TEN days had passed since Janey’s death, and by now Conrad had absorbed the first shock. At first it had seemed unbelievable that she was dead, and it was only at the funeral that he finally realized the unhappy partnership was ended.
The Coroner had returned a verdict of death by misadventure. The high heel of one of Janey’s slippers had been found to have caught in the hem of her wrap. It was obvious to the Coroner that as she was descending the stairs she had tripped and had fallen heavily, breaking her neck.
Conrad had left all the arrangements to Janey’s father, and had stayed with Frances in the new hide-out. There was nothing he could do for Janey now, and the responsibility of Frances’s safety lay on him like a dead weight.
He had puzzled over O’Brien’s last cryptic words: It wasn’t an accident. Ferrari… my kid…
Conrad, like every other police officer in the country, knew of Vito Ferrari. Had O’Brien meant that Weiner had been murdered and that Ferrari had been responsible? Conrad had warned McCann that Ferrari might be in town, and had asked him to alert his men, but McCann had reported back that there was no sign of the Syndicate’s executioner.
Conrad worried about this. If Ferrari had been responsible for Weiner’s death, then Frances was in serious danger. He took every possible precaution to guard her.
He had moved her to the Ocean Hotel at Barwood, a small town fifteen miles from Pacific City. The hotel was a ten-storey building, built on the edge of the cliffs, overlooking the sea.
Forest had taken over the whole of the top floor of the hotel. A special steel door now sealed off the approach to the top floor, and twenty of McCann’s picked men were on constant patrol on the landing and in the grounds.
As Conrad improved the defences, he slowly satisfied himself that it was virtually impossible for anyone to get at Frances.
Madge Fielding and two police women never let Frances out of their sight, and it was agreed that until the trial, she should not leave her room.
During the past days, Conrad had seen Frances constantly. The more he saw her the more in love with her he became, and he was encouraged when he found she looked forward to his visits, and seemed disappointed when other duties made him late or prevented him from making his regular daily visit.
Although they found an easy companionship together and impersonal conversation came without effort, Conrad was conscious of a barrier that excluded any intimacy between them.
It was her father’s terrible record that stood between them, and it was this barrier Conrad knew he had to break down before he could hope to give her the personal protection he so much wanted to give her.
Madge had told her of Janey’s death, and Frances’s few words of sympathy had made Conrad uncomfortable.
“It’s been a great shock to me,” he told her seriously, “but Janey and I didn’t get along together. Our marriage would have broken up sooner or later. It’s not the same as losing someone one really loves, is it? I’m sorry for her. She enjoyed life so much, but I’m not sorry for myself.”
On the evening of the tenth day of Janey’s death, Conrad found the opportunity of making the first move towards a more intimate understanding between Frances and himself.
He had been to Pacific City to give evidence in a case he had worked on before June Arnot’s murder, and had been away from Barwood for a day and a night. He had left Van Roche in charge, and was quite easy in his mind that Van would look after Frances as well as he could look after her himself.
He returned to the hotel soon after seven o’clock and went immediately to the top floor.
Madge was off duty, and she came to his room.
“No alarms?” he asked, as he unpacked his over-night case.
“No,” Madge said, “but I’m worried about her, Paul. She’s very unhappy, and I think she’s getting frightened.”
He paused in putting away his handbag and looked at her sharply.
“Frightened?”
She nodded.
“Yes. She doesn’t say anything, but since you’ve been away she seems depressed and nervy. If anyone knocks on the door, she nearly jumps out of her skin. She’s been brooding too, and she doesn’t seem to settle to anything. I’ve noticed it before, but I think it’s getting worse.”
Conrad lit a cigarette.
“It’s pretty extraordinary she’s been as calm as she has been. Time’s running out. She has a horrible experience before her.”
“Yes, of course she has, but I think there’s more to it than that. I think she’s brooding about Weiner. She was never completely convinced that he died accidentally.”
“I thought she had got over that.”
“I’m afraid she hasn’t.”
“Who’s with her now?”
“Van.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Conrad said, realizing this might be the opportunity he was waiting for. If he could only break down the barrier. If he could only get her on his side and keep her there.
He went along to Frances’s room, noting the alertness of the four guards who paced the long corridor. He paused outside the door, tapped and entered.
Van and the two police women were reading novels. Frances stood before the open bay window that overlooked the sea.
She didn’t look around when Conrad came in. He made a sign to the others to leave. When they had gone, he shut the door and joined Frances at the window.
Far below was the rock-strewn beach. The tide was going out and the stretch of sand was golden in the sunshine.
“I bet you’d give anything for a swim,” he said quietly. “It worries me that you have to be cooped up here. Are you getting restless?”
She shook her head, not looking at him.
“No, I don’t mind,” she said indifferently.
“I’ve been thinking about you, Frankie,” he said after a long pause. “Have you thought at all what you are going to do after the trial?”
“There doesn’t seem much point in thinking about that,” she returned in a flat tired voice.
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Pete said they would never let me give evidence, so why should I bother to think of the future?”
He stared at her.
“For goodness sake, Frankie! You mustn’t talk like that! You’re safe here. No one can get near you, and you’ll be safe at the trial.”
“Am I safe?” she asked, leaning out of the window to look down at the golden sands. “You said Pete would be safe, and yet he’s dead.”
“I wouldn’t be talking to you the way I am talking if I thought for one moment you weren’t safe,” he said quietly.
She looked round quickly, her eyes searching his face.
“I don’t understand…”
“No, I guess you don’t.” He moved away from her. “I promise you no one will touch you. I give you my word.”
She turned so her back was to the window and watched him as he moved slowly about the room. There was an interested and puzzled expression in her eyes.
“You’ve got to get this idea that Maurer is a superman out of your mind,” Conrad went on. “I don’t say he won’t try to get at you, he will, but I assure you he won’t succeed. This place is too well guarded. There’s nothing I haven’t thought of.” He stopped and faced her. “You don’t know how I’ve sweated on this thing. Don’t you feel safe?”
“No.”
“Tell me why you don’t.”
“I can’t forget what Pete said.” She sat down abruptly. “I wish now I hadn’t told you what happened. Pete said no power on earth could save me if I told you. He said no power on earth could save him either, and he’s dead.” An hysterical note crept into her voice. “Pete said his time was running out. My time’s running out too! He said Maurer could buy any of the policemen who guarded him. How do I know Maurer hasn’t bought those women who stay with me?”
Conrad was both startled and shocked to learn how her mind was working.
“You must stop talking like this.” He went to her and caught hold of her arms. “Look at me, Frankie. I love you. Can’t you see I love you? I promise you you’re safe. I promise you there’s nothing to worry about.” She was staring at him.
“You love me? You? I didn’t think… I had no idea.”
“I don’t suppose you had,” Conrad said quietly. “I didn’t intend to tell you, but I can’t have you thinking you’re not safe. You’re more precious to me than my own life. You don’t have to be scared of Madge or the other two. They’re all right. Honest, they won’t let anyone near you, nor will I.”
She pulled away from him.
“But how can you love me?” she said, half to herself. “You know about me. You can’t love me.”
“Now look, Frankie, you’ve got to stop this nonsense. You’re not to blame for what your father did, and you’ve got to stop believing you are.”
She looked at him, her eyes shadowy with bitterness.
“So easy to talk,” she said. “So very easy to talk. You don’t know what it is like to have people point at you, to whisper about you, to pull their children out of your way. You don’t know what it is like to be hunted by a screaming, infuriated mob as I was hunted the night they killed my father. And now it’s going to start all over again. What a fool I was to have told you anything! What a stupid fool I was!”
He knelt beside her.
“Frankie, if you’ll let me, I’ll take care of you. I’ve got it all figured out. I’ll take you away when the trial’s over. We can start a new life together. I want you to marry me. No one will know who you are where we’ll go. We’ll go to England. I have a friend who wants me to sink some money in his farm. He wants me to be his partner. There’s a house for us, and no one will know you. Will you let me take care of you? Will you let me build a new future for you?”
She got up abruptly and without looking at him, she went over to the window.
“Future?” she said. “But I haven’t a future. I know I haven’t.” She stared at the red ball of the setting sun as it slowly sank below the horizon, casting a red glow over the sea. “My time’s running out, Paul. There’s no future for me, only a very immediate present.”
“It’s got to look like an accident, Jack,” Gollowitz said. “It’s got to. If there’s the slightest suspicion of murder, we’re finished. A full-scale inquiry would put us out of business. Someone is bound to talk once the pressure’s on. It’s got to look like an accident.”
Maurer sat hunched up over his desk, his small eyes gleaming angrily. For ten days now he had racked his brains for a way to get at Frances, but the solid wall of defence that Conrad had erected baffled him.
“She’s got to die!” he snarled. “The only way to get at her is to set fire to the hotel. Then when they bring her out, we’ll swarm all over them.”
Gollowitz spread out his fat hands pleadingly.
“We’ve got to think of another way. We can’t do it like that. It’d finish us.”
Maurer got up and began to pace the floor.
“What other way? Goddamn it! There is no other way! How are we to get at her unless we smoke her out? How the hell can we make it look like an accident?”
Gollowitz wiped his glistening face. The past ten days had been dangerous and difficult for him. It had come as a great relief when Maurer had sent for him and had told him to forget what he had said at their last meeting. He realized now Maurer couldn’t do without him. The problem was too big for Maurer to handle himself.
“Ferrari could do it,” Gollowitz said. “I’m sure he could.”
Maurer paused to stare at Gollowitz.
“Is he still in town?”
Gollowitz, who had expected an explosion, nodded eagerly.
“He’s in the bar right now.”
“We’re admitting failure by using him, Abe,” Maurer said. “You realize that?”
“We have failed. I wouldn’t have brought him in if we hadn’t failed to get Weiner. I know you blame me, but there was no alternative as there is no alternative now. If anyone can get at that girl, Ferrari can.”
Maurer came back to his desk and sat down. He stared down at his snowy blotter, his forehead furrowed, his eyes narrowed. He sat like that for some minutes. Then he picked up the receiver.
“Louis? Ask Ferrari to come to my office. He’s in the bar.”
Gollowitz sat back. It was a moment of triumph for him. He felt vindicated. Maurer was now doing what he had had to do.
“You’re playing this right, Jack,” he said. “It’s the only way.”
Maurer looked up.
“You’re kidding yourself, Abe,” he said softly. “You think I’m playing it your way, but I’m not. Ferrari is going to take care of the girl, then I’ll take care of Ferrari. That’s the difference between running this organization and letting the organization run you!”
Gollowitz stiffened.
“Take care of Ferrari? What do you mean?”
Maurer showed his teeth in a grin that made him look like a wolf.
“Wait and see, Abe.”
They sat looking at each other for several long minutes, then the door opened and Ferrari came in. He walked silently across the room, climbed into an armchair, wriggled back until he was comfortable and looked at Maurer with alert bright eyes.
“About this girl,” Maurer said. “It’s got me beat. Abe says you can handle it. Can you?”
Ferrari lifted his eyebrows.
“Of course. It’s my job to handle it.”
Maurer’s eyes snapped, but his face remained impassive.
“I’ll pay ten grand.”
Ferrari shook his head.
“Twenty. If it was worth only ten grand you’d be able to do it yourself.”
Maurer shrugged.
“Okay, I don’t haggle. Twenty, then. What makes you so sure you can handle it?”
“I’ve never failed, and I don’t intend to fail now,” Ferrari said. “You look for difficulties, I look for solutions.”
“It’s got to look like an accident.”
Ferrari nodded.
“It will be an accident.”
Maurer’s face turned a purple red.
“You don’t even know where she is! You don’t know a thing about the set-up. How the hell can you talk like this?”
Ferrari gave him a sneering little smile.
“She’s at the Ocean Hotel, Barwood. She’s on the top floor, facing the sea. There are twenty guards; five of them in the grounds, five guarding the top floor, five in the three rooms below her windows, and five off duty. No one can enter the hotel without a security check. No one is allowed near the top floor. The elevators only travel to the ninth floor. Three police women remain with her day and night and never let her out of their sight. When she takes a bath the door is left open and one of the police women sits just outside. She isn’t allowed to leave her room. There is no means of climbing up to her window as the windows below are guarded. The roof is perpendicular, and the only skylight to it is guarded day and night. What makes you think I don’t know the set-up?”
Maurer felt a cold chill run down his back. He stared at Ferrari as if he had been suddenly transformed into a snake.
“You’re lying! How the hell do you know all this? I’ve had the place watched for days and I haven’t even found her room!”
Ferrari smiled.
“But then you are an amateur, and I am a professional.”
Maurer swallowed this insult as he felt it was justified.
“But how do you know?”
“I’ve been up to the tenth floor. I’ve listened end I’ve watched. I’ve even seen her.”
Maurer gaped at him.
“You’ve been up there! How did you get there?”
“That’s my secret,” Ferrari returned.
There was a long pause, then Maurer said, “Well, okay, then tell me how she’s to the accidentally.”
Ferrari crossed one short leg over the other. He yawned, stretched, then folded his hands in his lap.
“It’s an interesting problem, not impossible, but difficult. I believe I am the only man in the world who can do it.”
“You really can do it?”
“I stake my reputation on it. If I fail, you don’t pay me a dime. That’s fair enough, isn’t it? But you’ll pay me. I don’t intend to fail.”
“But how will it be done?”
“That you must leave to me. I never discuss my plans. There are two things I need. I haven’t the time to bother with them myself. Maybe you can take care of them for me?”
“What things?”
“I’ll need an aircraft and a stunt flyer.”
Maurer’s eyes bulged.
“A stunt flyer? You’re not suggesting he should land on the roof, are you?”
Ferrari smiled.
“Nothing so obvious. I merely want him to divert attention. The trick is really very simple. You have seen a good conjuror? When he does a trick he makes sure the audience is looking at something else and not at what he is doing. The stunt flyer will do just that and give me my chance to strike.”
“I’ll get you an aircraft and a stunt flyer. When do you want them?” Maurer asked.
“Today is Wednesday. Shall we say Friday? I must talk to him. There are certain things I have to tell him.”
“When does she get hit?” Maurer demanded.
“Saturday night. It is a good night. The hotel laundry is delivered on Saturday night.” Ferrari slid out of his chair. “Another useful piece of information I picked up.”
“The laundry? What’s that to do with this business?” Maurer asked blankly.
“It has everything to do with it,” Ferrari returned and walked over to the door. “I’ll be here Saturday morning. Have the flyer for me to talk to.”
He went out and shut the door.
Maurer drew in a long deep breath.
“What do you think, Abe?”
“He’ll do it,” Gollowitz said.
Maurer nodded.
“I guess that’s right. Smart little snake, isn’t he?” He got up. “I’ve got things to do, Abe. Ask Louis to come here, will you?”
Gollowitz gave him a hard, searching look, but gathered nothing from Maurer’s deadpan expression. He went out.
Maurer began to pace up and down.
After a few minutes Seigel came in.
“You wanted me, boss?”
“Yeah,” Maurer said. “Sit down, Louis.”
Seigel sat down. He looked at Maurer nervously.
“I’ve got a job for you, Louis,” Maurer said softly. “Ferrari’s going out to the Ocean Hotel, Barwood, on Saturday night. You’re going out there too. On his way back, you’re going to run into him. You’re going to take care of him for me.”
Seigel stared at Maurer.
“Ferrari?”
“That’s right.”
“You want me to hit him?”
“That’s what I said.”
“For God’s sake, Mr. Maurer…!”
“That’s what I said,” Maurer repeated. “It’s either he or you Louis. Please yourself.”
The Ocean Hotel was always crowded at the week-ends, and on this Saturday afternoon the bathing-pool and the vast stretch of lawn was packed solid with people who had come down from San Francisco and up from Los Angeles for a week-end of swimming and lounging in the sun.
Conrad sat in a tub chair under a shady tree and watched the crowd as it played, lounged and gossiped around the swimming-pool. He kept an eye on the long drive that led to the hotel, watching for Forest’s car.
Around four-thirty, he spotted the car coming up the drive. He stood up and waved. The car slowed down and stopped. Forest got out, said something to his chauffeur, then came across the lawn towards Conrad. The car went on towards the hotel.
Forest wended his way through the sun-bathers until he reached Conrad’s isolated shade under the tree.
“Hello, there, Paul,” he said. “Seems you’ve picked yourself a good spot. Plenty of pretty girls and plenty to keep your eyes busy.”
“Too much,” Conrad said, pulling up another tub chair. “I had no idea this place got so crowded over the week-end. My boys are going crazy trying to keep a check on everyone.”
“Are they doing it?”
“Out here it’s hopeless, but no one enters the hotel without being scrutinized.”
Forest sat down.
“How’s it going?”
Conrad pulled a face.
“She’s safe enough, but she’s getting depressed. I’m afraid Weiner sowed a lot of seeds of doubt in her mind. Now she has had time to get over the shock of his death, she’s regretting having talked. We may have trouble with her later. She may even try to back out giving evidence.”
“Have you got her statement signed yet?”
Conrad shook his head.
“No. She won’t sign it. She thinks so long as she doesn’t sign the statement Maurer won’t go for her. It’s cockeyed reasoning, of course. Maurer is far more likely to try to get at her before she signs the statement than after she’s signed it. I’ve told her that until I’m blue in the face, but I guess she isn’t in a reasonable mood. The fact is she’s getting scared. She talks about waiting to the. I wish you would see her and see if you can put some sense into her. I can’t.”
Forest looked at Conrad quickly, then he leaned forward and tapped Conrad on his knee.
“Does this girl mean anything to you, Paul?”
“That’s pretty cute of you, sir,” Conrad said with a wry smile. “Well, you may as well know. She does mean a hell of a lot to me. I’ve asked her to marry me. I’m crazy about her.”
Forest nodded, took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.
“Is she as crazy about you?”
Conrad shook his head.
“I guess not. She’s not in the mood to think of me. She insists she has no future.”
Forest stared across the lawn at a tall, slim girl in a white swim-suit who was lying on her back, her eyes closed.
“There are plenty of pretty girls to choose from, Paul. I wouldn’t like you to make a mess of your life. Miss Coleman’s not exactly a happy choice.”
“You mean because of her father?”
“Yes; because of her father. I have a high opinion of you, Paul. One of these days you’ll be a D.A. If you saddle yourself with a wife whose past doesn’t stand scrutiny, you won’t get far in a career.”
Conrad stirred restlessly.
“I know you’re thinking of my interests, sir, and I appreciate it, but a career doesn’t seem to me to be all that important when it comes to picking a girl you want to spend the rest of your days with. The career’s got to go. That’s how I see it.”
Forest selected a cigar, bit off the end and lit it.
“Well, okay, that’s up to you, Paul. What are your plans, then?”
“I haven’t any at the moment, I had hoped to take her to England after the trial. I’ve had a talk with her about going there, but she just won’t get her mind on the future. She says all she has left is a very immediate present. She won’t give up this morbid obsession that she’s going to die.”
“I can’t say I blame her,” Forest said quietly. “She’s bucking the most dangerous organization in the country. Her evidence will smash a billion-dollar racket, and Maurer’s not going to let go of a kingdom that big if he can help it. Frankly, Paul, I wouldn’t give her more than an even chance of surviving.”
Conrad clenched his fists.
“They can’t get at her here. The real danger will be when she goes to the court-house.”
“Are you quite sure she’s safe here?”
Conrad nodded.
“Yes.” I’m sure. For a start they don’t know she’s here.”
“Are you sure of that too?”
Conrad stiffened and looked at Forest.
“What’s on your mind, sir? Do you think they know where she is?”
Forest lifted his heavy shoulders.
“I don’t know, but Maurer’s no fool. Did Janey know about this hotel, Paul?”
“Janey? Why do you ask that?”
“Did she know about the hotel?”
“I had to give her the telephone number. She was all on her own, sir. I didn’t want her to think she was completely cut off from me. I impressed on her how secret it was.”
“So she had only to call the number to find out it was the Ocean Hotel,” Forest said, blowing smoke into the still, hot air.
“I don’t get your drift,” Conrad said sharply. “For all her faults, Janey would never have talked about anything connected with my work.”
“I’m just warning you, Paul. We mustn’t assume anything if we want to keep this girl safe. Your wife was seen at the Paradise Club, Maurer’s headquarters. She knew where Miss Coleman was hidden, and now she’s dead. I may be talking nonsense, but for goodness sake don’t let yourself be lulled into a sense of false security. Security doesn’t exist so long as Maurer’s running the organization.”
“I know the danger,” Conrad said. “But you can count Janey out. Her death was an accident. I’ve warned her a dozen times about the hem of her wrap. She was always treading on it and tearing it, but she could never be bothered to mend it. I am quite sure, too, she would never give this place away. I can’t do more than I have done to keep Frances safe. There isn’t anything more I can do. You’ll see for yourself when you get upstairs, but if you do think I’ve slipped up on something, then I’ll put it right.”
Forest grunted. He watched a large white van coming up the drive. Across the side of the van, picked out in chromium letters, was the legend:
“If you’re satisfied, then I’m sure I will be,” he said. “But it worries me sometimes when I think how much depends on this girl’s evidence. This is the first time since Maurer got into the saddle that we’ve had the ghost of a chance of bringing him to trial.”
Conrad followed the direction Forest was looking in, and he, too, idly stared at the laundry van as it turned the bend in the drive and disappeared around to the back of the hotel.
“We’re taking a hell of a time to catch him, aren’t we?” he said. “So long as he’s at large, we’ll have to keep Frances here.”
“Every ship at sea is on the look-out for him,” Forest returned. “The sea’s a big place in which to hide, Paul. But sooner or later he’ll have to put in somewhere for provisions, and then we’ll have him.” He stood up. “Well, let’s look your defences over, Paul. I’ll see if I can pick a hole in them.”
Conrad got to his feet, and together the two men walked towards the hotel.
Around six-thirty the passages, kitchens and still rooms of the Ocean Hotel were noisy with bustling activity as the staff prepared dinner for over five hundred guests.
Unlike the glittering, luxurious restaurant, the staff quarters were dark, damp and cramped. The kitchen staff, already sweating from the heat of the ovens, cursed the long line of laundry hampers that were stacked along the wall, narrowing the passage to and from the kitchens to the preparation room.
The hampers wouldn’t be moved until the following morning when they would be unpacked and the laundry sorted and taken upstairs; in the meantime they were unwelcomed obstructions.
Vito Ferrari lay curled up in one of the top hampers. He listened to the activity going on around him and watched through a chink in the wicker-work the staff scurrying backwards and forwards.
In half an hour the activity would be transferred to the kitchens and the restaurant. In the meantime he waited.
Waiting was no hardship to Ferrari. Patience was the greatest asset to a professional killer, and Ferrari’s patience was without limit.
It had cost him twenty dollars to be smuggled into the hotel basement in the laundry hamper. The delivery man had accepted Ferrari’s story of an illicit loveaffair between himself and the wife of the head chef. The delivery man thought it was pretty funny for a dwarf to be in love to the extent of paying out good money just for a chance of seeing the chef’s wife through a hole in the laundry hamper.
It had been simple enough for him to carry Ferrari in the hamper down to the basement. Ferrari didn’t weigh much more than ninety pounds, and the delivery man had handled heavier weights than that.
So Ferrari waited in his hamper, and the hands of his strap-watch crawled on. By ten minutes after seven, the rushing to and fro began to dwindle. By seventhirty the long passage between the kitchen and the preparation room was silent and deserted.
Cautiously Ferrari lifted the lid of the hamper and peered up and down the dimly lit passage. He listened, then hearing only the uproar coming from the kitchens, he slid out of the hamper, closed the lid and keeping close to the darkest side of the wall, he went silently and swiftly down the passage, away from the kitchens towards the storerooms and the staff elevators. He arrived at the end of the passage which opened out into another big lobby stacked with cases of beer.
He heard an elevator on the move and he ducked behind the cases of beer.
The elevator bumped to rest and the door slid back. Two waiters, manoeuvring a trolley, came out and went away along the passage, leaving the elevator doors open.
In a matter of seconds, Ferrari was in the elevator and had pressed the button to the ninth floor. The elevator took him smoothly and quickly upwards.
He leaned against the wall and picked his teeth with a splinter of wood. He was as calm and as unruffled as a bishop at a tea-party.
The elevator stopped.
Ferrari knew this was his first dangerous moment. If someone happened to be in the passage when he opened the elevator doors his plans might easily be ruined. It was a risk he had to take. In any plan, no matter how carefully thought out, there were always two or three unavoidable risks. They were risks Ferrari accepted, knowing that up to now his luck had been extraordinary. He saw no reason why his luck should desert him at this moment.
He didn’t hesitate. As he pressed the button to open the doors, his hand slid inside his coat and closed on the butt of his gun.
The corridor was deserted.
He left the elevator, slid across the corridor and behind a curtain that screened one of the big windows overlooking the sea. The curtain had barely fallen into place when he heard someone coming, and he grinned to himself. His luck hadn’t deserted him.
He peered through a chink in the curtain and nodded to himself.
A big burly man who had “cop’ written all over him, came slowly along the corridor. He passed Ferrari’s hiding-place and went on, disappearing around the bend of the corridor.
Ferrari immediately left his hiding-place, and walked swiftly in the opposite direction.
The long corridor stretched ahead of him, and after he had walked fifty yards or so, he again ducked behind a window curtain. He remained there, listening and watching.
A door opened suddenly a few yards from him, and a girl appeared. She was wearing a low-cut, off-the-shoulder evening gown, and Ferrari looked at her creamy neck and shoulders with an approving eye. She closed the door, but left the key in the lock. He watched her walk slowly to the elevator. She pressed the button and waited, humming under her breath.
The big cop came back along the corridor. He touched his hat to the girl who smiled brightly at him, and he went on, not looking back.
The elevator door opened and the girl entered the cage.
Ferrari waited.
After a few minutes the cop came back. He passed close to where Ferrari was
hiding, and once more disappeared around the bend in the corridor.
Ferrari stepped out from behind the curtains, crossed over to the door of the room the girl had just left, opened it softly and looked in.
The room was in darkness. He took out the key, stepped into the room, closed the door and shot the bolt. Then he snapped on the lights.
The bed had been turned down and the room was tidy, Ferrari decided the floor maid had already visited the room, and with any luck he wouldn’t be disturbed for at least an hour. He turned out the light and went over to the window, drawing back the curtains.
The window overlooked the swimming-pool and the lawn. He could see the bright lights, the crowds still swimming or lounging around the pool while waiters in white jackets hurried to and fro carrying trays of drinks.
Frances’s room, Ferrari knew, was at the back of the hotel, facing the sea. He knew, too, that all the windows on the tenth floor on that side of the hotel were guarded. To reach her window, he would have to climb up the roof, lower himself over the ridge and then climb down the other side.
It would be a dangerous and difficult climb, one of the most dangerous climbs he had ever undertaken, but it didn’t worry him. He had studied the roof for a long time through a pair of powerful field glasses, and had decided on the route to take.
He pulled the curtain and sat on the window ledge and watched the crowd below. It wasn’t dark enough to make an attempt just yet. In another half hour the darkness would hide him from anyone who happened to look up towards the roof.
He sat staring down at the lighted bathing-pool, his mind a blank, his muscles relaxed. The hands of his strap-watch crawled on and the sky slowly darkened. At a few minutes past nine o’clock he decided it was dark enough.
From under his coat he produced a long coil of silk rope that he had wound round and round his thin body. At one end of the rope was a rubber-covered hook, and at the other end a heavily padded ring.
He stepped out on to the window sill and looked up. Above him was the balcony of one of the bedrooms on the tenth floor. He tossed up the hook which caught in a stone projection and held.
He climbed up the rope as effortlessly and as quickly as a monkey runs up a tree. He reached the balcony, swung himself over the balustrade and dropped on to hands and knees.
He peered through the window into an empty room, then he looked over the balustrade and stood watching the activity below until he had satisfied himself no one from the ground had seen him.
He climbed up on to the balustrade and looked up at the perpendicular roof some twenty feet or so above him. A stout rain gutter ran the length of the roof, and he tossed up his hook again. The hook caught in the gutter, and he pulled, testing the gutter’s strength. It neither bent nor creaked under his persistent pulling, and without more ado he launched himself into space and went swarming up the rope until his claw-like hands got a grip on the gutter.
He pulled himself up as far as his waist above the gutter, shifted his handholds, got one leg up and along the gutter, his foot in the gutter. There he remained while he adjusted his balance.
The steep roof towered above him. Far below, the bright floodlights, the blue water of the swimming-pool and the continual arrival of cars, looked like a child’s toy laid out on a green carpet.
Ferrari began to lean forward very slowly, and at the same time he drew up his other leg and got that along the gutter. He was now balanced only on his hands, and the slightest error of judgment would pitch him backwards into the black gulf below.
He was quite calm, but he knew his danger.
When he had told Maurer he believed he was the only man in the world who could do this job he had been sincere. This moment of balancing was the hardest task he had ever attempted. He wasn’t frightened, but he did wonder if he hadn’t overestimated his skill.
He leaned forward a trifle, then began to draw his legs along the gutter towards him. As he began to bend his knees he suddenly felt his balance go, and for a split second the weight of his body swayed outwards.
His fingers dug into the cold hard guttering, and he dropped his head down on to his chest. The shifting weight of his head corrected his balance, bringing him slightly forward again.
He remained motionless for over a minute while sweat ran down his face and his breath came from his emaciated chest in great rasping gasps. He had been but a heart-beat away from death, and he was momentarily shaken.
When he had recovered sufficiently he again leaned forward and keeping his head down, he again began to draw up his legs. This time he succeeded in getting his feet under him, his knees bent up to his chin. He looked like a tiny black ball perched precariously on the edge of the gutter. Then still leaning forward, he slowly straightened his legs, thrusting his body forward and upright. He had to let go of the gutter, and his hands reached out and flattened on the tiles of the roof.
He was standing upright now, his toes in the gutter, his body flat against the roof, his head still bent down. He remained in that position until his breathing had returned to normal.
Then he slowly freed the rope which he had hung around his neck and tossed the hook upwards towards the apex of the roof.
He had to make four casts before the hook caught, and once in his anxiety to make a better cast he again nearly over-balanced.
But as soon as he was satisfied the hook had a hold, he was once more his confident self. Taking hold of the rope in both hands and leaning well out, he walked up the perpendicular roof and got astride the apex.
He could now look down at the sea, calmly washing over the rocks some two hundred feet below him. Somewhere just below the edge of the roof was Frances’s room.
He could see the reflected lights from the windows just below, and could hear music from a radio. He fixed the ring at the end of the rope around his ankle, then holding on to the rope he lowered himself down until his heels wedged into the gutter. On this side, the roof was much less steep and he had no difficulty in sitting against the tiles.
Silently he lowered himself over the edge of the roof, turning upside down as he did so. He released the rope and swung head downwards, held only by his ankle. His head and shoulders came just level with the open window and he looked into a big, airy bedroom.
For a moment he couldn’t believe his good luck. He had hit on Frances’s room at his first attempt!
There were three people in the room. Two police women and Frances.
The two police women were sitting away from the window; one was reading, the other was knitting.
Frances sat before a dressing-table. She was brushing her hair.
He hung upside down in the darkness and watched her. After a minute or so, she laid down the hair-brush and stood up. She was wearing a pale-blue silk wrap that accentuated her paleness. She wandered over to an armchair near the window and sat down.
Ferrari swung himself upwards, catching hold of the rope and hauling himself back on to the gutter. He looked at his watch. The time was now half-past nine. He had half an hour to wait.
He waited.
Conrad looked up as Forest came into his room.
Forest had had dinner and had taken a stroll around the grounds before coming up to Conrad’s room. He sank into a deep armchair with the air of a man both relaxed and satisfied.
“That wasn’t a bad dinner,” he said. “They do you well here, don’t they?”
“Oh, sure,” Conrad said indifferently. He hadn’t even noticed what he had had for dinner. “Well, sir, what do you think of her?”
“A nice girl; a damned pretty girl, too,” Forest said, stretching out his legs. “I had a long talk with her and I think I’ve persuaded her to sign the statement. Of course she’s scared of Maurer. Weiner did a good job, putting the fear of Maurer into her, but she promises to let me know one way or the other tomorrow morning.” He looked up. “I put in a word for you, Paul.”
“You did? How did she react?” Conrad asked, sitting forward.
“She seems a little stunned that you should want to marry her. She’s got a lot of complexes, and that’s not to be wondered at. You’ll have to be patient, Paul. It may take a long time. I told her if she will sign the statement, we’ll finance a trip to Europe for her and you and Miss Fielding for a couple of months immediately after the trial. She seemed to like the idea.”
“Did she? That’s pretty good of you, sir. How about the financial angle? The Treasury won’t finance her, will it?”
“Not a hope,” Forest said, and laughed. “That’s up to you, Paul. I’ll give you leave for a couple of months, but you’ll have to stand the racket.”
“I’ll stand it. Did she say where she would like to go?”
“I made a suggestion,” Forest returned, rubbing the side of his nose and looking artful. “I told her she should see Venice. If you can’t cook up a little romance in a gondola, then you’re not the man I think you are. Ever been to Venice? I took my wife there on our honeymoon. No place like it in the world.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Conrad said, smiling. “Well, that’s something to think about for the future, but right now we’ve got to think of getting her safely over the trial. What do you think of my precautions?”
“Excellent,” Forest returned. “I’m as satisfied as you are they can’t get at her here now I’ve seen for myself. This is a good spot, Paul. What are your plans for taking her to the courthouse?” He glanced up sharply. “That plane sounds damned low.”
The sudden whoosh of air and the roar of an aircraft engine had startled them both.
“There’s a night trip from Pacific City to Los Angeles that passes about this time,” Conrad said, glancing at his watch. It was just ten o’clock. “I think the best thing we can do is to take her from here in an armoured car with an escort of cycle cops. We’ll keep her in the court-house. There’re some rooms in the basement she can have. They’re not particularly pleasant, but it’ll only be for a week or so. There’re no windows and only one entrance.”
“Yes,” Forest said, “but we’ve got to catch Maurer first.”
“Still no news?”
“Bardin was on the phone about ten minutes ago. He says there’s a rumour going around that Maurer’s back. They’re checking now.”
Conrad sat up.
“Back? Who started the rumour?”
“There’s that plane again,” Forest said, as the aircraft, flying very low, roared past the window. He got up and went to the window. “Goddamn it! Look at this, Paul.”
Conrad joined him at the window.
Flying out to sea was a small, single-winged aircraft, lit up by red neon lights. It looked like some strange bird of paradise as it swept around in a tight circle and came back towards the hotel.
“Some advertising stunt,” Conrad said, watching the plane without interest. His mind was busy thinking about Frances. The idea of taking her to Venice made his heart beat faster. The trip would give him a chance to try and straighten out her mind.
“Looks pretty good,” Forest said, leaning out of the window to see more of the plane as it came around the hotel and swept downwards towards the sea. “What’s he advertising, I wonder? Hey! Look at that, Paul.”
A little irritated by Forest’s childish interest, Conrad moved closer to the open window.
The plane was now flying just below the cliffs and practically level with the hotel gardens. A figure, lit up by red and blue fairy lights, was standing on one of the wings. It waved as the plane roared past the hotel.
“The reckless fool,” Conrad grunted. The things people will do for money.”
“When I was a kid,” Forest said, “I wanted to be a wing-walker. That guy’s certainly got a nerve. Look at him!”
The plane was returning now, still flying low. The wing-walker was standing on his hands, balanced precariously on the edge of the wing.
Faintly above the roar of the engine. Conrad could hear the excited cries of the people in the garden as they waved to the plane.
“Here he comes,” Forest said, leaning farther out of the window. “He’s hanging on with one hand…”
Conrad felt the rug they were standing on shift suddenly as Forest leaned still farther out of the window. He saw Forest lurch forward and grab frantically for the window sill. Conrad snatched at Forest’s coat, braced himself as he felt Forest over-balance. For one horrible moment he thought the coat was going to be wrenched out of his grip, then Forest managed to get a hold on the windowframe and heave himself back into the room.
“For God’s sake…” Conrad gasped.
Forest was white-faced and shaken.
“Thanks, Paul,” he said huskily. “Hell! I nearly went out. That’s a long way down. Phew! I guess the rug slipped… .”
Conrad stood rooted, his face white. Above the returning roar of the aircraft both men heard a wild, terrified scream that chilled their blood.
“What’s that?” Forest exclaimed.
Conrad flung himself across the room, wrenched open the door and ran blindly down the corridor to Frances’s room.
Two of the guards were coming from the opposite direction. Conrad beat them to the door and threw it open.
The two police women were standing away from the open window, whitefaced and like statues.
Madge Fielding was wringing her hands, her face ashen.
There was no sign of Frances.
“Madge! What’s happened?” Conrad asked, in a strangled voice.
“She’s gone! She was leaning out of the window, looking at the plane when suddenly she screamed. I rushed to her, but I was too late. She seemed to be pulled out of the window. She was struggling, then the rug slipped from under her and she went out…”
Forest pushed past Conrad and went over to the window. He looked out.
Two hundred feet below him, looking like a small, broken doll, Frances lay stretched out on the moonlit sands.
He looked down at her for a long moment, then he stepped back as Conrad walked unsteadily to a chair and sat down.
“Well, that’s it,” Forest said in a low savage voice. “Goddamn it! There goes my case against Maurer — like her — out of the window.”
The aircraft swooped once more over the hotel, then its neon lighting went out, and like a departing spirit it flew swiftly out to sea.