James Chase - Mission to Siena

“Never mind,” Don said. “No, there’s no message.”

Marian Rigby, Don’s dark, attractive secretary, came hurrying into the lounge.

“There you are,” she said. “You haven’t forgotten you are lunching with Sir Robert at one?”

“I’m just off. Am I doing anything tonight, Marian?” “There’s the film premiere. You promised to go.” “Oh, that. Would you call them and tell them I can’t make it?” He smiled. “I have a date with a gentleman who calls himself the Tortoise.

That sounds more exciting than a premiere, doesn’t it?”

Guido Ferenci, tall and fair, his handsome face still deeply tanned from the sun of Portofino where Julia and he had been holidaying a few weeks previously, poured an 85 brandy into balloon glasses with a loving hand.

“Don’t think for a moment you are hoodwinking me,” he said as he gave Don one of the glasses. “This rot about passing and looking in for a drink is so much eyewash. Julia brougt you here to act as my bodyguard, didn’t she?”

Don grinned.

“For a foreigner, he speaks beautiful English, doesn’t he?” he said looking over at Julia. “I only wish I could speak Italian half as well.”

“You speak Italian like a native,” Julia said.

Guido looked affectionately at her.

“And that won’t wash either. Never mind how well Don speaks Italian,” he said, sinking into a big lounging chair opposite the one in which Don was sitting. “Now admit it: Julia persuaded you to come down to guard me, didn’t she?

Well, it’s nice of you to come, but don’t tell me you take this joker seriously. How can anyone take him seriously? Ten thousand pounds! Where does Mr Tortoise imagine I can raise that a kind of money?”

Don lit a cigarette.

“I don’t take it seriously, but on the other hand, there are a few dangerous crackpots around. This fellow seems to be carrying the joke rather far. What happened to the tortoise and the note on its back that arrived this morning? I’d like to have a look-see.”

“So you shall. Dixon’s looking after the tortoise,” Guido said, getting up to ring the bell. “I have the note in my desk.”

As he opened a drawer in the desk, Dixon, Guido’s manservant, came in. Powerfully built, with a hard, strong face, he looked what he had been during the war: a quarter-master of a destroyer.

“Bring the tortoise in, will you?” Guido said. “Mr Micklem would like to inspect it.”

“Very good, sir,” Dixon said and gave Don a respectful nod.

“Now where’s that note?” Guido said as Dixon left the room. “I put it in this drawer, but it’s gone. Have you moved it, Julia?”

“No,” Julia said, getting to her feet, “Let me look. You know you can never find anything.”

“When you get married, Don, acquire the reputation of never finding anything,” Guido said, sitting down and smiling.

“It saves endless hours of dreary searching. Julia always finds my things for me now.”

“I’m not being very successful at the moment,” Julia said. “It’s not in the desk. Are you sure you didn’t throw it away as you did the first note?”

“No. I put it in the top drawer,” Guido said, frowning.

As he got to his feet Dixon came in.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but you haven’t moved the tortoise, have you?”

Don felt the atmosphere suddenly tighten.

“Of course not,” Guido said sharply.

“I’m sorry, sir, but it’s no longer in the box.”

“Perhaps it has crawled out,” Don said quietly.

“It couldn’t have done that, sir. I put a lid on the box. Someone must have taken it.”

“All right, Dixon. It doesn’t matter,” Guido said. “Just make sure it isn’t crawling about the house.”

“Yes, sir,” Dixon said and went out.

Don glanced at Julia who was sitting motionless, her face pale.

“Well, this is a turn up for the book,” said Guido who prided himself on his grasp of idiomatic English. “It looks as if the evidence has been pinched.”

Although he spoke lightly, Don could see he was startled.

“Someone’s been here,” Julia said breathlessly. “What do you think, Don?” Guido asked. “I think your practical joker is carrying this much too far,” Don said. “It might be an idea, Guido, to have a word with the police now.”

Guido hesitated, then shook his head.

“No, I’m not going to do that. I can’t afford the stupid publicity that is bound to follow. I’ve got the new board to think of No, I’m not going to call the police.”

“But you must!” Julia cried. “You should have told them in the first place. You’re in danger…”

“Don’t get excited, Julia,” Don said quietly. “I can see Guido’s point. The newspapers would love a set-up like this.

After all, Guido is quite safe here. He’s not alone. I’m here, and Dixon’s within call. Besides, you forget Guido can more than look after himself. Hairy’s outside watching the house. I told him what was in the wind, and he is keeping his eyes open. If we did call the police, they couldn’t do any more than we are doing now…”

He broke off as the clock on the mantelpiece struck nine. Julia caught her breath sharply.

“The note said the messenger would come at nine!” she said, catching hold of Guido’s hand.

“Darling Julia,” Guido said. “There’s nothing to be scared about. Of course no one will come.”

Even as he spoke they heard the front door bell ring, and Julia jumped to her feet.

Guido put his arm around her. He glanced across at Don who had stiffened to attention.

The three stood motionless, listening. They heard Dixon cross the hall and open the front door. They heard a murmur of voices, then Dixon came into the room.

“There’s a district messenger here, sir,” he said to Guido. “He says he has come for a sealed package. What package would that be?”

Julia recoiled, her face going white.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” Guido said angrily, and he took a step forward, but Don was before him.

“Stay with Julia,” he said. “I’ll handle this,” and before Guido could argue, he walked into the hall, followed by Dixon.

Standing under the hall light was a sixteen-year-old boy, wearing a District Messenger’s uniform.

“Sure you haven’t made a mistake, son?” Don asked.

“I don’t think so, sir,” the boy returned and brought out his book. “Mr Ferenci, The Crest, Spaniards Avenue, Hampstead. One package to be collected. This is The Crest, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. What are your instructions? Where are you supposed to take the package?”

“To the Piccadilly Hotel, sir. A gentleman of the name of Montgomery will be waiting for it. I’m to give it to him and get a signature for it,” the boy said.

Don studied him. He decided he was telling the truth.

“How are you to identify Mr Montgomery?”

The boy began to look bewildered.

“He will be wearing a white mackintosh and a black hat. Is there something up?”

Don shook his head.

“No. I’ll get the package for you. Just wait here.” He beckoned to Dixon. “Let’s go into the kitchen,” he said.

Looking as bewildered as the boy, Dixon led Don into the kitchen.

When Don had shut the door, he said, “Wrap up some folded newspapers in brown paper: about the size of a book.”

His face blank with surprise, Dixon quickly made up the parcel and gave it to Don.

“That’s fine,” Don said approvingly.

He went back to where the boy was waiting and gave him the parcel.

“Here’s what you do,” he said. “I don’t want you to get to the Piccadilly Hotel before ten o’clock. That’s important. Give this package to Mr Montgomery and get his signature, but not before ten, do you understand?”