jo flinched, but kept walking. He controlled the urge to run and looked as casually as he could at the distant view as if he hadn’t heard Jackson’s shout.

“You!”

Jo-Jo kept on.

Jackson snapped his fingers at his dog and pointed. The dog was out of the Jeep like a black flash, whipped in front of a crawling car, got ahead of Jo-Jo and planted itself in front of him. Jo-Jo came to an abrupt halt. There was something deadly in the way the dog stared up at him. For the first time in his short vicious life, Jo-Jo knew fear.

Carrying his automatic rifle at the alert, Jackson crossed the road, his eyes coldly suspicious. He came up to Jo-Jo.

“Didn’t you hear me tell you to stop?” he demanded in his excruciating French.

“Why should I stop for you, Yank?” Jo-Jo said, licking his dry lips.

“What have you got in there?” Jackson said, pointing his rifle at the violin case.

“A violin, and what’s it to you? Listen, Yank, I don’t know what you think you’re doing. I’m a French subject. Take your dog and get lost.”

“Where did you come from?”

“What’s it to you?”

“You’ve come up the mountainside, haven’t you?”

“What should I be doing on the mountainside?” Jo-Jo sneered. “If you don’t want to land yourself in trouble, you’d better leave me alone. I’m a French subject and...”

“I heard you the first time. Open that fiddle case!”

If it hadn’t been for the dog, Jo-Jo would have whipped out his knife, stabbed this fool and made a bolt for it. But the dog made this impossible. Jo-Jo was really scared of the dog.

“You don’t talk this way to me, Yank,” he said. “Get the hell out of my way.”

Jackson hesitated. He realised he had no right to interfere with a French subject, but this dirty, vicious looking little rat had come up the mountainside. He was sure of that and he wasn’t going to let him go.

“Look, sonny, why don’t you act sensibly? If you have nothing to hide, open the fiddle case and you can go. It’s as simple as that.”

“I don’t open anything for a goddamn Yank,” Jo-Jo snarled.

Then out of the crawling traffic appeared a French road cop, immaculate in his white helmet, his blue uniform and his glittering knee-high boots.

Jackson waved to him.

Dropping his violin case, Jo-Jo, frantic now, made a grab at Jackson’s automatic rifle. Two things happened to him at once. Jackson’s left fist thudded against his jaw and the dog pounced, pinning his right wrist.

Girland tapped on Erica’s door. She called for him to come in. He opened the door, then paused in the doorway.

Erica was dressed. She had on a black and green sleeveless frock and she was standing in front of a full-length mirror admiring herself. She turned and smiled at him.

“Well?”

Girland, who adored beautiful women, was for a brief moment so full of admiration that he said nothing, but just looked at her. Then he came into the room, closed the door and walked over to her.

“You look wonderful. That dress... it suits you beautifully.”

She again looked at herself in the mirror.

“I think it does.” She came to him and put her long fingers on his arm. “Mark, can’t I go out into the sun? I am sure I will feel so much better if only I could.”

“Not yet. Please be patient. Come and sit down. I want to talk to you.”

She sat down away from the window, crossed her long, shapely legs and looked inquiringly at him.

“Yes, Mark?”

“I want to try to help your memory,” Girland said. He took a chair near hers. “Does the name Naomi Hill mean anything to you?”

She frowned, thought, then shook her head.

“No... should it mean anything to me?”

From the despairing expression in her blue eyes, Girland was satisfied she wasn’t faking.

“Never mind. The one thing you do seem to remember is this black grape.”

Her eyes lit up.

“Yes. It keeps coming into my mind, but it isn’t a grape, Mark. I think it’s a pearl.”

“That’s right,” Girland said. “It is a pearl, and it is set on the back of a Chinese dragon.”

She stared at him, then nodded.

“Yes... I remember that now. Do you know about it?”

“I know a little about it. Have you got it, Erica?”

She moved uneasily. “Should I have it?”

“I think so. Try to remember. It belonged to Feng Hoh Kung.”

He could see from her expression the struggle going on in her mind. Finally, she threw up her hands.

“It’s no use. It is like trying to open a door that won’t open. There is a black pearl. I do know that. Kung... does he live in Pekin?”

“Yes.”

“Let me think for a moment.” She got up and walked slowly to the open window. Girland watched her. He saw her look down onto the terrace. He saw her stiffen, lean forward, stare, then her hands went to her face and she gave a loud piercing scream that set Girland’s nerves tingling.

She spun around, horror in her eyes.

“What’s the matter with her? Something’s happened to her!”

Girland reached the window in two strides. He looked down onto the terrace where Ginny lay on the chaise lounge. He felt his heart kick against his side.

Ginny lay in an unnatural position. From where he stood, Girland could just make out a tiny red hole in the centre of her forehead. From it oozed a line of blood that ran down the side of her nose, across her parted lips and dripped onto her white, sun suit.

As he turned and started for the door, Erica gave a low, gasping sigh and fell at his feet in a faint.

At the sound of the bell, Malik snatched up the telephone receiver. He had been sitting in the hot, stuffy little room of the villa now for three hours and he was in a white heat of fury.

“Boris,” Smernoff said over the line. “Things have been happening. The woman is dead. The police are looking for us. Do nothing until I get back,” and he hung up.

Malik slowly replaced the receiver. He contained his fury with an effort that brought thick veins out on his forehead. He lit another cigarette and continued to wait.

Half an hour later, Smernoff came into the room.

“Well?”

“There was a path at the back of the villa,” Smernoff said. “Petrovka found it. He walked into an ambush and he’s dead. The police have picked up Jo-Jo Chandy... Yet-Sen’s agent. They caught him with a .22 rifle. He killed the woman with a long distance shot.”

“Are you certain it was the woman?” Malik demanded, glaring at Smernoff.

“There was only one blonde woman in the villa. The nurse was dark. This blonde woman was on the terrace and Chandy picked her off like a sitting duck. Dorey’s flying down...”

Malik stared down at his powerful hands, his face wooden.

“This is our first failure, Boris,” he said. “We could be in trouble.”

“There is always a first time,” Smernoff said philosophically. He was glad this was Malik’s responsibility. He couldn’t see how he himself could be blamed. “What do we do now?”

“I must be absolutely certain this woman is dead,” Malik said. “Get one of your men to talk to the Press.”

“I have already arranged that. He should be calling any moment now.”

Five minutes later, the call came through. Smernoff listened, grunted and then said, “You can return to Paris,” and he hung up. Turning to Malik, he went on, “There’s no doubt about it. The reporter for Nice Matin has seen the body. The dead woman is Erica Olsen.”

Malik shrugged.

“Then we leave at once.” He crossed the room and picking up the telephone receiver, he called Kovski at the Russian Embassy.

While he was breaking the news to Kovski, Dorey arrived at his villa. He came by military aircraft and by fast car from Nice. It was probably the fastest journey he had ever made in his life.

Girland, his eyes bleak and his face pale, explained what had happened.

“O’Halloran’s men didn’t take the job seriously,” he concluded bitterly. “Chandy and Malik’s man got past the guards on the Corniche. That’s something for you to sort out, but I want you to remember that this sentry is responsible for Ginny Roche’s death.”

“All right... all right,” Dorey said impatiently. He wasn’t interested in Ginny Roche. “What about Erica Olsen?”

Girland ignored this.

“At least the French police are efficient. They have made Chandy talk, and they are picking up his two pals. They all work for Yet-Sen.”

“Never mind that. That is a police affair. Is this woman talking yet?”

Girland looked at him in disgust.

“You have a one track mind, haven’t you? It means nothing to you that that kid is dead. Well, she isn’t talking. She’s in shock. She saw Ginny murdered.”

Dorey moved impatiently around the room. Girland watched him, then he said, “I have told the press the murdered woman is Erica Olsen.”

Dorey paused and peered at Girland over the top of his glasses.

“Will they believe it?”

“They do believe it. The Nice Matin man is a friend of mine. I let him see the body. I told him she was the mysterious woman who had lost her memory. He didn’t question it. When the Russians and the Chinese hear Erica Olsen is dead, they will lift the pressure. We can’t go on the way we have been going on. I’m taking Erica out of here. She will leave as Nurse Roche. I’m getting her a dark wig and she’ll wear Ginny’s uniform. Once I get her away from here and the guards, I am sure I can get her to talk.”

Dorey studied him suspiciously.

“Where are you taking her?”

“To an apartment in Monte Carlo. I have made all the necessary arrangements. She will be safe there for a week or so. Look, Dorey, it was your bright idea I should pretend to be her husband. She now accepts this fact, so you are stuck with your idea. You take care of the funeral, give it all the publicity you can and I’ll take care of Erica. All I need is money. Give me a hundred thousand francs. She thinks I am a successful business man and I have to act the part.”

“Where is the apartment?”

Girland scribbled an address on a scratch pad, tore off the sheet and gave it to Dorey.

“Don’t telephone me unless it is urgent. When she talks, I’ll call you.”

Dorey hesitated. He decided the idea might work and he couldn’t think of an alternative. He would have been very uneasy had he overheard the telephone conversation between Girland and Jacques Yew that had taken place half an hour before he had arrived at the villa. In that conversation, Girland had asked Yew if he could accommodate a girl and himself in his apartment overlooking the Beach hotel. He also asked Yew to buy a woman’s brown wig and to come with it at 5.30 p.m. to Dorey’s villa.

Girland had concluded the conversation by saying. “You remember what I was saying, Jacques, about a grape? This has to do with it. Your cooperation now could put you right in the middle of a deal.”

Jacques had said, “You can rely on me, dear boy. Of course you can use my apartment. You can have anything else you want.”

But Dorey didn’t know of this conversation; all the same he was a little dubious about Girland’s plan.

“Nurse Roche could have relations,” he said. “We can’t bury her as Erica Olsen.”

“I will only want a week. There’ll be an inquest. Delay it as long as you can,” Girland said impatiently. “If I can’t get Erica talking in a week, then I never will.”

“Isn’t she remembering anything yet?”

“She remembered staying at the Astorg hotel. You have her suitcase.”

“There were two suitcases. We have only found one.”

Girland looked sharply at Dorey.

“Two suitcases?”

“She left Pekin with two. She had them with her at Hong Kong. O’Halloran is trying to trace the second one, but so far, without success.”

Girland shrugged.

“I want some money. I’ll need at least a hundred thousand francs.”

“I will give you twenty thousand, and you will have to account for every franc,” Dorey said firmly, and sitting down, he took out his cheque book.

“That’s my Dorey,” Girland said in disgust. “Mean in every emergency.”

“Not mean... careful,” Dorey said and signed the cheque with a flourish.

Sadu Mitchell sat in Ruby’s little garden, his eyes going constantly to his wristwatch. It was now seven hours since he had left Jo-Jo on the mountain path. He was worried and uneasy. Pearl, relaxed, waited with oriental calm which irritated Sadu.

Suddenly they both heard Ruby’s high-pitched voice crying out in alarm. They looked at each other. Sadu started to his feet, his fingers closing over the butt of Jo-Jo’s gun.

“What is it?” Pearl said, without moving.

Ruby’s cry of alarm abruptly ceased. There was a moment of silence, more sinister than when she had been screaming. Sadu cursed, kicked away his chair and drew the gun.

“Drop it!” a man’s voice snapped from the open french window.

In a panic, Sadu fired blindly in the direction of the voice. Then he heard the bang of gunfire and felt a violent blow on his chest. He found himself lying on the hot, dry grass. He tried to lift his gun, but he had no strength left and the gun slipped from his grasp. He looked wildly at Pearl who was sitting motionless, her pretty face expressionless, then he became aware of a pair of black, highly-polished jackboots just in range of his darkening vision.

By 17.00 hrs. the activity at the villa had died down. Dorey had gone with Inspector Dulay to the Nice Police Station. Ginny’s body had been taken away in an ambulance. The newspaper men had gone. Sergeant O’Leary had taken his men in three Jeeps to the Airport.

Diallo, wide-eyed and nervous, Erica Olsen and Girland were at last on their own.

From time to time, Girland had gone into Erica’s room where she was lying on the bed, her back turned, her face hidden. Girland didn’t speak to her. He felt it best to wait for her to make her own recovery. At 5.30 p.m. he saw Jacques Yew’s black Cadillac come up the drive and he went out onto the terrace to greet him.

Carrying a paper bag, Yew climbed the steps and the two men went over to lounging chairs, shaded by a sun umbrella. They sat down.

“I don’t know what this is all about, dear boy,” Yew said, putting the bag on the table. “Here is the wig you asked me for. You are being intriguingly mysterious.”

“It’s intriguing all right,” Girland said and went on to tell him the story of Erica Olsen.

“There is just a possible chance she may have the pearl,” he concluded. “If she has, I think I could persuade her to cut us in. You handling the deal, and I getting a cut for putting her in touch with you.”

Yew sat back, his hooded eyes glittering.

“What makes you think she has the pearl?” he asked.

“I’m playing a hunch. The one thing that gets her animated is the pearl. Now a pearl is easy to conceal. If I happened to be the mistress of an old Chinese goat and couldn’t see much future in it, I would look around for something worthwhile to take before I walked out on him. That’s how I would reason and I’m playing a hunch that is the way she has reasoned too.”

“My dear boy! That’s terribly dishonest!” Yew protested for a moment genuinely shocked.

“Yes.” Girland grinned. “But if I’m right, and if she has the pearl, will you sell it for her?”

“Of course I will,” Yew said without hesitation.

“Fine. I’ll bring her to your apartment in about an hour. I have my own car, so you needn’t wait. Did you see any newspaper men on your way up?”

“There was no one.”

“Okay, then you get off. We’ll be joining you in about an hour.”

“You really think she has the pearl? It seems unbelievable.”

“I’m playing a hunch. Anyway, what can we lose?”

Yew looked dubious.

“Well... yes, I suppose that’s right.” He gave Girland a Yale key. “That’s the key of my apartment. You will have it to yourselves. I will stay with my brother. There is a woman who comes in every day. You can get your meals sent in. Is there anything else?”

“No, and thanks, Jacques. We could make some money out of this if we have any luck.” Girland thought for a moment, then repeated, “If we have any luck.”

When Yew had driven away, Girland went up to Erica’s room, taking the paper bag with him. He tapped on the door and entered. Erica was sitting now in a lounging chair. Her face was tense and white and she regarded him with a disconcerting stare.

“Well, darling?” he said as he closed the door. “How are you feeling?”

“You can cut that darling stuff out,” she said in a flat, hard voice. “I don’t know who you are, but I do know you are not my husband.”

Girland smiled.

“That’s a relief,” he said and came over to sit opposite her. “So you are getting your memory back?”

“I’m getting it back. What happened to her?”

“She thought she would look more attractive as a blonde,” Girland said soberly. “They mistook her for you and they killed her.”

Erica flinched.

“And you? Who are you?”

“I guess I had better fill you in,” Girland said. He paused to light a cigarette, then went on. “You were found unconscious in Paris. You were taken to the American hospital. When they put you in bed, they found three tattoo marks on your body... Chinese initials. Some bright boy reported this to the C.I.A. They put two and two together and decided you must be Erica Olsen, the mistress of Feng Hoh Kung, the top missile expert in Pekin. The C.I.A. wants all the information they can get about Kung. They dreamed up an idea. I was to be your husband and you were to tell me all about Kung. But the Chinese and the Russians heard about the tattoo marks and they also decided you must be Erica Olsen. The Chinese decided you were to be liquidated. The Russians decided they wanted to know what you knew about Kung. In the general mix-up, Nurse Roche got shot instead of you. Right now, we have given out you are dead. We have a few days free from pressure before the Chinese and the Russians get to know you are still alive, then they will come after you again.”

She stared down at her long, shapely hands, her face expressionless, then she said, “So that’s it. Well, I know nothing about Kung. Absolutely nothing.”

“Why did you leave him?”

“He bored me.”

“Then why should they want to kill you?”

She hesitated, then still not looking at him, she said, “Kung is possessive. I was his toy. He breaks his toys if they don’t give him pleasure.”

“A young girl died because of you,” Girland said quietly. “You might have died, but she was the unlucky one. Your chances of survival are still pretty thin. You may think you can play this on your own, but I assure you you can’t. I have only to walk out on you for you to be in real trouble. You have no money. You have no passport. You will be in a hell of a jam unless you cooperate.”

She looked steadily at him. “What does, that mean?”

“You must know something about Kung. Every scrap of information we can get about him could be useful.”

“I can tell you about his sex life if that would interest you,” she said, shrugging. “That is all I know about him. I had a house of my own. He visited me twice a week. He never talked about his work. He was generous, a little kinky and very dull.”

“Kinky?”

“He had this tattoo mania.” She leaned back in her chair and stared out of the open window. “I hadn’t much money. I was secretary to a Swedish businessman who was trying to sell lumber to the Chinese. He paid me badly. I met Kung and he offered me three hundred dollars a week to be his mistress.” She shrugged. “A house, servants and a car went with the offer. I accepted. It pleased him to put his stamp on me... so I let him.”

“Did you ever visit his home?”

“I went once. It wasn’t a home, it was a museum.”

“So he bored you and you left him,” Girland said. “He must have been very boring for you to give up three hundred dollars a week.”

“He was.”

“And he was so annoyed, he told his agents to kill you?”

“Yes.”

“How were you planning to live after the luxury of a house, servants and a car, plus three hundred dollars a week?”

She shrugged.

“I can always get a job.”

“That’s not very convincing.” Girland’s voice hardened. “Kung owns one of the finest collections of jewellery and jade in the world. You didn’t pick up some trifle before you left, planning to sell it and retire in comfort for the rest of your life?”

Erica stiffened for a brief moment, then she relaxed and smiled mockingly at him.

“Are you suggesting I am a thief?”

“Oh no, an opportunist, perhaps.” He regarded her. “Like myself.”

“You are beginning to interest me,” she said. “So you are an opportunist.” She studied him, then nodded. “You certainly look like one. Just who are you?”

“I won’t bore you with my biography. I am an opportunist. I search for a rainbow in every sky. Right now, I have to admit, it hasn’t got me anywhere.” Girland made a rueful grimace. “I work for the Central Intelligence Agency because the work offers me excitement, interest and money. When I am not working for them, I try to earn a living as a street photographer. But like you, I am bored with my way of life. I am looking for a big killing.”

“I think I would like a cigarette,” she said.

When he had given her one and lit it, she stared out of the window and he could see she was thinking.

As she said nothing for a minute or so, Girland said, “We are leaving here. We are going to stay in an apartment owned by a dealer in precious stones. He is also an opportunist. He has several rich contacts. He handles items without asking questions and he pays cash.”

She slowly turned her head and stared thoughtfully at him.

“Does he?”

Girland smiled at her.

“Think it over. If my boss is convinced you know nothing about Kung except the way he behaves in bed, he will drop you like a hot potato. Then you will be out on a limb. Your chums at the Chinese Embassy will come after you and you will end up like poor little Ginny with a hole in your head.”

“Do you think so?” She was very calm and her eyes mocking.

“Let’s leave it for now. You have a few days to think it over. Here is a beautiful wig. I’ll get Ginny’s uniform. We leave here in half an hour.”

When he had left the room, Erica Olsen stared out of the window, her slim fingers tapping gently on her knee.

The apartment was spacious, luxuriously furnished and had a magnificent view of the harbour, Onassis’ yacht, the Palace and the Casino. There was a big terrace with sun umbrellas, furniture, tubs crammed with begonias and geraniums and an orange tree heavy with fruit.

Erica stood on the terrace, her hands on the balcony rail and looked down at the view.

Girland said, “You settle in. I’m going down to organise dinner. I don’t think it would be wise for you to go out just yet.”

She didn’t say anything, but continued to stare down at the view. Her face was thoughtful. Girland had the idea she was wrestling with a problem. Leaving the apartment, he found a nearby Traiteur and ordered smoked salmon, coq au vin, forest strawberries and a carton of ice cream to be sent up to the apartment in a couple of hours’ time. It gave him some pleasure to pay for the meal with Dorey’s money. He thought regretfully that he was going to miss this luxury when eventually he returned to Paris, but cheered himself up with the reminder that with any luck he might return a rich man. Deciding to give Erica plenty of time to think, he drove to the Casino. He spent an hour there and lost thirty francs, then he drove back, took the elevator to the top floor of the building and entered Yew’s apartment.

Erica was sitting in the sun, a cigarette smouldering between her fingers. She had changed out of the Nurse’s uniform and was now wearing a white and blue dress that fitted her full, sensual curves. She didn’t look towards him, and seeing she was still preoccupied with her thoughts, he went into his bedroom, stripped off and took a cold shower. By the time he had shaved and changed, he heard her moving around in her bedroom which was opposite his.

“Dinner will be along in ten minutes,” he called and began to set the table on the terrace.

A little after 19.30 p.m. a boy delivered the meal and Girland, humming under his breath, set the food out on Yew’s beautiful Chinese plates.

He was drawing the cork from a bottle of Margaux ‘45 when Erica came out onto the terrace. She now seemed much more relaxed.

“This looks good,” she said as Girland drew out her chair. She smiled up at him. “You are very well organised, aren’t you?”

“When I have other people’s money to spend,” Girland said, sitting opposite her, “I’m right on the ball.” He poured a shot of vodka into two crystal glasses to go with the smoked salmon. “I’m not so hot when it comes to looking after my own money. I am better handling other people’s headaches than my own.”

“I’m not good either about handling my affairs.” She ate some salmon. “This is delicious.”

“That’s why I thought you and I could get together.” Girland passed a plate of brown bread and butter. “Tell me how you managed to get hold of Kung’s black pearl.”

She cut a piece of salmon, regarded it, then put it m her mouth. Watching her, Girland saw her face was expressionless.

“Is this Scotch or Norwegian salmon?” she asked.

He laughed.

“Scotch.”

“It is the best.” She sipped her vodka, then looked straight into his eyes. “This friend of yours with rich contacts. If he had the pearl, could he sell it?”

“Yes. The sale would be arranged very discreetly. There are still a number of collectors with lots of money who can’t resist anything really unique and who are prepared to buy and not ask questions.”

“Is that right?” She ate in silence and Girland, patient, enjoyed the salmon while waiting for her next move. When they had finished, he removed the plates and served the coq au vin that was standing on the electric hot plate.

“I am sure my friend won’t mind us drinking his best wine on such an occasion,” he said as he poured the Margaux. “This is a beauty.”

“Did your friend mention a price?” she asked after sampling the coq au vin and praising it.

“He would try for three million dollars. That would be gross, of course. He would have to have a cut.” Girland gave her his charming smile. “I would have to have one too.”

“What would be the price net then?”

“Two million which, of course, is a nice, useful sum.”

She regarded him thoughtfully, then nodded.

“I suppose it is.”

“But you were hoping for more?”

“One always does.” She laid down her knife and fork. “That was really very good. The wine is wonderful.”

“One should always eat well when arranging a deal.”

“Is that what we are doing?”

“I was under that impression.”

As she said nothing, he cleared the plates and put the strawberries on the table and the ice cream in one of Yew’s precious egg shell Chinese bowls.

She said suddenly, “There is always the possibility that he wouldn’t get three million dollars.”

“He seems pretty confident that he will get it.”

“The transaction would be in cash?”

“That would be a lot of cash. He could arrange to pay in Swiss bearer bonds. These are as good as cash and much more convenient to handle. That’s the way I would take my share.”

“You seem very sure you are going to have a share,” she said as she helped herself to ice cream.

“I’m not only an opportunist,” Girland said. “I am also an optimist.”

“Just how would the deal be handled?”

“Yew would have to see the pearl. He would have to satisfy himself it was Kung’s pearl and not a clever fake. He would then contact the buyer. There would be a minor delay, then the bonds would be handed over and that would be that.”

“It sounds very simple, doesn’t it?”

“Where is the pearl, Erica?”

“I was wondering when you were going to ask that. It is quite safe.” She leaned back in her chair and gave him an amused smile. “So you see... I admit I have the pearl.”

Girland drew in a long breath of relief. His hunch had paid off, he thought, now for the deal. He and Yew would split the million dollars, and at long last he would be in the money.

“I had an idea you had it. Well, now, when can you show it to Yew?”

“His offer is absurd,” Erica said calmly. “The pearl is utterly unique. There is no other like it in the world. I have already been offered four million and I want six.”

Girland stared at her.

“But there’s not that amount of money in the hands of any collector,” he said. “Now, look, Erica...”

“I have a contact who says there could be. There is a certain oilman who is supposed to be worth two hundred million dollars and he is a collector. He could afford to pay six million for it.”

“Then why don’t you sell it to him?” Girland asked, sure she was lying.

“There are complications.”

“What complications?”

“That is not your affair.”

Girland finished his strawberries, then getting up, he poured coffee from the percolator.

“Let’s sit comfortably and enjoy the view,” he said and carried the two cups of coffee to a side table and dropped into one of the lounging chairs.

Erica joined him. They both looked down at the glittering lights round the harbour and the Palace.

“Tell me about the complications.”

“That is not your affair,” she repeated, lighting a cigarette. “Will your Mr. Yew go to six million?”

“I don’t think so.” Girland sipped his coffee, then said, “You’ve talked yourself into a tough spot, baby. You now can’t do without me. Two heads are better than one. I’m good at complications. Tell me about them.”

“You are mistaken,” she said quietly. “I can do without you, and I don’t understand what you mean when you say I am in a tough spot, and please don’t call me baby. I don’t like it.”

“I’m sorry, it won’t occur again,” Girland said, smiling. “Forgive me. Let me explain why you can’t do without me. You have admitted you have the pearl. In crude language, you have stolen it. Now if you and I can’t cooperate, there is nothing to stop me giving this information to the press. Erica Olsen, mistress of Feng Hoh Kung, has stolen the famous Black Grape and is in hiding. What a story! I could then telephone Dorey and tell him the only information you have about Kung is his behaviour in bed. Dorey will immediately withdraw his support and protection. He is a mean man and hates to spend a dollar if he gets no return. In the meantime, every collector, no matter how much he would like to own the pearl, will shun it. It will have become as hot as a red-hot stove. It is only if there is no publicity and the deal is done in secret that you can hope to sell the pearl. Then the French police will arrest you. You will probably languish in jail for six months or even longer until they are satisfied you can’t or won’t tell them where you have hidden the pearl. You mustn’t overlook the fact that the French Government are trying to get on friendly terms with the Chinese. Maybe the police will persuade you to talk, but if they don’t, then they will eventually get bored with you and turn you loose. You will walk out of prison into the arms of Kung’s hatchet men. They will either slit your pretty throat or else they will persuade you to talk, and make no mistake about it a Chinese thug can make anyone talk. So, being intelligent, you will see by now, you can’t do without me. I think three million dollars for nothing isn’t a bad rake off. If your complications are really so complicated, then I would advise you to take the three million. I might add that I don’t believe anyone would pay six million for the pearl and that you are bluffing. Do you get the picture?”

If he had expected to disconcert her, he was disappointed. She let her head drop back on the padded cushion of the lounging chair and she laughed.

“I am beginning to think you are the man I have been looking for,” she said. “You seem to be as unscrupulous as I am. You could have yourself a deal.”

“Where is the pearl, Erica?”

“I wish I could trust you.” She looked steadily at him. “There is so much involved. I can’t make up my mind about you.”

Girland got to his feet.

“Let us get to know each other better,” he said. “There is no better place for a man and a woman to do that than in a bed.”

Her eyes widened with surprise.

“Do you think going to bed with you will solve my problem?”

Girland reached down, took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

“I don’t know. Frankly, I don’t much care. I know you are beautiful and I want you. I think we have talked enough for tonight. I think now we should make love and forget about business. Then tomorrow, when we know each other better, we can talk again. What do you think?”

She rested her hands on his shoulders and she studied his face.

“You are an extraordinary man.”

“I suppose I am.” He put his arms around her and drew her to him. She yielded. His hands slid down her back, cupped her buttocks and he pulled her hard against him, his mouth searching for hers.

She shook her head.

“No, wait. Let’s go to my room.” She broke free, smiling. “I don’t do this with every man I meet, but I do now want to know you better.”

“It’s the certain way,” Girland said and he walked with her across the big lounge, down the wide passage and to her bedroom door. He pushed open the door and as they moved into the room, she gave him a hard shove that sent him off balance, and slid away from him.

The man standing by the open window, a silenced 7.65 mm Luger automatic in his hand, gave Girland the biggest shock of his life.