by James Munro
He lowered his arm and she ran toward him, looking up at his face.
"Jesus," she said. "You've taken a beating."
Craig nodded. "Where's Sophie?" he asked.
"In the bath. She practically lives there."
"That was me," said Craig.
"She's next door then. Shall I call her?". Craig nodded again. His head seemed piled with lead weights. He went to the door and waved Ashford in before Sophie came back with Maria. Sophie wore a baby-doll nightdress and a great deal of perfume, and she embraced Craig with enthusiasm, then leaned back to look at his face.
"My poor John," she said. "You should have stayed with us."
Craig put his arm around her; she felt strong, clean, and very feminine.
"This is a colleague of mine-Richard Ashford," he said. Sophie looked at him, said "My God" twice, ran back to her bedroom, and came back wearing a dressing gown.
"A colleague?" she said.
Craig said wearily, "We've been doing business together."
"Where's sexy Grierson?" asked Maria. "Taking a sea trip," said Craig. "He'll be back." From very far off, there came the sound of a shot, then another.
"Backfire?" Maria asked.
Craig ran to the veranda. The boat with the outboard now roaring again was zigzagging toward the yacht, and on the headland three men were firing into it. He went back to the bedroom.
"Trouble," he said. "Who owns this place?"
"Dan Turner," Sophie answered. "You remember. You met him in St. Trop."
"Where is he now?"
"He's gone to a poker game in Beaulieu. He's bringing a party back later. Darling, what's wrong? What is happening?"
"Just give me a minute," Craig said. "Where are all the servants? A place this size should be swarming with them."
"Jerks," said Maria. "They quit." "Maria, that's not fair," said Sophie. "Dan is a very amusing person, but he does get a littie drunk sometimes.
And he likes to fire his revolver. Even then I don't think they would have minded, but he's such a bad shot. So they left. All he's got now is a cook and a chauffeur." "Where are they?"
"With him," said Maria. "They play poker too. Better than he does."
"I'd like to stay here for a bit-" said Craig.
"Sure," Maria said. "There's scads of room, and Dan would love it. I mean it."
"Only it might not be too safe for you. The men I had a fight with are still following me. They may come here. If they do, they'll want to kill me. Just because you're here won't make any difference."
"That wasn't a backfire, was it?" asked Maria.
Ashford said, "We'd really better go."
"Ricky," Craig said, "you're marvelous, do you know that? And I'm very grateful to you. Let's go."
"No," said Sophie. "Wait!" She came to stand very close to Craig. "Have you held up a bank?"
"No," answered Craig. "Nothing like that. I'm sorry, but I can't tell you anything about it."
Ashford said, "He did something that had to be done. Something very brave."
Sophie touched Craig's upper arm, feeling the hard muscle in her own strong hand.
"Brave," she said. "Of course, brave. That is what he is made for-all muscles and guns and a good brain he doesn't use. My poor bloody fool. You can't go away yet. You can hardly walk. Let me have a look at your hand."
Carefully she set and bandaged the broken finger, and Craig's other hand squeezed on the arm of his chair as he willed himself not to cry out. When it was done, Sophie kissed him.
"You should have yelled," she said. "You should have called me a clumsy bitch."
A doorbell chimed the opening bars of "Sur le pont a" Avignon."
"That Turner," Maria said. "He's a nut."
"It'll be the people I told you about," Craig said.
Maria opened a drawer by tine bedside and took out a pistol, a police Positive.
"Guns all over the house," she said. "It's crazy."
Before Craig could say anything, she went downstairs, and he followed her. Ashford was right. They should have gone. He had no business to let a woman hide him, and yet he was doing it, for the second time in a few weeks.
"Who is it?" Maria yelled.
"Police," somebody yelled back. "Open the door." "If you're police, you'd better prove it," Maria said. "I'm not letting you in unless you are."
"There are criminals loose. Their car is at your gate." "They're not here," said Maria. "They're murderers."
Maria hesitated then, and it was Sophie who yelled, "They're still not here."
Maria said, "Shove your badge through the mail slot or I'll shoot. Police, huh? You think I'm crazy?"
Heavy shoulders pounded at the door. Then Maria lifted the gun in both hands and fired high up into the woodwork. The pounding ceased.
"Next time I'll aim lower," Maria said.
There was silence, then a leather wallet came through the mail slot.
"That is my warrant, mademoiselle," someone shouted.
"Jesus," said Maria. "They really are police."
Sophie raced upstairs with Craig and Ashford, and led them on to a loggia with a great trellis of vines. Craig and Ashford crouched down behind it as Sophie sped out again to help Maria open the doors. Maria stood at last in front of two policemen. She still held the police Positive.
"I'm terribly sorry," she said. "Honestly, I'd no idea. I mean, Sophie and I were all alone here and when you came pounding on the door like that, well-I mean, if I'd known-"
"Yes, of course," said the older policeman. "Now if you would just give me the gun-"
"Well, sure," said Maria. "I mean, I'm not very fond of them really."
"Who is?" said the policeman, and held out his hand. Reluctantiy Maria put the gun into it.
"Mr. Turner," she said, "he owns this place, and he just loves guns."
"Yes," said the inspector. "I've heard he does. We would like to look around the house, mademoiselle."
"But there's nobody here but us. Honestly," said Maria.
"It is a very big house," said the policeman. "There may be men here you know nothing about."
"My God, we could use them," said Maria, and looked at Sophie.
"Perhaps you'd better look around then," Sophie said.
"I think so. I am Inspector Segur. This is Sergeant Martini. We are worried about you two ladies. I told you the truth, you know. The men we seek-their car is at your gate."
"Mr. Turner's gate," said Maria.
"All three of these men-they are said to be very dangerous. They are also armed."
"Three?" asked Sophie.
"Does that surprise you?"
"No," Sophie said. "Except-what chance would we poor girls have against three armed men? I'm glad you came, Inspector."
"I also," said Segur, and bowed, then talked to Sophie in rapid Provencal French as they moved from room to room. When they had covered the whole house, Segur sent Martini downstairs with Maria and went back to the loggia, taking Sophie with him. They stood by its stone balcony and looked out to sea.
"That is a good vine," he said. "A remarkable plant to find two floors up."
"You can see St. Hospice from here," said Sophie. "Come and look."
"I am a Nicois," said Segur. "I have seen St. Hospice at least once a year for the last fifty-three years. But this is the first time I have seen a vine two floors up." He spoke in English. "A man could hide behind that vine. If he had a gun, he could kill me."
"If he were that sort of man," Sophie said.
"The man I am thinking of has already killed tonight. He has killed an ex-colonel in the French Army. A man called St. Briac. I am told that it was murder. I believe that it may have been self-defense. I was sent here to arrest this man and his friends, and yet I am forbidden to visit the scene of the crime. That is not the way a policeman should work. Did you know St. Briac?" "No," said Sophie.
"He supported the-what is the word-the extremists in Algeria. Do you do that?"
"No," said Soph
ie. "There aren't many of my generation who do. We're sick of Algeria. You should know that."
"I do know it," Segur said. "I am sick of it too. That is why I am glad this man is not here. You saw me look everywhere, didn't you?"
"Of course," said Sophie. "You were extremely thorough."
Segur said, "I'll tell you something about St. Briac. He was a murdering swine. Of course, you have only my word for it-"
"That is enough," said Sophie. "Obviously you are a man of honor."
"His followers are also murdering swine," said Segur. "And I'm sick of them. They are looking for the three men I spoke of, the three men who aren't here. I am very much afraid they want to kill them. I hope they won't succeed, but I can't stop them. I won't be allowed to stop them. I was once before in this very same situation. It was during the war. Only that time the killers were Germans, and the ones they hunted were Frenchmen." He shrugged. "I've done all I can. I wish it could be more-I remember I said that too, the last time." Suddenly the suave manner cracked, and he was a very angry man. "It ought to be more," he shouted.
"No," Sophie said. "You have been very kind to us. We are grateful."
Segur said, "I've been as kind as I dared. I don't think I deserve your gratitude, but I should like a drink, please."
"The brandy is downstairs," said Sophie.
The suavity came back; a hard protective shell against the orders he hated.
"Let us join it. I have a very singular habit, Miss Gourdun. When I drive away from a house, I always give two long blasts on the horn. I cannot think why."
He left, and a few minutes later Craig and Ashford heard the two long blasts and went downstairs, and followed Sophie into the kitchen, where she made them an omelet and a salad, and took cold chicken from the refrigerator. Craig ate enormously, and drank the rosi d'Anjou that Maria poured. Sophie looked at him adoringly.
"Isn't he gorgeous?" she asked. "Just look at him eat." "He's the cutest thing," said Maria. "But how about when he's eaten?"
"We'll go," Craig said.
"Darling, you can't," said Sophie. "Those men are still around here looking for you, the inspector says, and they've seen the car. They must know you're in here, and Segur says he's had orders to let them wait outside. I think you had better stay here with us."
She made coffee, and he drank it with brandy. Then she took him back to her bedroom and made him he down on the bed, took off her dressing gown, and got in beside him. Her arms came around him, strong and comforting, and she drew his head to her breast. He could feel her heartbeat, calm, untroubled, steady. Then she looked down at his face and laughed, and there was mockery in her laughter, and tenderness, and behind them both, despair.
"Don't worry," she said. "I can see how tired you are. I will try to control my terrible passion. But you are so delicious, you see. I want to bite you. All the time."
"Too lean," said Craig. "Old. Tough. Stringy."
"Not here," said Sophie. "Or here. Or here." She touched his neck, his ear, and, very gently, the strip of tape on his cheek. "Is it true what Segur said?"
Craig nodded. It was hard to stay awake.
"And he was a swine? Is that true too?"
"We all were," said Craig wearily. "I know that now." He fell asleep.
CHAPTER 17
She woke him at two in the morning, seeing how, when she touched him, he awoke at once, eyes open, his good hand ready, perhaps to defend, more probably to strike.
"You must get up," she said. "Dan Turner is coming soon. There is to be a party."
He left the bed and went to a basin, washed one-handed, came back to the brandy bottle, and took a drink.
"Why are you here?" he asked.
"Because of Dan. It costs us nothing, and we like him. He likes to have us around, he says. I think he would still like to sleep with us but I do not find him attractive. Nor does Maria. It is a pity. Now you are altogether different. You attract me enormously. Especially since we camped out together."
Craig looked at once modest, delighted, and upset, and Sophie giggled.
"And you have your own little boyfriend. Such a pity," she said.
"Ashford?" He sounded so incredulous that she giggled again.
"Ashford's all right," he said. "Believe me. But we're just friends. Believe that too."
Sophie kissed him. "Poor John," she said. "Now listen. Maria and 1 will tell Dan that we went into Nice and met you there-at your hotel, and your little friend too. You and Ricky have been in a car accident, which is why you are both damaged."
"Thanks. Where's Ricky now?"
"Downstairs. He knows an awful lot about clothes. He told me exactly what this cost."
She touched the bodice of the dress she was wearing, a cool sheath of white linen that accentuated her golden tan, the paler gold of her hair.
"He's in the business," he said.
"I know. He told me. Poor Ricky. Some of his clients must hit very hard." She spun around; white linen lifted over a froth of white lace. "Dan bought me this. Do you like it?"
"Yes," said Craig, "but I ought to talk to Ricky."
Ricky was much more at his ease now, talking clothes with Maria, sketching, gesticulating, the epicene charm triumphing over the taped hps.
"It seems that Maria and I are old friends," he said. "That's nice."
"I'd like to get on to Grierson," said Craig. "Do you know where I can reach him?"
Ashford turned to Maria. "Darling, would you mind?" he asked.
Maria pouted and left. Ashford sighed.
"She knows," he said. "Sophie told her. It's all very awkward. I know perfecdy well that it's all my fault, but those two girls shouldn't know. They could tell anybody."
"We can hardly leave," said Craig.
"We'd be killed, I suppose," Ashford said. Craig looked at Ashford's hand. There was a glass in it, a tall one. "But what happens when this Dan person shows up? We can't very well just stay here."
"What about Grierson?"
"Oh yes. I was going to tell you, wasn't I? He'll go to Bordighera. I can telephone hirn there-but not till six at the earliest."
"You'd better give me the number."
"I'm sorry," said Ashford. "I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"He told me not to," Ashford said. "I suppose you could beat it out of me."
"Don't be a bloody fool," said Craig.
"I was only punched in the mouth a few times," said Ashford. "They did rather more to you, I suppose?"
"Yes," said Craig.
"You're brave of course. You don't get vertigo."
"You're brave, and you do."
"Don't make fun of me, please," Ashford said.
"I'm not. You told us to leave you."
"Because I've had enough. I want to go back to corsets. Isn't that kinky?"
"Why won't he let you give me the number?"
"Because-if worst comes to the worst-and it always does, doesn't it-you are going to be it, sweetie. The guilty party. That's what you get for being brave."
"Grierson told you this?" Craig asked.
"He told me something else too. You aren't in charge of this party. He is. He's a professional. It would make him awfully sad, to shop you, I mean-but he'd do it."
Craig shrugged. "They didn't hire me for my brains," he said. "But they haven't caught us yet, either."
"I'm rather afraid they will," Ashford said. "If I hadn't got vertigo, you'd be all done by now. You're better off without me. We'd better split up."
Craig shook his head. "No," he said.
Ashford wanted to argue and Craig cut in again.
"I can't get far with my hand like this," he said.
Ashford sighed. "You could go to the moon with two broken legs," he said. "You're an awfully considerate person, John."
Craig remembered the things that had been done to him. The broken finger, the burning, the beating, the drowning. He remembered the fight on the wall, the smell of St. Briac when he hit the wire, his body pul
sing as the charge went through him. He felt no emotion at what he had done; St. Briac had been a dangerous madman who threatened many more fives than Craig's. Now he was a threat to no one. He had got into all this to protect himself, and to avenge those St. Briac had killed: all along he had believed that this was true. Yet in fact he had been no more than a weapon, a gun pointed, the trigger squeezed once, and then thrown away when its usefulness was over. It would be no good trying to betray Loomis either. By the time diplomatic notes had stopped flowing, it would be hard to prove that Loomis had even existed.
The doorbell chimed on as far as "Von y danse," and Maria hurried to open it to an engulfing roar of party noises.
"The gun-happy Mr. Turner," said Ashford. "I do hope he isn't in the mood tonight." Then: "Bordighera 06053," he added. "We can't all be professionals, can we?"
"Thanks," said Craig. "I won't forget this."
Turner came roaring in, and Ashford was swept to the wall. In one vast hand Turner carried two bottles of cognac by their necks; in the other sat a tiny Indochinese girl, her hands clutching his arm. She wore white silk trousers and a long, flowing robe of fine green silk, and seemed to bother him about as much as the two brandy bottles. Maria and Sophie stood one at each side of him, yelling explanations, as the rest of the party spilled into the room, routing out records and bottles and glasses. From time to time Turner nodded. Craig doubted if he'd heard a word the two girls shrieked into his ear. He had the monumental calm of a man who has been drunk for days.
"Great," he said. "Glad to see you. Here. Hold this." The Indochinese girl was swung neatly through the air on to Craig's good arm, where she perched like a monkey.
"Pleased to meet you," said Craig.
"Enchante," she said.
"Hey," said Turner. "Hey. I remember. I like you. Have a drink."
He opened one of the brandy bottles and poured five drinks, for himself, Craig, Sophie, Maria, and the tiny Indochinese. When he had finished, the bottle was empty. He let it swing moodily in his hands and said, "Watch this," and slung the bottle with enormous force over his shoulder. It was heading straight for a french window when the tall, lean Negro reached out an arm and it smacked into his hand.
"You still there, Larry?" Turner yelled.
