Джеймс Чейз - I Hold the Four Aces

‘Your servant still makes excellent vodka martinis. How lucky you are to be able to afford a servant.’

She sat still, her hands in her lap, her face expressionless. Inwardly, she was boiling with fury.

‘As I was saying,’ Archer went on, ‘this is rather an odd story. Two days ago, I was approached by a man — obviously an Italian — who asked me if I would represent him for a fee of ten thousand francs.’ Archer paused to sip his drink. ‘Since you refused to help me over this little trouble with your husband’s money, I have found it difficult to make a living. It would seem your husband had me blackballed. Whenever I applied for work, I was turned down, so ten thousand francs was a godsend to me.’ He smiled at her. ‘There may possibly come a time when you might lose your money, although I think this is doubtful, but let me tell you, when you have no money, when you are forced to wear a suit like the one I have on, and don’t know when you will be able to buy another, when you are forced to eat at some lowly bistro, and sometimes go without dinner, you will find your attitude towards what is right and what is wrong alters. So, when this man approached me, I listened. He told me you were living with Grenville, and that you appeared to be besotted with him. My client — I will call him that — has been watching both of you. He knows how rich you are. It seemed to him a good idea to kidnap Grenville and hold him to ransom, feeling confident you would want him back. My client is tough and vicious.’ Archer paused, then went on, ‘In fact, he made no secret that he is connected with the Mafia. Somehow, he learned that you and I were once close.’ Archer smiled. ‘And we were, weren’t we, Helga? Let us say, we were very close.’

Helga remained motionless and listened but her hands turned into fists.

‘He considered me — since I had this old association with you — to be the right man to negotiate the ransom. So here I am.’

‘I will deal with this man direct, and not through you,’ Helga said.

‘You have no choice. My client wishes to remain in the background. If you want your fancy man back, Helga, you must deal with me. And besides, I need my client’s fee.’

Helga regarded him with loathing.

‘So you are not only an embezzler, a forger and a blackmailer, you are now a creature of the Mafia!’

Again Archer flushed.

‘I will remind you, you are not in a position to be abusive,’ he said, a snarl in his voice. ‘You will pay two million dollars if you want Grenville back. My client is prepared to give you three days to collect the money which is to be paid into a Swiss bank. So, at this time in three days’ time, I will call on you. It is up to you.’ He finished his drink, set down the glass, then got to his feet. ‘I need not remind you, when dealing with the Mafia you should be very, very careful. It would be quite lethal for Grenville, so my client tells me, if you contact the police.’ He smiled. ‘My client also said that if the money isn’t paid within three days, you will receive one of Grenville’s ears.’

Helga lost colour, but not her steel.

‘It is a savage thing,’ Archer went on, ‘and it shocks me, but that is the way the Mafia works. They are utterly ruthless people. Don’t think this is an idle threat. It has been done before, if you recall the Getty affair. So I would advise you to look through your stock holdings and sell to your advantage — that is, of course, if you want Grenville back. I haven’t met him, but if you have taken a fancy to him, knowing your taste, I assume he must be handsome. With an ear less, he could be less handsome.’ As he made for the door, he paused. ‘I was almost forgetting. My client gave me this sealed envelope. It is for you.’ He put the envelope on the table. ‘I hear Grenville tried to be brave: a mistake, when in the hands of the Mafia.’ He paused, then went on, ‘Well then, Helga, expect me in three days’ time. ‘Bye for now.’ Leaving the villa, he got into the Mercedes and drove away.

Her heart hammering, Helga snatched up the envelope, tore it open, and took out three polaroid coloured prints. She took one horrified look at them, stifled a scream and dropped them on the floor as Hinkle came quietly into the room.

As Archer had anticipated, the photographs completely shattered Helga. She loathed violence. She could never watch any violent movie. Time and again, she had snapped off the TV set when someone was about to be shot or hurt. All the steel in her evaporated. She buried her head in her hands and began to sob wildly.

‘They’ve hurt him! I knew they would! They’ve hurt him!’ she moaned.

Hinkle gave her a disapproving look and picked up the photographs. He regarded them, pursed his lips, then putting them on the table, he touched her lightly on her shoulder.

‘I suggest, madame, you should control yourself,’ he said severely.

She stared up at him, her eyes wild.

‘Look what they have done to him! They are fiends! I must get the money at once! I...’ and she began to sob again.

Hinkle went over to the hi-fi set and snapped down the switch. Then he went to a drawer, and from it, took a powerful magnifying glass. Picking up the photographs, he examined them carefully. At first glance, they were impressive, showing Grenville lying on the floor, blood on his face, his eyes closed. After studying the photographs under the magnifying glass for some moments, Hinkle nodded, and put them down on the table.

‘Madame, if you can cease being hysterical,’ he said, a snap in his voice, ‘I wish to tell you something.’

Her face tear-stained, her body shaking, Helga looked up at him.

‘Leave me alone! Go away!’

‘Madame, I wish to tell you something.’

‘What is it?’

Picking up one of the photographs, he waved it at her.

‘This looks to me remarkably like tomato ketchup,’ he said.

Helga was so astonished, she stopped crying.

‘Tomato ketchup?’ Her voice was husky and unsteady. ‘Have you gone mad? What are you saying?’

‘Before I entered Mr. Rolfe’s service, madame, I had the misfortune to look after a gentleman in the movie business,’ Hinkle said. ‘From him, I learned the art of make-up. Apparently, tomato ketchup is used to simulate blood.’

‘What are you trying to tell me?’ The steel came back and her voice snapped.

Hinkle nodded his approval.

‘I am suggesting, madame, that Mr. Grenville is not hurt. It would appear these photographs are fakes.’

Helga stiffened.

‘You really think so, Hinkle? You don’t think they have hurt him?’

‘I think it is most unlikely, madame.’

‘The devils!’ she clenched her fists. ‘But I must get him out of their hands. I...’

‘Madame, I would like to ask you a question.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, don’t be so pompous!’ she shrilled at him. ‘I’m going out of my mind. What is it?’

Again Hinkle nodded his approval. This was Helga Rolfe as he knew her, not an hysterical weakling.

‘How do you imagine these two men, who took Mr. Grenville away, got into the villa?’ he asked.

‘What the hell has that to do with it?’ Helga snapped. ‘They rushed in here and took him away!’

‘But how did they get in?’ Hinkle persisted.

She stared at him, then drew in a deep breath.

‘Through the front door, of course.’

‘I locked and bolted the front door, madame, before retiring.’

‘You must have forgotten,’ Helga said impatiently.

‘Before retiring, madame,’ Hinkle said quietly, ‘I locked and bolted the front door.’

Helga looked at him, then nodded.

‘I apologize. I’m worried out of my mind.’

‘That is understandable. Nevertheless, these two men must have come in by way of the front door. Did Mr. Grenville leave you to go to the lobby toilet?’