1977 - I Hold the Four Aces (20 page)

“Leave? I - I thought you understood, Hinkle.”

“It is you who must understand,” Hinkle said, regarding her. “For you to understand, I must ask you to listen to what I have to say without interruption, and then, of course, you are at liberty to accept or reject what I am about to tell you.”

Helga felt a sudden cold chill run up her spine. She had a presentiment of disaster.

“I find all this most odd, Hinkle, but what have you to say?”

“I have a niece, madame; the daughter of my sister. Some fifteen years ago, she married a young Frenchman, Jean Faucon, and they settled in Paris. Faucon was a police officer. Soon after they married, he transferred to Interpol. Over the years, he has had an excellent career, and at this moment, he is an assistant commissioner. I regret to tell you, madame, when I met Mr. Grenville, I had serious doubts about him. Yesterday, I telephoned my nephew-in-law and asked him if Mr. Grenville was known to Interpol.”

Helga’s face went white.

“How dare you do such a thing!” she rasped. “You are out of your mind with jealousy! I won’t listen to another word!”

Hinkle regarded her sadly.

“You will listen to what I have to say, madame. I have all the proof you need to convince you that what I am about to tell you is fact. Last night, a police officer arrived with Mr. Grenville’s police dossier which, as a very special favour, my nephew-in-law had had flown to Geneva. It is a photocopy. Mr. Grenville is wanted by the German police on three charges of bigamy.”

Helga shrivelled. She put her hands to her face while she stared at Hinkle.

“Bigamy?” Her voice was husky.

“Yes, madame. According to the dossier, Mr. Grenville appears to prey on elderly women. His method appears to be to find some rich, lonely woman, marry her, live on her until he becomes bored with her, and then leave her to repeat the operation with some other lonely woman.”

“I can’t believe it!” Helga cried, her voice shrill. “I won’t believe it! I won’t listen to you!”

Relentlessly, Hinkle continued, “The kidnapping was an obvious fake. The police have established that only two days ago, Mr. Grenville and Mr. Archer were seen together in your Rolls. There is no question about that. Mr. Archer gave the policeman his card, and Mr. Grenville showed the policeman his passport. I have listened to the tape recording I made of your interview with Mr. Archer, and Mr. Archer said he hadn’t met Mr. Grenville, yet the day before, he was in your car with Mr. Grenville.”

Helga closed her eyes and her hands turned into fists.

“The details are here in this dossier.”

“Bigamy!” The word came from her in a wild cry. “The sonofabitch wanted me to marry him!”

Hinkle watched her sadly. Then he saw a sudden change in her. She stiffened, and her eyes snapped open. Her face became a mask of marble, and her eyes turned into blue points of steel.

Getting to her feet, she began to pace the terrace. Hinkle sat still, looking down at his freckled hands.

After some minutes, she came to him.

“Women are fools, aren’t they, Hinkle?” She put her hand on his shoulder. “Will you please put on your white coat?”

Hinkle got to his feet.

“It will be a pleasure, madame.”

She regarded him.

“In an hour, Archer will be arriving. Send him to me. I will deal with him.”

The steely note in her voice was reassuring to Hinkle.

“Very well, madame.”

When he left the terrace, Helga, smouldering with fury, took the papers from the orange envelope and began to read them.

chapter eight

A
rcher lay in bed in the cramped bedroom of the rented villa. He had scarcely slept that night. It had been a shock to realize that he was now in the hands of the Mafia, and that Grenville was in an even more precarious situation. Archer now wished desperately that he hadn’t embarked on this kidnap plan.

The idea of getting two million dollars from Helga had dulled his caution. He ran his fingers through his thinning hair. He told himself that he had been utterly reckless to have ever mixed himself up with a man like Moses Seigal, and out of his mind to have gone to a thug like Bernie with his story of a faked kidnapping.

He cringed at the thought of having to tell Helga the ransom money now would be increased to ten million dollars. How would she react? She could, of course, afford to pay, but would her fascination for Grenville run to such a sum? Suppose she tried to bluff? Suppose she even refused? Suppose these thugs cut off Grenville’s ear and forced him (Archer) to deliver it to Helga?

This was unthinkable! It mustn’t happen! He must convince her she had to pay!

He longed to snatch up his suitcase, desert Grenville, and leave Switzerland, then go to England, but Bernie had guessed he might bolt. Without his passport, he couldn’t leave!

He twisted and turned in the bed, sweat beading his face. Now, if he could trust Bernie, he would get only five hundred thousand dollars. A million seemed so safe, but five hundred thousand would cut his plans by half. But suppose, when Helga paid, Bernie laughed at him and gave him nothing? This was a serious possibility!

His heart thumping sluggishly, Archer heaved himself out of bed and went into the bathroom. As he shaved, he regarded himself in the mirror. His fat heavy face was waxy-white and dark rings were around his eyes from lack of sleep. His look of despair and defeat, like the mark of a leper, was there for anyone to see.

He hunted for a clean shirt, finally finding one in his suitcase: a shirt with a frayed collar and a button missing from one of the cuffs. He felt old and shabby, but he must, he told himself, pull himself together. He mustn’t let Helga get a hint that he was in trouble. He knew her so well. She was utterly ruthless, once she knew she had the advantage.

Then he did something he had never done before at this hour in the morning. He went to the closet and took out the bottle of whisky. He poured a stiff drink and tossed it down, then he poured another, and carrying the glass, he sat down, feeling the whisky moving through him, strengthening him.

The second drink made him slightly drunk, but at least, he felt much more confident.

At 10.15 the telephone bell rang.

It was Bernie.

“In a few minutes, Mr. Archer, you will be negotiating on my behalf with the Rolfe woman. I am relying on you. Do you anticipate trouble?”

“I don’t know. She is difficult.”

“It occurred to me that it would be an idea if Mr. Grenville spoke to her. He is a little nervous, and he could be very convincing. In fact, Mr. Archer, he appears very concerned about losing an ear. So I suggest you time your arrival at her villa at exactly eleven o’clock, then in half an hour, I will get Mr. Grenville to the telephone. It could make the deal easier for you.”

Archer hesitated, then realizing he would need all the help he could get, said, “Yes, do that.”

“Then at eleven-thirty, Mr. Grenville will call her,” and Bernie hung up.

Archer began to pace up and down in the small living-room. If Grenville talked as hysterically as he had done the previous day on the telephone, Archer felt there was every possibility that Helga’s resistance to the new demand would be demolished, always providing she was as in love with Grenville as Grenville claimed. Archer began to be more hopeful that she would pay, but he was far from hopeful that Bernie would give him anything, once the transaction was over.

Bernie had asked for bearer bonds. Bolstered by the whisky, Archer suddenly smiled. No! He wouldn’t ask Helga for bearer bonds. The money would have to be paid into his own numbered account where Bernie couldn’t get his hands on it! That was the way to handle it! By doing this, he had Bernie under control. Bernie wouldn’t dare do anything to him as long as the money was in his (Archer’s) account. He would be in a strong position to deal with Bernie. Ten million dollars! He would give Bernie five and keep five for himself. Magnanimously, he decided to give Grenville a million from his own share.

Archer gave a drunken little chuckle. He looked at his watch. It was time to go. Lurching a little, he left the villa and got into the Mercedes. By the time he reached Villa Helios, he was comparatively sober, and much less confident. Leaving the Mercedes at the bottom of the drive, he walked up to the front door and thumbed the bell.

There was a long pause, then the front door opened, and Hinkle surveyed him.

“Hello, Hinkle,” Archer said, forcing a broad smile, “I believe Madame Rolfe is expecting me.”

“That is correct,” Hinkle said stiffly. “I will show you the way.”

Following Hinkle’s broad back, Archer walked through the living-room and out onto the terrace.

Helga, wearing dark sun goggles, lay on a sun chair, a glass of vodka martini on a table by her side.

“Mr. Archer, madame,” Hinkle announced.

Without looking round, Helga waved to an upright chair. Hinkle pushed the chair forward so that when Archer sat down, he would be facing Helga, with the sun in his eyes.

“You may leave us, Hinkle,” Helga said.

“Yes, madame,” and Hinkle went away.

“Well, Helga,” Archer said, and turning the chair so the sun wasn’t in his eyes, sat down. “You look splendid as usual.”

The darkness of her sun goggles bothered him. Her eyes, which he knew from long experience, revealed her feelings, were now masked to him.

She said nothing, nor did she move. Her hands rested in her lap. She seemed completely relaxed.

Archer cleared his throat.

“I have bad news, Helga,” he began. “First I want you to understand that I am representing my client, and what I have to say to you is entirely on his instructions.” He waited, but as she remained silent, he went on, “My client has now realized how very wealthy you are. One of his Mafia friends has just been paid seven million dollars for returning a kidnap victim. My client has raised the ransom price. He wants ten million dollars for Grenville’s return.”

Helga remained still and silent. After a long pause, Archer, sweating, asked uneasily, “Did you hear what I said?”

“I’m not deaf,” Helga said, and the steel in her voice startled him.

“Well, there it is. I assure you this is not of my making. What do you say? Are you willing to pay ten million dollars to get Grenville back?”

Helga moved in her chair: the movements of a cat stretching.

“How much of this money goes to you?” she asked.

“That has nothing to do with you!” Archer snapped. “Is it yes or no?”

She turned her head, and he could feel she was staring at him, but behind the dark sun goggles she was anonymous.

“And suppose it is no?”

So she was going to bluff, and his uneasiness increased.

“That is up to you,” he said. “Grenville is in the hands of vicious people. I regret having to deal with them. If you refuse to pay the ransom, they will cut off one of his ears, and will force me to deliver it to you. This is a terrible situation for me. I am in the same trap as Grenville. I assure you, Helga, if you want him back, you must pay.”

Still regarding him from behind the shield of her sun goggles, she said, “You are in a trap?”

“I’ve explained that to you. I didn’t know I was dealing with the Mafia,” Archer said. “They are utterly ruthless. I am forced to do what they tell me.”

“How sad for you,” Helga said.

He flushed.

“We are wasting time! What is it to be? Yes or no?”

Again Helga moved like a cat stretching, then she reached for her drink and finished it.

“What do you know of a man called Timothy Wilson?” she asked.

Startled, Archer stared at her.

“Timothy Wilson? I am not interested in any Timothy Wilsons! I am asking you: is it yes or no?”

Helga reached for a cigarette and lit it.

“There was a time when I thought you had brains, were shrewd and clever. Since you turned embezzler, forger, blackmailer, and now a creature of the Mafia, I have come to regard you as beyond contempt.”

Archer clenched his fists.

“Now listen to me! I have had enough of your insults! If you want your lover back, you will arrange to pay ten million dollars into an account in Geneva! If you don’t want him back, then say so!”

Helga’s lips moved into a bitter smile.

“Poor, shabby Archer,” she said. “How stupid can you be! Let me tell you about Timothy Wilson. His father was a badly paid golf pro who, at least, taught his son to play good golf. This boy had looks, and a burning ambition. Although he claims to have gone to Eton and Cambridge, actually he left home when he was sixteen, and went to Paris as an apprentice at the Crillion Hotel. There he learned French, but his work was unsatisfactory. He then went to Italy, where he was a waiter in a small restaurant in Milan, but he did learn Italian. His work was never satisfactory. His main interest in life was women. From Italy, he went to Germany, and became a waiter at the Adlon Hotel, and learned German. A rich, elderly woman fell for him, and offered him marriage. They married, and for two years he lived on her, doing nothing, then he got bored with her. He found another rich old woman who offered marriage, and he married her. Again he tired of her demands, and married yet another rich old woman. Before all this happened, Timothy Wilson changed his name to Christopher Grenville.”

Archer felt a shock run through him. He began to say something, but Helga went on, her voice steely, cutting him short. “I have Grenville’s or Wilson’s police dossier,” she said. “He is wanted by the German police for bigamy.”

As Archer slumped down in his chair, sweat beading his face, he heard the telephone bell ring in the living-room.

“Do you still like the look of your four aces?” Helga asked. “That was what you said? You held the four aces?”

Hinkle came out onto the terrace.

“Excuse me, madame, Mr. Grenville is on the telephone, asking to speak to you.”

As Helga shook her head, Archer’s last shred of hope vanished.

“I have no wish to speak to him,” she said.

“Very well, madame.” Hinkle returned to the living-room. In the heavy silence that followed, Archer heard Hinkle say, “Madame has no wish to speak to you.”