Mission to Siena

by James Hadley Chase

By now, as he climbed the stairs, he was eager to get the job done, and he walked to room 26 with a swagger, pausing in the doorway to stare at Lorelli who had turned in her chair to look at him.

  “Come in and shut the door!” Crantor barked.

  Shapiro closed the door. He looked from Lorelli to Crantor and back to Crantor again. “What was this piece doing here?” he wondered. What smasher! He fingered his tie, took off his hat and gave Lorelli a leering grin.

  Crantor got to his feet.

  “Okay, Ed, cut that out ,” he said, a rasp in his voice. “She’s working with us.”

  Shapiro came over to the table. His grin widened.

  “Well, well, that’s nice. Hello, baby. I can see you and me are going to get along fine together.”

  Lorelli’s cold green eyes looked him up and down.

  “Speak to me when you’re spoken to,” she said curtly.

  “Hey, don’t give me that stuff,” Shapiro said, grinning.

  Crantor’s open hand smacked him on the side of his face, sending him staggering.

  Shapiro recovered his balance, and he stared blankly at Crantor, careful not to move.

  “Sit down and shut up!” Crantor said in a soft hissing voice, his single eye like a red-hot ember.

  Shapiro pulled up a chair and sat down. He touched his face.

  “You’d better not do that again,” he said unevenly.

  “Shut up!” Crantor repeated.

  “I don’t think much of him,” Lorelli said. She spoke as if Shapiro wasn’t in the room. “He’s drunk; his nerves are bad and he’s got no discipline.”

  “He’ll do the job,” Crantor said. “If he bungles it, I’ll kill him.”

  Shapiro suddenly felt sick. He knew Crantor didn’t threaten.

  “Now wait a minute…” he began, but the words trailed away as Crantor turned to stare at him.

  “You heard what I said! Bungle this and I’ll kill you.”

  “Who said I’d bungle it?” Shapiro said hoarsely.

  “You’d better not,” Crantor said. He picked up the broad-bladed knife and held it out to Shapiro, holding the blade in his hand and offering Shapiro the handle.

  “This is what you’ll use. Now show her what you can do with it.”

  Shapiro took the knife and balanced it in his hand. An odd change came over him as he touched the cutting edge of the knife with his thumb. The looseness went out of his face, his movements became decisive; his eyes came alive.

  “What a beaut ,” he muttered. “What a smasher.”

  He flicked the knife into the air, sending it spinning and caught it by its handle as it fell.

  “Show her,” Crantor repeated.

  Shapiro looked around the room. Not seeing any target worthy of a throw he got up, took a deck of cards from his hip pocket, selected the ace of diamonds and crossing the room he fixed the card to the wall with a piece of gum he had been chewing, and which he had parked on the glass of his wrist watch.

  He walked back until he was at the far end of the room. The card was in the shadow and Lorelli couldn’t see it. She watched Shapiro, her elbows on the table, her face between her hands.

  Shapiro balanced the knife on the flat of his hand, then with a quick throwing movement, he sent the knife towards the opposite wall with the speed and the force of a bullet.

  Crantor turned up the reading lamp and sent its beam across the room.

  The knife had cut through the centre of the diamond and was half buried in the plaster.

  “You see,” Crantor said. “He can do that twenty times out of twenty.”

  Loreili relaxed.

  “Yes, that is good enough,” she said.

  Shapiro swaggered across the room, jerked out the knife and came back.

  “There’s no one else in the country who could do that,” he said. “So you think I’ll do?”

  “You’ll do,” Loreili said without looking at him, “if you keep your nerve.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Shapiro said. “My nerve’s fine. But how about the money? I want some now.”

  She looked up at him.

  “You will be paid when he is dead and not before,” she said and stood up, “I will be at 25, Athens Street at half-past eleven tomorrow night. You will then give me a detailed report.

  Shapiro started to say something, then stopped as Crantor made a threatening move forward.

  “I have things to do now,” Loreili went on. “I must go. I will see you tomorrow about midday. My mackintosh please.”

  Crantor went into the bathroom and brought out the mackintosh and hat. The two men stood silent as she put on the hat and arranged her hair before the mirror.

  “There must be no mistake,” she said as she slipped on her mackintosh.

  “It will be all right,” Crantor said. She picked up the hold-all and crossed to the door. “You are responsible,” she said and went out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Chapter II

  THE TORTOISE

  As Harry Mason drove the black Bentley along rain-drenched Piccadilly, he thought gloomily that he would have to clean the car again, and that would be twice in a day. Once was all right; an accepted part of the day’s work, but twice was laying it on a little too thick. Didn’t it ever do anything else but rain in this perishing country?

  Don Micklem, sitting at Harry’s side, suddenly leaned forward.

  “There’s Mrs Ferenci,” he said, breaking into Harry’s thoughts. He lowered the window. “She may want a lift.”

  Harry swung the car to the kerb.

  A girl in a black and white check mackintosh and a small black hat stood on the kerb looking vainly for a taxi. She was slight, fair with big violet eyes, and as Don waved to her, he wondered why she was looking so pale and worried.

  “Julia!” he exclaimed, sliding out of the car into the rain. “I haven’t seen you for weeks. Can I give you a lift anywhere?”

  The girl’s face lit up at the sight of him.

  “Why, Don! I thought you were in Nice.”

  “Probably off in a couple of weeks. Hop in before you get wetter than you are.” He opened the rear door and helped Julia into the back seat where he joined her. “What are you up to? Going anywhere in particular?”

  “It’s good to see you, Don,” Julia said and her slim, gloved fingers touched his hand. “I thought you were away otherwise I would have called you. I want to talk to you. It’s about Guido.”

  “Would you like to come back to my place?” Don asked, his steady grey eyes searching her face. “I’m free until one o’clock.” He glanced at his strap watch. “It’s only a quarter to twelve. Or shall we stop off at the Berkeley?”

  “I’d rather go to your place,” Julia said. “I mustn’t be long. I’m lunching with Guido.”

  “Home, Harry,” Don said, then as Harry whisked them towards the white-faced, olive-green shuttered house at the far end of Upper Brook Mews that had been Don’s London home for the past six years, he went on, “Is Guido all right?”

  Julia forced a smile.

  “He’s fine. He was only talking about you yesterday. You know about this company thing of his? He wants you on the board. But that doesn’t matter right now. He’ll talk to you about it. He has so many plans. He…” She broke off and looked out of the window, her hands turning into fists.

  Don lit a cigarette, raised his eyebrows thoughtfully and wondered what was wrong. He hoped Guido hadn’t been fooling around with some woman. He thought it unlikely for he knew how devoted Guido was to Julia, but one never knew.

  Harry pulled up outside 25a, Upper Brook Mews, slid out of the car and held the car door open. He gave Julia a smart salute and her distracted smile disturbed him. Don led her into the big, restful lounge.

  “Sit down, Julia,” he said. “Have a cigarette and relax. How about a sherry or a martini?” “I’d love a sherry.”

  Don touched the bell and then carried a box of cigarettes over to Julia and put it on the
table beside her.

  He was lighting her cigarette when Cherry, Don’s butler and major-domo, came into the room.

  Cherry was tall and bulky with a pink and white complexion and several pink chins. He had often been mistaken for an Archbishop, and in spite of his sixty-odd years, he carried himself with surprising sprightliness.

  “You rang, sir?” he said in his rich, fruity voice. “Mrs Ferenci would like a sherry,” Don said. “I’ll have a whiskey”

  “Certainly, sir,” Cherry said and inclined his head towards Julia. His fat, pink face showed reserved approval.

  Suspicious of American women, he had long since decided that Julia was an exception. He was satisfied that she knew how to behave in any situation and also that she was wealthy. These two qualifications for Cherry’s approval were essential.

  When he had served the drinks and had silently departed, Don stretched out his long legs and smiled encouragingly at Julia.

  “Well, let’s have it. You’re acting very mysteriously. Has Guido run off with some wild-eyed filly?”

  “Of course not,” Julia said. “That would be something I could deal with myself. No, I’m really worried, Den. He’s received a horrible, threatening letter.”

  Don showed his relief with a grin.

  “My dear Julia, you mustn’t worry about that kind of thing. People with Guido’s type of money are always getting threatening letters. The world is full of jealous crackpots. It doesn’t mean a thing.”

  “But I’m sure it does. This — this creature is demanding ten thousand pounds. He says if Guido doesn’t pay up tonight…”

  Her voice faltered. “He says he will kill him. It’s horrible, Don.”

  Don frowned.

  “Ten thousand? He’s ambitious, isn’t he? Have you the letter with you?”

  “Guido threw it away. He just won’t take it seriously. I wanted him to tell the police, but he won’t hear of it. You know how obstinate he can be. He says this Tortoise is either a madman or someone pulling his leg .”

  “Tortoise? What tortoise?”

  “That’s how the writer of the letter signs himself.”

  Don laughed.

  “Well, there you are. He must be a crackpot. Now if he had signed himself the serpent or the wolf or something like that, there might be something in it. But a tortoise! Look, Julia, you mustn’t fuss about this. Maybe it’s one of Guido’s racing pals playing a poor kind of joke.”

  Julia shook her head.

  “That’s what Guido says, but I don’t believe it. He received the letter last Tuesday. I’ve been getting more and more worked up.

  The money is to be paid tonight. Well, this morning… ” She stopped, biting her lip.

  “What happened this morning?” Julia tried unsuccessfully to control a little shiver. “We were at breakfast. I saw something moving on the floor. For a moment I thought it was a rat. It gave me an awful shock. Then I saw it was a tortoise. There was a piece of paper pasted across its shell. On the paper was a typewritten message. It said the ten thousand would be collected by a messenger at nine о’clock tonight. If the money wasn’t given to the messenger, Guido would die. Oh, Don, it really scares me. It’s horrible.”

  “That seems to be carrying a joke rather far,” Don said. “How did the tortoise get into the house?” “I don’t know. I begged Guido to call the police, but he wouldn’t. He said if it got into the papers, everyone would laugh at him. You know how sensitive he is.” Don rubbed his jaw. “What are you two doing tonight?”

  “Guido wants to listen to Otello from the Scala on the radio. Don’t you think we should tell the police?” Don hesitated, then shook his head.

  “I think it would be a mistake as Guido is so set against it, Julia. A thing like this could get into the press and that type of publicity wouldn’t be good for Guido. Let’s face it. Suppose he did tell the police. What would they do? They might send a constable to guard the house, but one constable isn’t going to stop a determined blackmailer if this chap is a blackmailer, which I doubt. I agree with you we should take precautions. I don’t think for a moment there is any danger, but I can understand how you feel. I’ll come along tonight with Harry. I’ll tell Guido I was passing and dropped in on the off chance you two would be in. I’m quite sure nothing is going to happen, Julia, but I want to set your mind at rest.

  Guido, Harry and I can more than take care of any crackpot. What do you say?”

  Julia’s face brightened.

  “Of course. I know the whole thing is silly, but I would feel so much better if you did come. There’s only Dixon and Ethel in the house. Perhaps you are right and nothing will happen, but if you were there…”

  Don got to his feet.

  “That’s a bet. I’ll be along soon after eight. Now don’t worry any more. Have a nice lunch and put this out of your mind,” he said as they walked into the hall. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  Cherry appeared, pink and benign.

  “I have ordered a taxi for Mrs Ferenci,” he announced. “It is arriving now.”

  Julia gave him a bright smile. Watching her, Don was relieved to see how much better she looked.

  “Thank you, Cherry,” she said, and turning to Don, went on, “You don’t know what a relief this is to me to know you will be with us tonight.”

  “You worry too much,” Don said. “Put it out of your mind.”

  When the taxi had driven her away, Don went back to the lounge. He finished his drink and stood frowning out of the window.

  The Tortoise.

  Was there anything in this or was it a hoax? Were there any of Guido’s friends capable of going to such lengths just to pull his leg? Don doubted it. A crackpot then?

  After a moment’s hesitation, he went over to the telephone and dialled Whitehall 22. It would do no harm, he told himself, to ask Chief Superintendent Dicks of the Special Branch if he had ever heard of anyone calling himself the Tortoise. When he finally got through to Dicks’ office, he was told the Superintendent had just gone to lunch and was not expected back until six o’clock.

  “Never mind,” Don said. “No, there’s no message.”

  Marian Rigby, Don’s dark, attractive secretary, came hurrying into the lounge.

  “There you are,” she said. “You haven’t forgotten you are lunching with Sir Robert at one?”

  “I’m just off. Am I doing anything tonight, Marian?” “There’s the film premiere. You promised to go.” “Oh, that. Would you call them and tell them I can’t make it?” He smiled. “I have a date with a gentleman who calls himself the Tortoise.

  That sounds more exciting than a premiere, doesn’t it?”

  Guido Ferenci, tall and fair, his handsome face still deeply tanned from the sun of Portofino where Julia and he had been holidaying a few weeks previously, poured an 85 brandy into balloon glasses with a loving hand.

  “Don’t think for a moment you are hoodwinking me,” he said as he gave Don one of the glasses. “This rot about passing and looking in for a drink is so much eyewash. Julia brougt you here to act as my bodyguard, didn’t she?”

  Don grinned.

  “For a foreigner, he speaks beautiful English, doesn’t he?” he said looking over at Julia. “I only wish I could speak Italian half as well.”

  “You speak Italian like a native,” Julia said.

  Guido looked affectionately at her.

  “And that won’t wash either. Never mind how well Don speaks Italian,” he said, sinking into a big lounging chair opposite the one in which Don was sitting. “Now admit it: Julia persuaded you to come down to guard me, didn’t she?

  Well, it’s nice of you to come, but don’t tell me you take this joker seriously. How can anyone take him seriously? Ten thousand pounds! Where does Mr Tortoise imagine I can raise that a kind of money?”

  Don lit a cigarette.

  “I don’t take it seriously, but on the other hand, there are a few dangerous crackpots around. This fellow seems to be carrying the joke rath
er far. What happened to the tortoise and the note on its back that arrived this morning? I’d like to have a look-see.”

  “So you shall. Dixon’s looking after the tortoise,” Guido said, getting up to ring the bell. “I have the note in my desk.”

  As he opened a drawer in the desk, Dixon, Guido’s manservant, came in. Powerfully built, with a hard, strong face, he looked what he had been during the war: a quarter-master of a destroyer.

  “Bring the tortoise in, will you?” Guido said. “Mr Micklem would like to inspect it.”

  “Very good, sir,” Dixon said and gave Don a respectful nod.

  “Now where’s that note?” Guido said as Dixon left the room. “I put it in this drawer, but it’s gone. Have you moved it, Julia?”

  “No,” Julia said, getting to her feet, “Let me look. You know you can never find anything.”

  “When you get married, Don, acquire the reputation of never finding anything,” Guido said, sitting down and smiling.

  “It saves endless hours of dreary searching. Julia always finds my things for me now.”

  “I’m not being very successful at the moment,” Julia said. “It’s not in the desk. Are you sure you didn’t throw it away as you did the first note?”

  “No. I put it in the top drawer,” Guido said, frowning.

  As he got to his feet Dixon came in.

  “I beg your pardon, sir, but you haven’t moved the tortoise, have you?”

  Don felt the atmosphere suddenly tighten.

  “Of course not,” Guido said sharply.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but it’s no longer in the box.”

  “Perhaps it has crawled out,” Don said quietly.

  “It couldn’t have done that, sir. I put a lid on the box. Someone must have taken it.”

  “All right, Dixon. It doesn’t matter,” Guido said. “Just make sure it isn’t crawling about the house.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dixon said and went out.

  Don glanced at Julia who was sitting motionless, her face pale.

  “Well, this is a turn up for the book,” said Guido who prided himself on his grasp of idiomatic English. “It looks as if the evidence has been pinched.”

  Although he spoke lightly, Don could see he was startled.