James Chase - Mission to Siena

The sight of the negro, moving across the moonlit lawn with the speed of a black panther, would have unnerved most people, but Don refused to give way to nerves. He ducked down behind a shrub and waited.

The negro entered the shrubbery fifty yards or so from the point where Don crouched. He paused to listen.

Out into the moonlight came the thick-set man and the wolfhound. He caught sight of the negro and stopped, dragging the straining dog back on to its haunches. The dog was snarling and barking-and trying to get off its chain. Three other men appeared from around the back of the house, each with a struggling wolfhound on a chain.

The negro waved to them, motioning them to wait. Then he began to walk very slowly towards the spot where Don was hiding.

Through the shrubs, Don could see the four men and the dogs,-standing in a line looking towards him. He could hear the gentle swish of leaves, as the great, muscular body of the negro came towards him. Peering up, he caught sight of the negro, now within six feet of him, his brutal black face alert, the knife gripped between his thick fingers.

Don held his breath and waited. There was a long pause. He could hear the wind sighing in the trees, the heavy breathing of the negro and the snarling of the dogs as they strained on their chains. Then he heard the negro move on, passing him by a few yards. Still Don waited. He guessed his slightest move would be heard by the negro.

The negro covered several yards of the shrubbery before it occurred to him that he was wasting time. If anyone were hiding here, the dogs would hunt him out. He stood up to his full height and shouted, “Let the dawgs in here.”

Even before the four men could unfasten the chains from the collars of the dogs, Don was running for dear life through the shrubbery towards where he thought the wall must be. He ran as if the devil was at his heels, crashing through shrubs, his only thought to reach the wall and grab at Harry’s welcoming hand. He could hear the savage barking of the dogs as they streaked across the lawn after him. With a gasp of relief, he blundered out of the shrubbery onto the path he had been looking for. He hurtled down the path, running as fast as he could.

He could hear the dogs coming up. Their low savage snarls sent a chill up his spine. They were close, too close and he realized he was losing the race. In another few yards they would be on him, dragging him to the ground and savaging him. Just off the path and ahead of him was a big tree. One of the dogs came rushing up alongside him. It sprang up and snapped at his sleeve. Don’s fist slammed against its head, sending it rolling over, yelping but he knew the race was over. He swerved, spun around and set his back against the tree.

The other dogs swerved away, pulled up and then with the precision of sheep dogs, they spread out, crouching down and completely encircled him.

Breathing heavily, Don looked at them. He knew if he made a move in any direction the nearest dog would spring at him. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. The dogs growled at the movement and edged closer.

The soft pad-pad of feet made him look beyond the dogs. The negro came running down the moonlit path, the glittering knife in his hand. He stopped short when he saw Don.

Don took out his cigarette case, selected a cigarette and put it between his dry lips. Then imitating the negro’s slow drawl, he said, “Got a match on you, bud?”

Simon Alsconi, known to the police in Europe and America only as the Tortoise, sat in a padded armchair before a blazing log fire, his feet resting on a footstool, a large black Persian cat on his lap, the picture of domesticity.

His round, fat, swarthy face, his small full-lipped mouth, his blunt fleshy nose, his deep-set dark eyes were deceptively nondescript. He could have been fifty, but in actual fact he was well past sixty. He was in evening dress and between his long, well-shaped fingers he held a cigar. With his other hand, he stroked the cat’s glistening fur while he stared into the fire.

Felix stood opposite him. He was telling Alsconi of Don’s capture.

Although Felix was responsible for running Alsconi’s organization and was in a position of power and control, he never entered Alsconi’s private suite without a feeling of uneasiness that bordered on fear.

He had repeatedly told himself that so long as he made no mistakes and carried out his orders he had nothing to fear from Alsconi, but he could not entirely convince himself of this. He could not get rid of the uneasy knowledge that he was dealing with a ruthless and dangerous lunatic who .might at any moment turn on him and wipe him out as other members of the organization in the past had been wiped out.

“Don Micklem?” Alsconi said. “How very extraordinary.”

“You know of him then?” Felix said. “Crantor says he is one of the richest men in England…”

“Of course I know of him,” Alsconi said. “He is worth two million pounds sterling. Astonishing.” He put his finger on the cat’s silky nose and rubbed it gently. “What have you done with him?”

“I’ve put him in the cave.”

“Was he alone?”

That was the question Felix hoped Alsconi wouldn’t ask.

“His chauffeur was with him. He got away.”

Alsconi’s ringers paused in their rhythmic stroking of the cat’s nose.

“Why did he get away?”

“We didn’t know he was there. Willie spotted him driving away in Micklem’s car.”

Alsconi continued to stare into the fire. His expression was still benign, but his fingers remained still and from experience Felix knew this was a sign of danger.

“He shouldn’t have been allowed to get away,” Alsconi said at last. “No doubt you will take the necessary disciplinary action. However, no damage has been done. The chauffeur will, of course, go to the police. It would seem we have now reached a phase in the progress of our organization that was bound to be reached sooner or later. For the past three years I have been preparing for such an emergency. It will be interesting to see if the yearly donations I have made to the church, the police and to the various charity organizations will now bear fruit. It will be the chauffeur’s word against mine. You will take all necessary precautions. I shall invite the police to search the house: in fact, I shall insist on them doing so. Make sure you don’t cause them any embarrassment. They must not find anything: you understand?”

“Yes,” Felix said.

Alsconi looked at him.

“A visit from the police doesn’t alarm you?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Felix said.

“That is as it should be,” Alsconi said, nodding his head. “You and Lorelli will not be seen. But it is possible that she might be alarmed. She is highly strung. It might even occur to her that this is the end of the organization. You will see she doesn’t panic?”

“Yes,” Felix said stonily, his mouth turning dry.

“She is an attractive young woman,” Alsconi went on. “I have known her longer than you and I know her weaknesses.

She is inclined to lose her nerve in an emergency.”

“The Pasero girl’s death has upset her,” Felix said, trying to keep his voice steady. “She’ll get over it.”

Alsconi nodded.

“Yes. Since you and she have formed an alliance perhaps you will make yourself responsible for her actions ?”

“She’ll be all right,” Felix said, feeling sweat on his face.

Alsconi looked at him.

“Or perhaps you would prefer me to talk to her? I hesitate to interfere between the two of you. A man should be able to control his mistress.”

“I can take care of her,” Felix said curtly.

“That is as it should be. Enjoy women, Felix; they are given to men to enjoy, but don’t let them control you. It is quite fatal. I found it necessary to give up the pleasures of women years ago. They have a dangerous way of sapping one’s will power, diverting one’s aim in life and causing trouble.”