James Chase - Mission to Siena

Don moved to the entrance of the archway.

“Which house?”

“The one by the wall, sir.”

Don studied the three-storeyed building. It was in darkness. He could see there were two windows to each floor and the front door was set back in an archway similar to the one in which he was sheltering.

“Any other way out, Harry?”

“No, sir. I checked that.”

“So he’s still in there?”

“He’s in there all right. About five minutes ago a woman came along and went in. She was wearing a white mackintosh and slacks. It was too dark to see what she looked like.”

“What’s he like, Harry?”

“Tall and thin, dark, hooked nose, flashily dressed.”

The District Messenger had said his attacker had been tall and thin. This sounded like the man all right.

“When did you first spot him, Harry?”

“About a quarter of an hour after the messenger boy had left the house. He came from the back of the house, crossed the garden, vaulted over the wall and bolted down the street to an old Buick that was parked under the trees. I went after him and managed to get in the boot. He drove fast, and it wasn’t much of a joy ride for me. He parked the car in a bomb site in Old Compton Street and came here. I had a lot of trouble following him. He seemed jumpy, and kept checking to see if anyone was following him, but he didn’t spot me. I’m sure of that. He let himself into the house with a key, and that’s the last I’ve seen of him. The woman knocked when she arrived and he let her in.”

“Good show, Harry. I’m going over there to have a look around.

You stay here and keep your eyes open. If I run into trouble, you know what to do. This fellow’s dangerous. He killed Ferenci, so don’t be fussy the way you handle him if you have to handle him.”

“You mean Mr Ferenci’s dead?” Harry asked, shocked.

“Yes. I’ll tell you about it later. Just keep your ears and eyes open.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if I went instead of you, sir?” Harry said, trying to sound casual. “No point in dirtying up your suit climbing in and out of windows.”

“Do what you’re told,” Don said curtly. “Watch out. If he makes a bolt for it, stop him.”

“Right-ho, sir,” Harry said. “The easiest way in is through that window by the wall. The door’s got a bolt on it. I’ve tried it. I’ll give you a leg up. Get up on the roof and it’ll be a piece of cake2 to get in through the window.”

They moved over to the wall. Harry locked his fingers and Micklem put his foot in the cradle thus formed. With a slight heave, he was within reach of the top of the wall. He caught hold of it, and another heave from Harry swung him onto the wall.

Harry waved to him and went back to the shelter of the archway.

Crouching, Don walked up the sloping roof. Just above him was an unlighted window. He peered through the glass into the darkness beyond and could just make out a dim, empty room. The window catch was back. He took out his pocket knife and gently levered up the window. Then he swung himself into the room, lowered the window and crossed to the door.

For a moment or so he stood listening, his ear pressed against the panel of the door, then hearing nothing, he turned the handle and pulled the door open.

He looked into a passage, dimly lit by a light coming from the hall. He moved out of the room, closing the door after him. Then he walked silently to the head of the staircase and again paused to listen.

From the room below he heard a man say, “It was easy. He came to the window and I nailed him.”

Moving like a shadow, Don started down the stairs.

“Then he’s dead?” a woman’s voice said.

Don pricked up his ears at her accent: it was unmistakably Italian. He reached the foot of the stairs. The dim light that lit the hall was coming through a half-open door at the far end of the passage.

“Of course he’s dead,” Shapiro said. “Now look, let’s have the money. I want to get the hell out of here.”

“But can you prove to me that he is dead?” Lorelli asked.

Shapiro stared at her.

“What do you mean? If you don’t believe me, go out there and take a look at him.”

“Don’t talk like a fool. When I have seen the morning papers, I’ll pay you and not before.”

Don edged forward so he could peer into the room. There were only a few sticks of furniture in the room: two chairs, a broken-down settee with some of the springs exposed and a tea chest on which stood a lighted candle stuck into a bottle.

Across the two windows were nailed two grey, dirty blankets.

He took all this in with one swift glance. His attention then centred on the two people in the room.

The man sat astride one of the chairs. He was tall and thin: his dark, cruel face had a wolfish look. He was staring with angry intent eyes at the girl who leaned against the wall, the flickering light of the candle falling directly on her.

She was above average height and around twenty-five or six, She was beautiful in a cold, hard way; her face was pale and her full-lipped mouth in contrast looked startlingly red, but it was her thick wavy hair that attracted his attention.

The colour was Venetian red, a colour that’s rarely seen these days in Italy.

A cigarette hung from her glistening lips. Her arms were folded across her breasts. Under the open white mackintosh she wore a white sweater and black slacks.

“You’re not kidding, are you?” Shapiro asked, glaring at her.

“I have been instructed to pay you when the job’s done,” Lorelli said. “I’ll know by the papers tomorrow morning if it has been done or not.”

“I want the money now,” Shapiro snarled. “I’ve got to have it. Look, I’ve a boat waiting for me. I need the money to complete the purchase. I can be in France by tomorrow morning if I buy the boat tonight.”

“You heard what I said,” Lorelli said coldly. Her hands slid into the pockets of her mackintosh. “I’m not going to argue with you.”

Shapiro licked his dry lips.

“Now, look, baby, don’t let’s quarrel. How about coming with me? I’m starting a new racket when I’ve got the boat. I could use a smart kid like you.”

“Could you?” Lorelli said, her eyes hard. “But I couldn’t use a fool like you.”

Shapiro grinned at her.

“Come off it. Let’s be pals. Call me Ed. You and I could get places, working together. Let’s have the dough’ and come with me, Lorelli. What about it?”

“You’ll have the money tomorrow morning and not before,” Lorelli said sharply. “I’ll bring it here at eight o’clock.”

“That’s what you think,” Shapiro snarled, getting to his feet and kicking the chair out of his way. “We’re going back to your place and we’re going to collect that dough right now. I have ways of taming a twist like you.”

She leaned against the wall, her green eyes watchful, her face expressionsless.

“Have you?” she said, “and I have ways of taming a rat like you.” Her hand slid out of her mackintosh pocket. The .25 automatic she held pointed at Shapiro’s face. “Get out of my way!”

Shapiro suddenly became deflated. He stepped hastily back.

Don didn’t wait to hear any more. He went up the stairs, silently and fast, let himself through the window, closed it and within seconds had joined Harry in the archway.

“The woman’s coming out in a moment,” he said. “I’m going after her. Stay here and watch the house. I don’t think our bird will move, but if he does, don’t lose him.”

“Okay; sir,” Hairy said.

As he spoke the door of the house opened and the girl came out. She closed the door, then set off along the pavement towards the lights of Old Compton Street.