1954 - Mission to Venice (11 page)

T
hat appears, sir, to be quite a scientific process,” Cherry said, bending to peer at Brun’s prostrate form. “Personally, I should be nervous of fracturing his skull.”

Don leaned weakly against the wall. Cherry’s sudden appearance was so unexpected, his pompous manner so unruffled that Don didn’t know whether to burst out laughing or throw his arms around Cherry’s neck.

“Harry and Giuseppe are in trouble in there,” he said “I’ll get them out; then you can tell me where you’ve sprung from. You wait here and keep a lookout.”

He bent and groped on the landing stage until he found Busso’s gun.

“Perhaps you would care for me to come with you, sir?” Cherry asked “No. You wait here and watch these two.” Don handed back the cosh. “If they move, hit them and hit them hard. Don’t worry about breaking their skulls.”

“If you say so, sir.”

Don re-entered the house, moved silently along the dark passage and paused at the head of the stairs to listen. He could hear Curizo moving about in the cellar. He began to descend the stairs, keeping close to the wall, treading carefully, testing each stair for a creak before putting his weight on it.

Halfway down, he could see into the cellar.

Curizo was pacing up and down, his hands in his trousers pockets.

Don smiled grimly. Curizo was about to have the shock of his life.

He leaned over the banister rail, his gun pointing at Curizo.

“Don’t start anything funny,” he said quietly.

Curizo jumped as if he had been shot. He began to take his hands out of his pockets, but seeing the gun pointing at him, he froze into motionlessness, his lips coming off his teeth in a snarl of fury.

“It didn’t work, pal,” Don said. “Now it’s my turn to get rough.”

“Nice work, boss,” Harry said happily. “I knew you’d pull it off.”

“Stay as you are,” Don went on to Curizo. “I’m itching to shoot you, so if you’re tired of life, start something funny.”

Curizo stood still, his eyes smouldering, his mouth twitching.

Don came down the stairs, slowly step by step, his eyes never leaving Curizo.

“Turn around,” he said.

“I’ll make you pay for this!” Curizo snarled.

“Turn around!”

Slowly Curizo turned. Don reversed the gun, now holding it by its barrel. He stepped softly up to Curizo and slammed the butt of the gun down on top of his head. Curizo grunted, his knees hinged and he flopped to the floor. Don knew he wouldn’t have to hit him again. The jar that had run up his arm as the butt encountered Curizo’s skull told him Curizo would be out for a long time.

“Good shot, boss,” Harry exclaimed. “How did you fix those other two?”

Don went over to him, took out his pocketknife and slashed through the ropes that bound him.

“It was Cherry,” he said. “The old boy was hiding on the landing stage, complete with a swordstick and a cosh. He was terrific!”

“Cherry?” Harry gasped, getting unsteadily to his feet. “How did he know we were here?”

“He’ll tell us,” Don said, freeing Giuseppe. “How are you two feeling?”

“Wet and horrible,” Harry said, grinning.

“I am all right, signore,” Giuseppe said, struggling to his feet. “But I am glad you came back. That man Curizo is bad.”

“An understatement,” Don said, smiling, “but never mind.”

He suddenly remembered Tregarth. In the excitement Tregarth had gone out of his mind. “What happened to Tregarth, Harry? Natzka said he died.”

“I’m afraid that’s right. We hadn’t a chance. The motorboat caught us as we were turning a corner into another rio. I thought it was an accident. We both did what we could for him, but he was pretty bad as you know, and the shock of falling into the water finished him. Five or six men, got up as American tourists, helped us out. We were right off our guard. All we could think of was Mr. Tregarth. I just had time to make sure he was dead when I was hit on the head. I woke up here.”

“Poor devil,” Don said. “You don’t know what happened to his body?”

“I heard one of them say something about burying him out at sea,” Harry said, rubbing his aching wrists. “They seemed anxious his body shouldn’t be found.”

“You’re quite sure he was dead?”

“Yes, boss, there was no doubt about it.”

“All right. Come on, we can’t afford to waste any time. We’ll bring those two thugs down here and rope the three of them up. We have two hours before Natzka begins to wonder what has happened. There’s a lot to be done in those two hours.”

It didn’t take the four of them long to get Busso and Brun down into the cellar. Harry set about roping them while Don tied Curizo up.

While they were doing this, Cherry sat on the chair, nursing his swordstick while he regained his breath.

“Come on, Cherry, tell us what happened,” Don said, busy roping Curizo’s ankles. “How did you get back so fast?”

“I went to the hotel in Paris as you told me to, sir,” Cherry said. “I ascertained that the man who had telephoned you was not Mr. Tregarth. This man had left the hotel, but he had left a message for you. In the note, he said he was in serious danger and was leaving for Brussels. He gave the name of a hotel there and asked you to follow him immediately.”

“I imagined that was the idea,” Don said. “A wild goose chase all over Europe while Natzka was free to do what he liked here.”

“Yes, sir,” Cherry went on, “I decided I might be more useful if I returned immediately. I was fortunate to catch a fast plane back to Milan, and from there I chartered a plane to the Lido. I returned to the palazzo and went to my room. A few minutes later I heard strange voices in the hall and I went to investigate. I found three men with guns, holding up the rest of the staff. They didn’t see me, and deciding the odds were a little too heavy for me, I concealed myself in a cupboard.”

The idea of fat Cherry hiding in a cupboard appealed to Harry.

“Well, you couldn’t call it the skeleton in the cupboard, could you?” he said, grinning.

Cherry gave him a cold, distant stare, and went on, “They sent a man with the staff into the kitchen, and then this Natzka person went into the lounge. I was about to telephone for the police when I heard you come in. I had no time to warn you. I observed you put something in the copper bowl . . .”

“Have you got it, Cherry?” Don asked eagerly.

“Yes, sir. I listened outside the door and heard Natzka ask you for the package. I realized the hiding place wasn’t safe, so I took the liberty of removing the package.”

“And you’ve got it?”

Cherry produced the green oilskin package from his pocket and gave it to Don.

“You will find it quite intact, sir.”

“Well done! You did exactly right.”

“Thank you, sir. I waited outside the house, and followed you when you came out. I had a little trouble in borrowing a gondola, and still more trouble in handling it, but I was fortunate to come across their gondola moored outside this house. I waited on the landing stage, and when the man came out, I threatened him with my sword, and he surrendered.”

Don grinned.

“You deserve the Order of Merit, Cherry,” he said, as he satisfied himself that the three men were now securely tied. “Let’s get out of here. Giuseppe, you take their gondola and lose it. Go home and wait instructions. You two come with me. We’ll go back to the palazzo.”

He led the way quickly up the stairs, followed by the others.

In less than twenty minutes, Don, changed and once more his usual spruce self, sat down in his study to examine the oilskin package while outside in the hall both Harry and Cherry kept guard.

Don slit open the package and carefully unrolled the oilskin. Into his hand dropped a small leather bound book: not more than three inches square. Folded around the book and secured by an elastic band was a sealed envelope addressed to Hilda Tregarth and several sheets of soiled notepaper, covered with neat, small handwriting that Don recognized as the handwriting he had seen on the postcard of the Bridge of Sighs. He glanced inside the book. Apart from the first page that contained a mass of symbols and figures of some complicated code, the rest of the book contained blank pages. He dropped the book into his pocket, then opened up the sheets of notepaper. He saw the letter was addressed to himself, and glancing at the last page, saw the signature: John Tregarth.

He reached for a cigar, lit it, and settling down in his chair, began to read.

Dear Micklem,

By the time this letter reaches you, if it ever does reach you,
it will be most unlikely that I shall still be alive. I am writing this in an empty house in the Calle Mondello. I am in a pretty bad way, and my only hope of getting this to you is through Louisa Peccati who has done everything she can to help me. The leather bound book, you will find with this letter, is of vital importance to the British Government. I can’t tell you what it contains, but every effort will be made by Natzka, an enemy of my country, to regain it. It has been stolen by me from his organization and I am giving it to you to get back at all costs to Sir Robert Graham. I had no idea what I was going to do with the book, ill and trapped as I am, until I saw in the newspaper that you were coming to Venice. I then
remembered how you handled the plane during that run to
Rome and how unperturbed you were when things got hot. If anyone can get this book back to England, you can. I am asking you to get it back not only because of its vital importance to my country, but also because of Hilda who has been led to believe I have turned traitor. The only way I could get at the book was to pretend to go over to the “other side.”
Sir Robert assisted me in doing this. So important was it that they shouldn’t suspect me, my wife has not been told. No one but Sir Robert, you and I know the truth, but now, it doesn’t matter, and I am relying on you to tell my wife and to put her mind at rest.

About the book; whatever you do, don’t do the obvious.
Don’t go to the British Consul with it. Don’t put it into the post. You must deliver the book into Sir Robert’s own hands and no one else’s. These people have agents everywhere, and they would think nothing of tampering with the mails. Trust no one. If Natzka suspects you have the book he won’t hesitate to wipe you out. Don’t underestimate this mission. You will have great difficulty in leaving Italy. Every means will be made to prevent you going. The opposition will follow you across France. What you must constantly keep in mind is there are many officials working for Natzka and what he stands for; the police, the customs men, men at the airports, innkeepers, petrol attendants will have instructions to put your car out of action, crash the plane you are in, arrest you on some pretext on a train. You cannot be too careful, and your task is almost impossible. I’m telling you this so you do not underestimate the opposition.

I spent five nightmare weeks getting out of Vienna, and I
know the dodges they get up to. If they once suspect you have the book, you won’t have a safe second until you hand it to Sir Robert. I am sorry to land you in this mess, but you are my only hope. I know I can rely on you to do your best. The enclosed letter is for Hilda. Will you try to get it to her? It may help to soften the shock of not seeing me again.

Good luck and good hunting.

John Tregarth.

Don turned the sealed envelope over between his fingers as he stared down at the polished top of his desk. His mind was busy. He glanced at his wristwatch. He had a clear hour before Natzka would begin to wonder what Curizo was up to. He did not hesitate to take up Tregarth’s challenge. The prospects of the journey ahead of him gave him a feeling of excitement. He got to his feet, stubbed out his cigar before crossing the room to open the study door.

“Harry!”

“Yes, boss,” Harry said, coming away from the front door.

“Go to Giuseppe as fast as you can, tell him to have the motorboat ready for a trip to the Lido. Tell him I want the tanks filled to capacity. Fast and urgent, Harry!”

Harry nodded, opened the front door and went quickly away into the darkness.

Don turned to Cherry.

“Get a couple of rucksacks and pack them for a week’s camping. You know what I usually take. Organize some food and brandy, and let’s have some action.”

“Very good, sir,” Cherry said, his eyes showing his excitement.

He went off down the passage at a surprising pace.

Don ran upstairs, threw off his lounge suit and put on a wool open-neck shirt, a pair of dark brown slacks and a leather windcheater. He stowed the little book that had come to him from Tregarth in a body belt he put on under his shirt. Moving quickly, he took a small automatic from his dressing table drawer and slipped it into his hip pocket. From a box in the same drawer he took five additional clips of ammunition which he carried downstairs to where Cherry was waiting, rucksacks ready.

“I’m going back to London, Cherry,” Don said as he stowed the ammunition in one of the rucksacks. “If anyone asks for me, tell them I am in Rome on business, and I expect to be back at the end of the week.”

“Very good, sir. You’re sure you wouldn’t like me to come with you?” Cherry asked, his fat face showing his disappointment.

“I want you to stay here and look after things. Harry will be with me.”

Harry himself appeared in the front doorway.