Mary Sherman was tall and elegant: a woman in her early forties. She looked as if she had stepped out of a Beaton photograph: immaculately dressed by Balmain, she was extremely conscious that before long she would be the First Lady of the United States. She was a shrewd, cold and calculating woman with a burning ambition for her husband and herself. She had a cold, magnetic charm. She seemed to have an irresistible interest in people who felt, when they met her, that their cares were her cares: it was a trick that served her husband well.
As Sherman came into the big, comfortable lounge, Mary was at her desk, writing a letter. She turned, looked inquiringly at him with those blue, impersonal eyes and then got to her feet.
‘Henry! I’ve been waiting.’ She moved to him and kissed his unshaven cheek with a little grimace of disapproval. ‘Was it all right? What happened?’
During the drive back to Washington from Kennedy airport, Sherman had got rid of his false moustache, but he had retained the heavy sun goggles. He had picked up his car which he had left at the airport, but his return hadn’t been so lucky as his leaving. As he had come in through the back entrance to his imposing house, Morgan, one of the F.B.I, agents responsible for his security, had stepped out of the shadows. The two men had confronted each other, genuine horror in Morgan’s eyes.
Sherman realised Morgan’s position and he gave him his wide, easy smile, strictly reserved for the people who might vote for him.
‘I felt like a breath of fresh air, Morgan,’ he said, ‘so I slipped out. I’m feeling fine now.’ He put his hand on Morgan’s arm, patting it as he had patted so many arms of possible voters. ‘Naughty of me… I’m sorry. Let’s keep it between ourselves, huh?’ Then before the horrified agent could protest, Sherman had left him and had entered the house.
‘Morgan spotted me as I was coming in,’ Sherman said, stripping off his overcoat, ‘but it’s more than his job’s worth to report it.’ He dropped wearily into an arm chair.’ Sit down, Mary… let me tell you.’
She sat by his side.
‘Have you found her?’
‘Not yet.’ Sherman went on to tell her about his talk with Dorey and what Dorey was doing.
Mary listened to this, her eyes incredulous.
‘You mean there is only this ex-agent looking for her?’ she exclaimed. ‘This is ridiculous, Henry! Why didn’t you consult the police?’
‘And make this official?’ Sherman shook his head. ‘Use your brains! We have no choice but to hope Dorey’s man will find her.’
‘A crook! Henry!’
He looked at her.
‘We have to find her, Mary… this man will find her’
She made a savage little movement with her hands.
‘And then… what?’
‘It is possible he will be able to persuade her…’
‘Oh, for God’s sake! Persuade her? Gillian? How can any man persuade a little fiend like that!’ She got to her feet and began to move around the big room, beating her fists together. ‘Gan’t you realise she is determined to ruin us! Why did I have to produce such a child! Listen, Henry… you must give up the election. At least, if you withdraw, we can keep our social life intact, but once those filthy films get into the wrong hands… how can we face anyone and who would want to see us again?’
Sherman got wearily to his feet. He crossed over to the telephone, consulted his pocket address book, then dialled Dorey’s home number in Paris.
‘Who are you calling?’ Mary demanded shrilly.
‘Dorey. He may have news for us.’
Dorey was in bed, asleep, when the sound of the telephone bell woke him. He became instantly awake and alert.
‘Is that you, Dorey?’ He recognised Sherman’s voice.
‘Yes… you’ve got back all right?’
‘All right… have you any news for me?’
‘Yes… some good… some bad. I must be careful. We are talking over an open line.’ There was a pause, then he went on,
‘You remember Uncle Joe?’
Sherman stiffened.
‘Of course… what is this, John?’
‘His nephews are now interested. Mr Cain was recognised as he left Orly. Joe’s nephews know Mr Cain and I met.’
Sherman’s face went slack with shock. Watching him, Mary jumped to her feet in alarm.
‘What is it, Henry?’
He waved her to silence.
‘Do they know about the movie?’ he asked Dorey.
‘I don’t think so, but they are curious. My man has been alerted.’
‘Well, go on… what else?’
‘My man is going to Garmisch… he should be on his way in an hour or so,’ Dorey said. ‘He has received information that the party you are interested in is there.’
‘Garmisch… Germany? Are you sure?’
‘Yes. The party is staying at the Alpenhoff Hotel’
‘Do you think your man can handle this?’
‘If he can’t, no one can.’
‘Then I suppose I must accept this situation… I’m not happy about it, but I am relying on you.’
I will do my best, sir.’ Dorey’s voice sounded flat. Sherman’s obvious lack of confidence hurt him. ‘I will telephone you again,’ and he hung up.
Sherman slowly replaced the receiver and then turned and looked at Mary.
‘A Russian agent recognised me at Orly and now the Russians are on to this.’
Mary’s hand went to her mouth; her face became waxen.
‘You mean they know about these filthy films?’
‘Not yet, but they are investigating. This man Girland has located Gillian at the Alpenhoff Hotel, Garmisch.’
‘Garmisch? What is she doing there?’
Sherman shrugged impatiently.
‘How do I know? Girland is on his way there now.’
Mary suddenly pounded her clenched fists on the back of the settee.
‘What can a man like that do? God! I wish the little bitch was dead!’
Sherman shifted uneasily.
‘You’d better know, Mary… I ran into Radnitz in Paris of course, he recognised me.’
Mary stared at him, her steel-blue eyes widening.
‘Radnitz? He recognised you?’
‘Yes. It was one of those things… I told him what was happening.’
‘You mean you told him about Gillian and these filthy films?’
‘ I had no alternative.’
Mary dropped onto the settee.
‘Henry! Radnitz only thinks about this contract! You were mad to have told him. Now he will blackmail you!’
Sherman looked patiently at her.
‘You’re being stupid. Radnitz can’t expect the contract unless I am President. He is ready to help me.’ He crossed to the cocktail cabinet, made himself a stiff whisky and soda, then came and sat down again.
‘Radnitz help you?’ Mary’s voice was shrill. ‘You can’t believe a man like that would help anyone!’
‘Mary… just a moment ago you said you wished Gillian was dead… do you mean that?’ Sherman asked, not looking at her.
She sensed the question was serious. For a long moment, she sat still, her fact expressionless.
Finally, she said, ‘If she was dead, you would become the President of the United States. If she remains alive and continues to blackmail us, you won’t become the President… so… yes… I suppose I do wish she was dead.’
Sherman stared down at his hands.
‘Radnitz said the same thing. He said he could arrange it. I -1 told him to go ahead… I was worked up, but before he takes action, I wanted to talk to you… then if you agree, I have to tell him where to find her.’ He stroked the back of his neck, staring out of the window. ‘He knows where she is, of course. He knows everything, but if I tell him she is at the Alpenhoff Hotel at Garmisch, he will know this is my okay for him to get rid of her.’
Mary leaned forward, her eyes glittering.
‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ she demanded. ‘We have fought and fought to come this far. Why should our ambitions and our way of life be ruined because we have been unlucky enough to have spawned this hateful, spiteful animal. Call Radnitz and tell him where she is!’
Sherman moved in his chair. His shaking hands went over his sweating face.
‘She is our daughter, Mary.’
‘Call him!’
They stared at each other for a long moment, then Sherman shook his head.
‘No! We can’t do this, Mary. We can’t!’
‘And the Russians? Suppose they find out about this degenerate animal? We can’t allow ourselves to be blackmailed by such a creature. She must be silenced!’
Sherman made a helpless gesture.
‘Suppose we wait until Girland finds her. He might just possibly talk some sense into her.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’m going to bed.’
‘Yes…’ Mary looked strangely at him. Her eyes were remote. ‘The Alpenhoff Hotel, Garmisch… you said?’
‘Yes.’
‘And where is Radnitz?’
Sherman hesitated.
‘Georges V, Paris.’ He looked away from her. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Go to bed, Henry,’ Mary said quietly. ‘You need your rest’.
Sherman hesitated again, then moved to the door. He paused and looked at her. Her cold, hard eyes fixed his.
‘Go to bed, Henry,’ she repeated.
Sherman left the lounge. He moved slowly like an old man moving to his bed, directed by his nurse. She listened to him mount the stairs and the slight creak of the floorboards as he moved into his bedroom.
For sometime, she sat staring out of the window, watching the sun rising, heralding a new day. Her face was stony, only the glitter in her eyes hinted at the turmoil that was going on in her mind.
Finally, she reached for the telephone. She asked the operator to connect her with Georges V hotel, Paris.
A black Thunderbird drew up under the canopy of the Georges V hotel and the doorman stepped forward to open the car door.
Lu Silk slid out.
‘Park it… I won’t be long,’ he said curtly and walked into the lobby. He crossed to the concierge who was standing behind his desk.
‘Mr Radnitz,’Silk said.
The concierge had seen Silk several times. He knew him to be a man who didn’t tip and was disagreeable to the staff.
The concierge inclined his head coldly, picked up a telephone receiver, spoke briefly, then said to Silk, ‘Fourth floor, monsieur, suite 457.’
Silk sneered at him.
‘As if I didn’t know.’ He turned and walked towards the elevators.
Lu Silk (see ‘Believed Violent’) was Herman Radnitz’s professional killer: a tall, lean man in his early forties with a hatchet-shaped face, a glass left eye and a white scar running down the side of his left cheek. His crewcut hair was white. He wore a dark flannel suit that fitted him well, and he carried a black slouch hat in his hand. He had worked for Radnitz now for some years. When Radnitz wished to get rid of anyone
troublesome, he called for Silk. For $ 15,000 as a killing fee and $30,000 as a yearly retainer whether he worked or not, Lu Silk made a satisfactory living.
He arrived on the fourth floor and rang the bell of suite 457. The door was opened by Ko-Yu, Radnitz’s Japanese servant and chauffeur.
‘Hi,’ Silk said as he entered. ‘The old man waiting for me?’
Ko-Yu regarded Silk, his face expressionless, his manner distant.
‘Mr Radnitz is expecting you.’
Silk went into the big, luxuriously furnished sitting-room where Radnitz was at his desk, dictating to his secretary, Fritz Kurt, a small, thin man who glanced up as Silk came in.
Radnitz broke off his dictation and waved Kurt away. There was a moment’s pause while Kurt left the room, then Radnitz said, T have work for you.’
"That’s easy to guess.’ Silk was in awe of no man, and he never showed any respect when talking to Radnitz. He was the only member of Radnitz’s staff who wasn’t a ‘Yes-man’. He sat down and crossed one leg over the other. ‘Who is it this time?’
‘You are ready to travel immediately?’
‘Of course. I always keep a bag in the car. Where to?’
‘Munich.’ Radnitz opened a brief-case and took from it a bulky envelope. ‘Here are your instructions with your ticket and travellers cheques. You are to get rid of two people. A girl: Gillian Sherman. A man: Pierre Rosnold. There is a photograph of the girl here, but I have no photograph of the man, but they will be together. This is important, Silk. You will receive thirty thousand dollars when I know they have been eliminated.’
Silk got up, crossed to the desk and took the envelope Radnitz was offering him. He returned to his chair, sat down and removed the contents of the envelope. He paused to study the photograph of Gillian Sherman. Her beauty had no effect on him. For more years than he could remember, Silk had lost interest in women. He read through two typewritten pages of instructions, then he looked up.
‘I don’t hit them until these films are recovered? How do I know when they are recovered?’
‘This man Girland will get them. He will be constantly watched You don’t have to worry about that. Your job is to get rid of these two when you are told to go ahead.’.
‘How do you want this arranged?’
Radnitz selected a cigar from a cedar, gold-topped box.
‘An accident… perhaps a hunting accident?’
‘The two of them?’ Silk shook his head. ‘No… one of them could be shot by mistake, but not two of them. The German police aren’t stupid.’
Radnitz shrugged impatiently. Small details always bored him.
‘I leave it to you. I have a place near Oberammergau. I have a good man there and I have already alerted him. He will do everything that is necessary. His name is Count Hans von Goltz. You will be met at the Munich airport and taken to my place. By that time, von Goltz will have information for you. You need take no weapons. There is everything you may need at my place. I have some thirty good men who look after the estate. You can use them if you want them.’
Silk put the envelope in his pocket and got to his feet.
‘I’d better get off if I’m to catch the 14.00 hr. plane.’
‘Be careful of Girland,’ Radnitz warned. ‘He is dangerous.’
Silk showed his even white teeth in a vicious smile.
‘I’ll watch it,’ he said and left the suite
Because Mary Sherman had forgotten to tell Radnitz that now the Russians were also involved in this hunt for the daughter of the future President, Silk left the Georges V hotel thinking he had only Girland to deal with. Had he known that he was to come up against not only Girland, but Malik as well, he would have been less confident he was on to easy money as he drove his Thunder bird towards Orly airport.
Feeling slightly jaded, Girland passed through the Customs barrier at the Munich airport and made his way across the big hall to the Hertz Rental car service. Seeing where he was going, Labrey who had been following him, paused. He had little money to spare. There was no question of his hiring a car. His Soviet masters were tight with money. He watched Girland as he talked to the girl clerk.
Girland showed his Hertz Credit Card and told the girl, a pretty blonde, he wanted a Mercedes 230.
‘Yes, sir,’ the girl said. ‘How long will you need it, do you think?’
I don’t know.’ Girland found the girl attractive. ‘It depends on how much I like your country. If it’s as lovely as you are, I might spend the rest of my days here.’
The girl giggled and blushed.
‘Shall we say… a week?’
‘Leave it open… I don’t know.’ Girland leaned on the counter while she completed the form, then he signed it.
‘I’ll get the car for you, sir.’ She used the telephone and then hung up. ‘In five minutes, sir.’ She looked adoringly at him as she smiled. ‘The exit door is to your right.’
‘Thank you.’
They exchanged glances, then feeling considerably revitalised, Girland left the airport and stood waiting in the pale sunshine for the car to arrive.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ a voice said at his side. ‘Would you be going to Garmisch?’
Girland turned. Standing by his side was a talLthin young man with long blond hair and wearing green tinted sunglasses. He had a rucksack on his back.
‘Sure,’ Girland said. ‘Do you want a lift?’
T was hoping for one,’ Labrey said, ‘but I don’t want to push myself onto you.’
At this moment a black Mercedes pulled up beside them. The white coated driver got out and saluted Girland.
‘You understand the car, sir?’
‘Oh, sure.’ Girland tossed his suitcase onto the back seat. He tipped the man, then turning to Labrey, he went on, ‘Hop in.’
Labrey slid into the passenger’s seat. He put the rucksack down between his feet.
Girland got under the driving wheel and set the car in motion.
Labrey said, ‘Thank you very much, sir.’ The conversation from the beginning had been in French. ‘You’re an American, aren’t you?’
‘That’s right.’
‘You look American, but your French is perfect.’
I guess I get by. Where are you from?’ Girland asked as he headed the car fast along the highway towards Munich.
‘I’m from Paris. I’m on vacation. I plan to walk through the Isar valley to Bad Tolz,’ Labrey said. He had spent his time profitably while in the aircraft, reading a guide book of Germany which he had bought at Orly airport.
‘Fine walking country,’ Girland said.
Labrey looked shiftily at him.
‘Are you on vacation or on business, sir?’
‘A bit of both. You’re walking from Garmisch?’
‘Yes, but I will stay in Garmisch for a few days if I can find a cheap hotel.’
‘You won’t have any trouble about that. There are plenty of good, cheap hotels to choose from.’ Girland spoke from experience as he often came to Garmisch for the winter sports.
Having been warned by Malik about Girland, Labrey decided not to ask any further questions. It was truly a bit of luck to be riding with this ex-CIA agent who obviously was quite unsuspecting. Labrey was pleased with himself.
The conversation got around to Paris and the night clubs. Labrey could tell Girland of two or three he didn’t know and Girland could tell Labrey of a dozen and more he didn’t know. Chatting this way, they reached Munich and Girland who knew the route, took the outer-ring road and got onto E.6 highway that led directly to Garmisch, under 100 kilometres from Munich. Once on this highway, Girland increased speed and within a little over an hour and a half, he drove into Gannisch’s crowded, narrow main street.
Pulling up by the square, he said, ‘You’ll find three or four hotels over there to the left.’
‘Are you going to one of them?’ Labrey asked as he opened the car door.
‘My hotel’s further down the road.’ Girland offered his hand. ‘Have a good vacation.’
‘Thanks for the ride, sir.’
Girland nodded, started the car moving and drove on to the Alpenhoff Hotel. Labrey half ran, half walked after the Mercedes which was moving slowly as the traffic was heavy. He saw Girland swing the car into the driveway of the hotel, then satisfied he knew where Girland was staying, he went in search of a cheap hotel for himself.
As Girlaind walked into the softly lit hotel lobby, a short, chunky man, wearing a canary coloured polo neck sweater and white slacks paused to let him pass. Behind him was a girl who Girland immediately recognised as Gillian Sherman from the movie he had seen. He was sure he wasn’t mistaken. She was slightly above average height. Her bronze-coloured hair was cut in the shape of a helmet which suited her attractive, sun-tanned face. She had on a white square-necked sweater and black stretch-pants, revealing her sensual figure.
Girland immediately stopped and stood aside to let her pass. She favoured him with a long, searching stare and then a smile, saying, ‘Merci, monsieur.’
‘Come on, Gilly, for God’s sake!’ the man said in French. ‘We’re late already.’
They crossed to where a scarlet T.R.4 was parked, got in, and with a violent roar from the exhaust, the chunky man whipped the car dangerously fast into the main street and drove away out of sight at speed.
Girland approached the reception desk, setting down his suitcase.
‘Mr Girland booking in,’ he said to the clerk. ‘WasthatMrRosnold who just left? I believe I recognised him.’
‘That is correct, sir.’
‘He’s not checking out?’
‘Oh, no, sir. He is with us for another week.’
Satisfied, Girland completed the usual form, went up to his room, unpacked his bag and changed into a sweat shirt and hipsters. As the time was only after 11.00 hrs., he decided to take a look at the country since he guessed Rosnold and Gillian could be out for the day.
As he left his room, an elderly chambermaid came along the corridor. Girland smiled, asking in his fluent German, ‘Is Mr Rosnold on this floor, do you know?’
‘He’s right there,’ the woman said, returning Girland’s smile. She pointed to a door exactly opposite Girland’s room. ‘But he’s out now’.
Girland thanked her and went on his way. He felt he had begun the assignment not only with a lot of luck, but well.
As he drove from the hotel, Labrey, sitting at a cafe near the hotel watched him leave. There was nothing Labrey could do about this. He would have to wait until Malik arrived, but at least, he knew where Girland was staying. The next move was to find out why he had come to Garmisch.
Girland returned to the hotel for lunch having driven as far as Wies where he visited what is considered by connoisseurs to be the most beautiful rococo church in Germany. Girland was not an admirer of this form of art, and after taking a hasty look around the massive, ornate interior, he decided to drive back slowly, savouring the magnificent scenery, the hills, the forests and the green of the rich spring meadows.
It was while he was driving along a narrow road bordered by wild flowers that he saw ahead of him a scarlet sports car, parked on the side of the verge. He slowed, seeing the hood was open and Gillian Sherman sitting in the passenger’s seat. He slowed to a crawl, and as he approached, he saw Rosnold peering at the motor.
My lucky day, Girland thought and pulled up.
‘Do you want any help?’ he asked in French.
Rosnold regarded him. He was a man in his middle forties, but in good trim with a well-built, muscular body. His eyes were a little too close-set and his mouth hard, but he was reasonably handsome. He smiled, a tight-lipped smile, then raised his hands helplessly.
‘The damn thing just stopped. Do you know anything about cars?’
Girland slid out of the Mercedes and went over to the T.R.4. He purposely didn’t look at Gillian.
‘Try to start her,’ he said. ‘Let’s hear what she sounds like.’
Rosnold got under the driving wheel. The dynamo whirred, but the engine reamined dead.
‘All right for gas?’
‘Three-quarters full.’
‘Then you could have dirt in the petrol feed. Got any tools?’
Rosnold found the tool wallet and handed it over. It took Girland ten minutes to get the engine restarted. He stepped back and smiled.
‘There you are… simple when you know how.’
Rosnold said gratefully, ‘Thank you very much. You are most kind.’
‘Glad to be of help.’ Girland now looked at Gillian who gave him a wide, fascinating smile.
‘I think you are wonderful,’ she said.
‘If you will permit me, madame, I will return the compliment,’ Girland said. He gave her his long stare of admiration that had so often sent tingles up the spines of so many girl, then he returned to his car and drove off.
At the hotel he had a good lunch, then went up to his room, stripped off, put on a shortie dressing-gown and stretched out on the bed. Girland believed in rest when there was time to rest. Within a minute or so, he was asleep.
He woke a little before 18.00 hrs., took a shower, shaved and put on a midnight-blue suit, a white polo-neck sweater, black suede shoes. He surveyed himself in the full-length mirror. Satisfied, he pushed a small armchair up to the door, opened the door a crack and sat down to wait.
At 19.30 hrs. he heard a door open and he became alert. Leaning forward, he peered through the crack to see Rosnold come out of his room, insert a key in the lock and turn it. Girland shoved the armchair away and moved out into the corridor. He too locked his door and turned to make for the elevator.
Rosnold recognised him and smiled.
‘So we meet again,’ he said and offered his hand.
Girland shook hands.
‘I didn’t know you were staying here,’ he said. ‘No further trouble with your car?’
‘No… thanks to you. If you’re not in a hurry, give me the pleasure of buying you a drink,’ Rosnold said. ‘I am most grateful to you.’
‘Not at all.’ Girland fell into step beside Rosnold. ‘I’m here for a short vacation. I’ve been cooped up in Paris too long and I felt the need to stretch my legs. Would you know of a good restaurant around here? I get bored with hotel meals all the time.’
They reached the elevator and went down to the ground floor as Rosnold said, ‘You mean you are on your own? Come and dine with us. I would take it as a favour.’
‘But your wife…’ Girland let this hang.
Rosnold laughed.
‘She’s not my wife. We go around together. She’ll be delighted. She’s already told me she thinks you are dreamy.’
Girland laughed.
‘You certainly know how to pick them.’
They went into the tiny bar and got the only, corner table. Both ordered double Scotch on the rocks.
‘I’m in the photographic racket,’ Rosnold volunteered as they waited for their drinks. ‘What’s your racket?’
I can’t say I have one single racket,’ Girland said and grinned. ‘I work a number: agent for this and that. I work when I feel like it which isn’t often. I guess I’m lucky. My old man left me some heavy money which I take care of.’
Rosnold looked impressed. He eyed Girland’s clothes which had been bought with Dorey’s money from a top tailor in London.
‘ Some people have all the luck. I have to work for my living.’
‘You don’t look as if you have to grumble.’
‘Oh, I get by.’
As the drinks arrived, Gillian Sherman came into the bar. She was wearing a scarlet trousered cocktail suit of light nylon and wool with a gold link-chain around her slim waist. Girland thought she looked sensational. The two men got to their feet.
‘This is Gilly… Gillian Sherman.’ Rosnold blinked, then turned to Girland. ‘I’m sorry… damn it! I haven’t introduced myself. Pierre Rosnold.’
Girland was looking at Gilly.
‘Mark Girland,’ he said and took the hand she offered. Her grip was cool and firm. Mischief and sex danced in her eyes and she surveyed him. ‘Miss Sherman, this brief encounter has made my vacation.’
‘What makes you think it is going to be brief?’ Gilly asked as she sat down. ‘Pierre, a Cinzano bitter, please.’
As Rosnold went to the bar, Girland said, ‘Two’s company…’
She regarded him.
‘Can’t you do better than that?’
‘I could.’
They stared at each other. Girland gave her his intense look he had cultivated for just such an occasion. It was completely insincere, but it usually had a devasting effect on most women. Gilly reacted to it as he hoped she would.
She leaned forward and smiled at him.
‘Yes… I think you could,’ she murmured.
Rosnold joined them with the drink and set it before her. They talked. When Girland wished, he could be witty, amusing and often bawdy. Smoothly, he went into his act, and after a few minutes, he was holding the stage with Rosnold grinning appreciatively and Gilly doubled up with laughter.
It was while he was being his most entertaining that a tall, lean man came into the bar. He was about forty years of age with thick, flaxen hair taken straight back off a narrow forehead. His deeply-tanned face was long and narrow and his alert eyes a washed-out blue. He wore a bottle-green velvet smoking jacket, a frilled white shirt, a green string tie and black trousers. Around his thick muscular left wrist was a heavy platinum chain. On his right wrist a platinum Omega watch. He had that confident, slightly arrogant air reserved for the immensely rich. He merely glanced at the three sitting at the corner table, then sat on a stool up at the bar.
‘Good evening, Count von Goltz,’ the barman said, bowing. ‘What is your pleasure?’
‘A glass of champagne… my usual,’ the man said, and taking a heavy gold Cigarette case from his pocket, he selected an oval-shaped cigarette which the barman moved forward to light.
‘Phew!’ Gilly breathed. ‘Some doll!’
Girland found her concentration in him had snapped. She was now studying the back of the blond man, her eyes calculating.
Rosnold touched her arm.
‘Do you mind getting your eyes back on me, cherie?’ he said, a slight rasp in his voice.
‘Buy him for me, Pierre… he’s simply gorgeous.’ Gilly had deliberately raised her voice.
The blond man turned and regarded her. He smiled, an easy, pleasant smile.
‘Your French tells me you are an American, mademoiselle, and I adore uninhibited Americans.’ He slid off his stool and gave a stiff little bow. Then looking at Rosnold, he said, ‘But I may be intruding, sir. If I am, I will take my drink into the lounge.’
Both Rosnold and Girland got to their feet.
‘Intruding? Of course not,’ Rosnold said. ‘Perhaps you would care to join us?’
‘For a few minutes… I would be delighted.’ Von Goltz pulled up a chair. ‘Count Hans von Goltz,’ and he bowed.
Rosnold made the introductions while Gilly continued to stare at von Goltz.
‘You mean you are a real count?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘I’ve never met a real count before!’
Von Goltz laughed.
‘I am delighted to be the first.’ His eyes shifted to Girland. ‘And you? Are you also American?’
‘That’s right,’ Girland said. ‘I’m here just for a short vacation.’
Von Goltz nodded.
"This is ideal country for a vacation.’ Sitting down, he began to talk about Garmisch and the surrounding district. Soon the conversation became general. When von Goltz had finished his glass of champagne, Rosnold asked him to have another, but von Goltz shook his head.
‘Thank you, but I am afraid I must leave you. Please excuse me. I have a dinner date.’ He regarded Gilly. ‘If you have nothing better to do, perhaps you and your friends would care to visit my modest Schloss* not far from here? It could interest you. I can offer you all kinds of amusements. There is a heated swimming-pool, a lovely forest, twelve hundred acres of bridle paths and shooting — although
Gilly clapped her hands, her eyes opening wide.
‘That’s marvellous! We would love to come!’
‘My place is large and often lonely,’ von Goltz said and lifted his shoulders. T live alone. I would welcome you all if you would care to stay for five or six days. I assure you you won’t be bored. Would you all give me the honour of being your host?’
Gilly turned to Rosnold.
‘Oh, do let’s! It sounds absolutely dreamy!’
‘It is very kind of you,’Rosnold said. ‘If you are sure we won’t be a burden, then we would happily accept your invitation.’
Von Goltz looked smilingly at Girland.
‘And you, sir?’
This really must be my lucky day, Girland was thinking. Now I will have the chance to talk to this girl alone.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘As I told you, I am here on vacation. I would like nothing better. It is very kind of you.’
Von Goltz shrugged.
‘It will be my pleasure.’ He got to his feet. T will send one of my servants here at midday tomorrow. He will direct you to the Schloss. It is only an hour’s.fast drive from Garmisch. You will arrive in time for lunch.’ He took Gilly’s hand and brushed it lightly with his lips, then shook hands with Rosnold and Girland. ‘Until tomorrow… good night,’ and with a pleased smile, he left the bar.
‘What do you know!’ Gilly said as soon as the count was out of hearing. ‘A real, live count! And he has a castle! Gosh!’
Rosnold looked at Girland, a puzzled expression in his eyes.
‘I didn’t know Germans were quite so hospitable… did you?’
Girland laughed.
‘I very much doubt if you and I were on our own, we would have been invited. I think mademoiselle in her scarlet outfit caught the count’s eye.’
‘Then you both should be very grateful to me,’ Gilly said, laughing. ‘Anyway, let’s check out, Pierre. If we are going to stay at the castle for a week, there’s no point in keeping our rooms on.’
‘Yes.’ Rosnold got to his feet. ‘And when we’ve checked out, we’ll eat. I’mhungry.’
The three went to the reception desk.
‘We have been invited to stay with Count von Goltz,’ Rosnold explained to the clerk. ‘We will be checking out tomorrow morning. Will you have my bill ready?’
‘Certainly, sir. You should have a very happy stay with the count,’ the clerk said, obviously impressed.
‘That goes for me too,’ Girland said.
They went out into the courtyard where the cars were parked.
‘Comeinmy car,’ Girlandsaid. ‘There’smoreroom.’
Gilly slid into the front passenger’s seat and Rosnold got in at the back.
‘Where to?’ Girland asked.
‘Turn right as you leave the hotel. The restaurant is about eight kilometres from here. I’ll direct you,’ Rosnold said.
Watched by Malik and Labrey who were sitting at the opposite cafe, Girland drove away from the hotel.
They made an odd-looking trio as they stood outside Garmisch’s railway station. Vi with her long, blonde hair, her pale-blue hipsters and red wool sweater looked absurdly small beside Malik who was wearing a short black leather coat and baggy black corduroy trousers, his silver coloured hair like a burnished steel helmet. Max Lintz in a coarsely-woven brown sweater and brown slacks with a brown woollen cap on his head stood on Vi’s other side, his small, quick eyes examining the passers-by suspiciously and intently.
They had arrived only a few minutes ago. The time was just after 19.00 hrs. When Malik had reached Munich airport, he had gone to the Hertz Rental service and had hired a Volkswagen 1500. While he was waiting for the car to arrive, he had noticed a tall, white-haired man with a glass eye whom he had seen on the aircraft, standing near him. Malik merely glanced at him, and Lu Silk, not knowing who this giant was, gave him a steady stare from his one cold, hard eye and then looked away.
A big, black Mercedes pulled up and the driver waved to Silk who crossed the road and got into the car. As he was driven away, the Volkswagen arrived.
Malik told Lintz to get in at the back. Vi got in beside Malik, shrinking as far away from him as she could.
Malik had stuck terror into Vi the moment she had seen him at Orly airport. He had come up to her, stared at her with his evil green eyes and had asked abruptly:
‘Mademoiselle Martin?’
She had nodded dumbly.
He had held out a huge, cruel-looking hand.
‘Your passport.’
With shaking hands, she had found her passport in her bag and had given it to him.
‘Follow me,’ and he stalked into the airport.
They went together through the police barrier. For a brief moment Vi had been tempted to scream to the police officer that she was being kidnapped, but remembering Paul’s warning, terror kept her silent.
In the reception lounge, Max Lintz had joined them. He had glanced at Vi without interest and then had drawn Malik aside. The two men had talked together in German, ignoring Vi who stood uneasily, shaking a little, while she waited.
On the aircraft, Malik had let her sit by herself while he and Lintz occupied the two seats behind her. All during the flight, they had talked softly in German while Vi had sat miserably wondering what was going to happen to her.
While waiting outside the railway station, she had screwed up her courage and asked Malik for her passport.
He turned and looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time and didn’t like what he was seeing.
‘I keep it,’ he snapped and looked away.
‘But it’s mine!’ Vi cried with a sudden desperate flash of courage. ‘You can’t keep it! Give it to me!’
Lintz turned to stare at her as Malik said in his flat, dead voice, ‘I keep it.’
Vi bit her lip and moved away. She felt trapped, and again terror went through her, leaving her cold and shaking.
‘Here he is,’ Lintz said suddenly.
Labrey came hurrying up the street to join them.
‘I lost my way,’ he said breathlessly, ignoring Vi. Tm sorry I’m late.’
Malik drew him aside.
‘What has been happening?’
‘Girland is at the Alpenhoff Hotel,’ Labrey said. ‘He has hired a Mercedes. Right now he is in the hotel.’
‘Is there a hotel near his?’
‘Right opposite. I’ve booked us all in.’
‘Then we will go there now.’ Malik regarded Labrey. ‘You have done well.’
Vi and Labrey got in the back of the Volkswagen and Malik and Lintz in the front. Vi put her hand on Labrey’s and looked beseechingly at him, but he snatched his hand away. He knew Malik could see them in the driving mirror and he was scared of Malik.
It took only a few minutes to reach the Alpenhoff Hotel. The hotel opposite was more modest. Malik sent Lintz and Vi into the hotel and he and Labrey took a table on the sidewalk and ordered beer. From there they sat they could look directly into the Alpenhoff Hotel’s courtyard.
They saw Count von Goltz leave in a silver-grey Rolls Royce. He meant nothing to them. Then ten minutes later they saw Girland, Gilly and Rosnold come out and get into Girland’s hired Mercedes and drive away.
‘Who is the woman?’Malik asked.
‘I haven’t seen her before.’
Malik brooded, then he said, T want your girl’s wristwatch.’
Labrey gaped at him.
‘Vi’s watch?’
‘Get it!’ the snap in Malik’s voice brought Labrey to his feet. He hurried into the hotel, up the stairs to Vi’s bedroom where he found her sitting on the bed, her head in her hands. She looked up as he came in and jumped to her feet.
‘He’s taken my passport!’ she said wildly. ‘You must get it back! Paul! I…’
‘Shut up! Give me your watch!’
She shrank back, staring at him.
‘My watch… why?
‘Give it to me!’ Labrey’s thin face had that vicious expression that always frightened Vi. With shaking fingers she undid the gold-plated strap and handed him the watch.
Snatching it from her, Labrey left the room and ran down to the street.
‘Here it is,’ he said, handing the watch to Malik.
Malik examined it and his short, thick nose wrinkled.
‘It isn’t much but it will have to do. Wait here.’ He got to his feet and moved to the edge of the crowded sidewalk. He had to wait a few moments before there was a gap in the steady flow of traffic, then he crossed the street and walked into the Alpenhoff Hotel’s lobby.
The reception clerk looked up from his work as Malik came to rest at the desk. He stood up and inclined his head politely.
‘Yes, sir?’
‘A young lady left here a few minutes ago,’ Malik said in his fluent German.’ She was wearing a red trouser outfit. As she got into her car, she dropped this.’ He held up the watch. ‘I wish to return it to her.’
‘Thank you, sir. I will give it to her with pleasure.’
Malik regarded the clerk with a suggestive smile.
‘I would like to give it to her myself. Who is she?’
‘Miss Gillian Sherman. I believe she has gone out to dinner, but she will be back some time tonight.’
‘Then I will return the watch tomorrow. Would you tell her I have found it?’
‘Certainly, but you should be here before ten o’clock tomorrow. Miss Sherman is leaving us.’ The clerk guessed this shabbily dressed giant was after a reward.
‘If I miss her, do you know where she is going?’
‘She will be staying at the Obermitten Schloss,’ the clerk told him. ‘Count von Goltz’s estate.’
‘Then I will be back before ten o’clock.’
Malik walked across the lobby to the row of telephone kiosks. He put through a call to a Soviet agent in Munich. He learned the Obermitten Schloss was owned by Herman Radnitz. Malik knew all about Radnitz. He talked for some minutes to the agent, instructing him to call Kovski in Paris. The agent promised to call him back at the hotel as soon as he had made contact with Kovski. Malik left word with the hotel’s telephone operator where he could be found and went into the hotel lounge to wait. An hour later, his Munich call came through. He listened to the information he was given, grunted his thanks and hung up.