"I see."
"Besides, I gave Jos6 a hundred escudos."
"Who's Jos6?"
"The cutter. We shan't be disturbed here."
"Have you got the money?"
"Naturally. In this envelope. What about the lists?"
"They're in this brief case."
The major proceeded to examine six lists of altogether 117 addresses and Thomas Lieven an envelope containing two hundred fifty-dollar notes. They both seemed to like what they were.looking at.
The major shook hands with Thomas. "I'm flying out in an hour's time. Wish you luck, you old rascal. I was really beginning to get quite fond of you. Hope well meet again."
"God forbid!"
"Very well then. Heil Schicki!"
"What was that?"
"Our mission staff here always put it that way. You see, it seems the fellow was once called Schicklgruber. The boys down here are a grand bunch, really. You ought to get to know them better."
'Td rather not, if you don't mind."
"But I can assure you they're not Nazis!"
"Oh, of course not," said Thomas Lieven. "A pleasant journey, Herr Lehmann. And don't forget to give the Herr Admiral my kind regards, thought we don't know each other."
[4]
"In view of the special political position of Portugal no news-reel will be shown," announced a placard in the vestibule of the Odeon Cinema in Lisbon.
All the same, the Odeon showed the German film Baptism of Fire.
During the four-hour program Thomas Lieven met the British agent Lovejoy in a box. While the screen presented German Stukas swooping on Warsaw, a black brief case and ten thousand dollars once more changed owners. While bombs exploded, houses flew into the air and imposing martial music blared, Lovejoy bawled into Thomas Lieven's ear through the noise of battle: "It was my own idea to choose this cinema. We can talk undisturbed here. No one's going to understand a word we say. Good scheme, eh?"
"Oh, very good."
"That Nazi of yours will blow up!"
"When are you flying to London?"
"This evening."
"Well, a pleasant journey to you, then."
"What did you say?"
"A pleasant journey, I said!" Thomas yelled back into his ear.
He had of course long before torn the genuine lists into tiny pieces and washed them down the pan in the bathroom of his suite. In the original black brief case, which lay in the safe of the Parque Hotel, the third edition of the concocted lists, containing the names of 117 beloved but deceased persons, awaited the arrival of Major Maurice Debras.
D£bras was in Madrid. He had arranged to be in Lisbon on September 3. He had told Thomas, "From September third on we shall wait for each other every evening after ten p.m in the casino at Estoril."
Now the only one left to settle with is the major, thought Thomas Lieven as he sat in the Estoril express on the evening of September 3. Then 111 go to ground in a little boarding-house until the tenth.
His boat, the General Carmona, was due to leave on that date. It would be better, Thomas considered, to keep as invisible as possible until then. For it could be assumed that the gentlemen in Berlin at any rate would have found out before then the sort of trick he had played on them.
As for D6bras, it was rather unlikely that he would notice anything. He intended to go straight on to Dakar. Thomas thought: Some time in the near future he too, of course, will be very disappointed in me. Poor chap! I'm sure that he would have done the same if he had been in my place. Josephine is a woman. She'll understand me...
"Mesdames, messieurs, faites vos jeux."
The croupier threw his little white ball with graceful precision into the slowly rotating wheel. It darted off in a confusing counter-movement
A lady in a red dinner dress watched the ball as though hypnotized. She was sitting next to the croupier. Her hands hovered uncertainly over the piles of counters in front of her. Very pale and very beautiful, she looked about thirty. Her black hair, parted in the middle, lay close to her head like a cap. The provocative bow of her mouth, her brilliant black eyes, her air of self-control and aristocratic refinement, contrasted oddly with her intense concentration on the roulette wheel.
Thomas Lieven had been watching her for an hour. He was sitting at the glittering bar of the vast hall and drinking whisky. The light of the chandeliers illuminated the splendid pictures on the walls, the great mirrors framed in white and gold, the thick carpets, the waiter in pumps, the male visitors in dinner jackets, the bare shoulders of the women, the spinning wheel and the running ball...
Click!
"Zero!" called the croupier next to the lady in red. She had lost. She had been losing for an hour, ever since Thomas had been watching her. She was not only losing a fortune. She was also slowly losing her self-possession. She lit a cigarette with trembling fingers. Her eyelids fluttered. She opened her gold-embroidered evening bag, took out some notes and handed them to the croupier, who gave her counters in exchange. She began staking again.
Play was going on at many other tables, including chemin de fer. Many of the women present were beautiful. But Thomas Lieven had eyes only for the lady in red. The mingling of self-control and agitation, good manners and the passion for gambling in her fascinated him, as it always did.
"Vingt-sept, rouge, impair et passe!" called the croupier.
The lady in red had lost again. Thomas saw the bartender shake his head. "Terrible luck," he murmured sympathetically.
He too was looking at the lady.
"Who is she?"
"A crazy gambler. You wouldn't believe how much she's lost."
118
"What is her name?"
"Estrella Rodrigues."
"Is she married?"
"Widow of a lawyer. We call her the Consul."
"Why?"
"Well, because she is one. She acts as consul to one of those banana republics."
"I see."
"Cinq, rouge, impair et manque!"
The Consul had lost again. She only had seven counters left now.
Thomas suddenly heard someone address him in a quiet tone.
"Mr. Leblanc?"
He turned slowly to face the speaker. It was a short, fat man with a red face, perspiring and evidently much excited. He went on in French: "It is M. Leblanc, is it not?"
"Yes."
"Follow me to the washroom, please."
"Why?"
"Because I want to tell you something."
Damn it, my lists ... one of those secret service bloodhounds has smelled a rat. But which of them is it? Lovejoy or Loos? Thomas shook his head. 'Tell me here, then."
The little man whispered into Thomas's ear: "Major Debras has run into trouble in Madrid. His passport has been taken away. He can't leave Spain. He wants you to send him a forged passport as soon as possible."
"What sort of passport?"
"You had a whole lot of them in Paris."
"Fve already disposed of all those."
The little man didn't seem to have heard that. He whispered hurriedly: "I've just put an envelope into your brief case. It contains photographs of Debras and my address in Lisbon. Bring me the passport there."
"I'll have to find one first!"
The little man glanced nervously over his shoulder. "I must go now ... do whatever you can. Ring me up." He hurried away.
"Look here—" Thomas called after him. But the little man had vanished. Good Lord, nothing but trouble!
What do I do now? Debras is such a decent fellow. I had to play him up on account of my principles. But Fm hanged if I'm going to leave him in the lurch. How am I going to get
him out of Spain? Where am I going to find a bogus passport for him with so little time available?
Thomas Lieven glanced again at the lady in red. She was just rising from her chair and looked pale with consternation. Apparently she had lost all her money.
It was then that Thomas had his brain wave . . .
Ten minutes later he was sitting with Estrella Rodrigues, the Consul, at the best table in the splendid casino restaurant A small ladies' orchestra was working its way through Verdi. Three waiters were performing an expert ballet around Thomas Lieven's table. They had just served the main course, liver a la portugaise.
'The paprika sauce is excellent," Thomas commented enthusiastically. "Really quite excellent. Don't you think so, madame?"
"It taste very nice."
"It's the tomato juice that gives it the flavor, madame .. • but is there anything wrong?"
"Why do you ask?"
"You gave me such a strange look just now—it—it seemed so severe!"
The Consul answered with great dignity: "Monsieur, I should not like to think that you have made a mistake of any kind. I am not in the habit of accepting invitations to supper from strangers."
"Madame, there is no need for you to tell me that. A gentleman knows when he is in the company of a lady. Let us not forget that it was I who entreated, even obliged you to share this little snack with me."
The Consul sighed and suddenly glanced at him in a very far from severe, even an extraordinarily sentimental manner. Thomas wondered how long ago her husband had died. Meanwhile he said: "At times of great nervous tension and psychological distress one should - always eat something rich in calories. Have you—ahem—lost a great deal of money?"
"Yes. A very great deal."
"Then you shouldn't gamble, madame. A few more olives? Women with your looks are bound to lose. It's only right and proper."
"Alas . . ." The Consul's beautiful bosom heaved in hej anguish. "Don't you play at all, M. Leblanc?"
"I don't play roulette."
"You're lucky."
"I'm a banker. Games on which I can't bring intelligence to bear bore me."
The black-haired Estrella, suddenly resuming her formerly harsh and agitated expression exclaimed: "I hate roulette! I hate it and I hate myself when I play it!'*
Thomas Lieven began to feel excited. People who change without notice from lamblike to tigerish behavior . . . good Lord, what fun that might be, what tremendous fun . . .
'There are two things in this world I hate, monsieur."
"And what are they?"
"Roulette and Germans," hissed Estrella.
"Aha."
"Monsieur, as a Frenchman you will I am sure understand that second feeling of mine at any rate."
"Entirely, madame, entirely. Ahem—but why, in particular, do you hate the Germans so?"
"My first husband was a German."
"Ah, I understand."
"And the manager of a gambling establishment into the bargain! I need say no more, I think!"
This conversation is getting off the point, thought Thomas Lieven. He said, accordingly: "Naturally not. But there's one thing I should much enjoy doing ..."
"May I ask what?"
"I should like to finance your play for the whole of one evening."
"Sir!"
"If you win, we can go fifty-fifty."
"Impossible—out of the question—you're a perfect stranger—" the Consul began.
But after another ten minutes she was saying: "Well, all right then—but only on condition that we really share out if I win."
"Of course."
Estrella's eyes began to shine. She breathed fast. Her cheeks reddened. "What's happened to our dessert—oh, Fm so excited, I feel quite certain I'm going to win now, win anything Hike..."
An hour later the temperamental lady who hated Germans and roulette had lost twenty thousand escudos. She looked quite unnerved, resembling a repentant Mary Magdalene, when she returned to Thomas, who was sitting at the bar. "Oh God, I'm so ashamed of myself."
"Whatever for?"
"I don't know where to find the money to repay you. I— Fm absolutely broke now . .."
"Oh, consider it a gift."
"That's impossible!" Now she once more looked like an avenging angel carved in marble. "For whom do you take me? It's my opinion that you've made a very great mistake about me, sir!"
MENU
Sardines on ^Toast
Liver a la Q?ortu&aise
cSrfelons in Champagne
This meal made a conquest of a beautiful female consul.
Sardines on Toast
Skin and bone selected good-sized sardines and fry on both sides for a short time in their own oil. Then place them on slices of hot toast fresh from the grill, add slices of lemon and serve. At the table drops of lemon juice and a little pepper should be sprinkled over them.
No more than two such slices of toast are required for each person, this dish being merely an appetizer.
Liver a la Portu&aise
One slice of calf s liver per person is rolled in flour. Do not salt before cooking. Chop two large onions. Clean one pound of green peppers by removing pips and stem and cut into thin, short strips. The onions are braised in half a cup of oil till they are pale yellow. Then add the peppers. As soon as the peppers are soft add one pound of skinned ripe tomatoes. The mixture is left to braise for five minutes. It is then passed through a sieve, cream is added and the whole reheated. Season with salt and hot pepper. When the sauce is ready the liver is quickly fried, placed on a dish and the hot sauce is poured over it It is garnished with olives and served with plain boiled rice.
Melons in Champagne
After cutting off the top end of a ripe cantaloupe scrape out the contents as far down as possible. Remove the pips, cut the flesh into medium-sized cubes and replace it in the rind. Pour enough dry champagne onto the cubes to cover them well. Replace the top end and serve iced.
For variety one may add liqueur cherries or other fruits. But a refined taste prefers the recipe given above, which best brings out the natural aroma of the melon.
[6]
The boudoir, in semi-darkness, was illuminated by small red-shaded lamps. On a side table stood the photograph of a serious-looking gentleman with pince-nez and a large nose. A reduced version of Pedro Rodrigues, solicitor, deceased a year ago, gazed from a silver frame upon his widow Estrella.
"Oh, Jean—Jean, I am so happy—"
"I too, Estrella. I too. Cigarette?"
"Let me share yours ..."
He handed it to her and studied her beauty with appreciation. Midnight was long past. Everything was quiet in the Consul's big villa. The staff were asleep.
She snuggled up to him, stroking his cheek.
"Estrella, darling..."
"Yes, my sweet?"
"Are you very much in debt?"
"Madly ... the house is mortgaged ... I've been pawning my jewelry. But I'm still hoping that one day I shall win it all back..."
Thomas glanced at the photograph. "Did he leave you much?"
"A small fortune ... that wretched, devilish roulette! How I hate it!"
"And Germans too."
"Yes. And Germans."
'Tell me, darling. Which country do you represent as consul?"
"Costa Rica. Why do you ask?"
"Did you ever issue a Costa Rican passport?"
"No, never."
"But I expect your husband did, eh?"
"Yes, he did . .. but no one has been here since the beginning of the war. I don't believe there are any Costa Ricans left in Portugal."
"But all the same, darling—ahem—I suppose there are still a few passport forms left in the villa?"
"I don't know ... when Pedro died I packed all the forms and stamps away in a trunk and took it up into the attic ... why are you so interested?"
"Because I should rather like to issue a passport myself, Es-trella darling."
"A passport?"
In reliance on the low state of her finances he added quietly: "Or even several."
"Jean!" She sounded horrified. "Are you trying to be funny?"
"No, I'm quite serious."
"What an extraordinary person you are!"
"I'm all right really."
"But—what are we going
to do with those passports?"
"We can sell them, my dear. There must be plenty of people here who would buy them. And they'd pay high prices. And the money would enable you to—well, need I say more?"
"Oh!" Estrella drew a long breath. She looked ravishing when she drew a long breath. Then she remained silent for a long time, thinking it over. Finally she jumped up and ran into the bathroom. She returned with a dressing gown.
"Put that on!"
"Why, where are we off to, darling?"
"To the attic of course!" she retorted, tottering off in front of him in her high-heeled silk slippers, to the door.
The attic was big and bare. It smelt of wood shavings and naphthalene. Estrella held a pocket torch while Thomas, puffing and blowing, hauled an old wooden box from underneath an enormous rolled-up carpet. He banged his head on a beam and cursed. Estrella knelt down beside him. By their united efforts they managed to lift the creaking lid of the box. Inside lay blank forms, registers, rubber stamps and passports, passports by the dozen!
Estrella, with flying fingers, picked them up and riffled through one after the other till she had examined fourteen. They were all old and spotty, with photographs of unknown people in them and innumerable stamped entries on the pages. All out of date now!
Out of date ... out of date ... invalid ...
Deeply disappointed, Estrella rose to her feet. "Not a single new one, all expired ... we can't do anything with those ..."
"Oh, can't we," said Thomas Lieven quietly. He gave her a kiss. "Old out-of-date passports are the best!"
"I don't understand that ..."
"You soon will," Thomas Lieven, alias Jean Leblanc, promised her, beaming. He did not feel the icy breath of fate rising behind him like the bottle-imp in the oriental fairy tale, ready to strike him yet another blow and fling him into a vortex of fresh adventures and perils.
[7]
With measured tread, a Homburg on his head and a big leather brief case in his hand, an elegant young gentleman of most prepossessing appearance advanced, about midday on September 4, 1940, into the maze of the Alfama, the old quarter of Lisbon.
The narrow, crooked lanes between the decaying rococo palaces and the gaudily tiled houses of the less wealthy were full of barefooted children at play, dark-skinned men arguing and women hurrying to market with baskets of fruit or fish on their heads.
The Monte Cristo Cover-Up Page 13
