Mission to Siena

by James Hadley Chase

  Although he couldn’t see the girl now, he was sure she was still.ahead of him and unaware he had recognized her.

  At the top of the hill was an arch through which Don could see the lights of the piazza, del Duomo. Moving out of the darkness the girl passed under the arch and once again in the light from the piazza, Don caught the glint of her red hair.

  She turned left and disappeared from Don’s sight. He broke into a run, covering the last yards in five long strides. As he entered the archway, an enormous figure stepped squarely in his path and brought him to an abrupt standstill.

  Steady as Don’s nerves were, the sudden appearance of the giant negro startled him. He took a step back and looked up at the shadowy colossus who loomed before him.

  “Got a match on you, bud?” the negro drawled.

  Knowing that the girl was slipping through his fingers, Don attempted to sidestep the negro, but the negro moved the same way, again blocking his path.

  Don had an alternative. He could give the negro a light and probably lose the girl or he could hang a punch on his jaw.

  It occurred to him that he might easily break his fist against that massive jaw and there was no guarantee that he would knock the negro out. He decided to accept the situation. He took out his lighter and flicked up the flame.

  The negro dipped a brown cigarette into the flame that lit up his face. His eyes looked like knobs of ebony dropped into the white of an egg.

  “Thanks, bud,” he said and chuckled. “Sorry if I held you up.” His chuckle was the ugliest sound Don had ever heard.

  Moving to one side, the negro went past Don and down the hill into the darkness.

  As Don drove up the narrow lane towards the villa, his headlights picked out two figures sitting side by side on a low wall that overlooked the moonlit hills surrounding Siena.

  He slowed down and leaned out of the window.

  “Isn’t it time you two were in bed?”

  “Miss Rigby’s got something,” Harry said, an excited note in his voice. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  He came over with Marian to the car.

  “And I’ve got something too,” Don said. “Hop in and let’s get back. Where’s Cherry?”

  “We left him coping with his blood pressure,” Harry said, as they got into the car. “I reckon he doesn’t know his own age.”

  “Not entirely a bad fault,” Don said and sent the car racing up the lane and to the villa.

  A few minutes later, he pulled up outside the villa. “Go and get him,” he said as they got out of the car. “This calls for a general conference.”

  As Harry hurried away, Don went on to Marian, “Have you really found something?”

  “Yes, and just when I was giving up.”

  Cherry, looking hot and flushed and breathing heavily, came out on to the veranda, followed by Harry.

  “Let’s all sit down,” Don said, sinking into a lounging chair. Seeing Cherry was about to prop himself up against the balustrade, he patted a chair near him. “Sit down here, Cherry.”

  “If you say so, sir,” Cherry said and lowered his bulk into the chair, his back stiff with disapproval.

  “Okay, Marian. Let’s have it. What have you found?”

  “I’m hoping this will be the lead we’re looking for,” Marian said. “The information I found is very scrappy, but it seems that in 1465 there were two powerful and rich families living in Siena. The heads of these two families were Niccolo Vaga and Jacopo Genga who were bitter enemies. They were chosen as candidates for the leadership of the Tortoise ward. The election was carried out with violence and hatred — I’m quoting from the book. Vaga won by a narrow majority. Genga plotted against him, and by some means not explained, succeeded in disgracing Vaga who was thrown into prison, his money and lands confiscated and his family exiled. Genga took over the leadership of the ward and had Vaga brutally murdered. Vaga’s eldest son, Daniello, who had taken refuge with the other members of the family in Florence, vowed that neither he nor any male member of his family for generations to come would rest until his father’s death had been avenged, the family fortune restored, and — and I think, this is important — the name of his family had become so powerful that it would strike terror into the heart of every Italian.”

  “Yes,” Don said. “That could be it. It’s just the kind of background a crackpot might pick on. If the Tortoise is related to the Vaga family,this could be his idea of levelling old scores . What happened to the family, Marian?”

  She shook her head.

  “I can’t find any other reference to them in any of the other books.”

  “Well, okay, tomorrow we’ll try the Records office and see if we can trace the Vaga family further.” Don lit a cigarette and went on. “Lorelli is in Siena. I’ve seen her.” He told them about the negro preventing him from going after Lorelli.

  “I can’t make up my mind, if he is one of them or if it was a coincidence that he appeared as he did. I think it is likely he is one of them, but we’ve got to make sure. This is where you two come in.” He looked over at Cherry and Harry. “From now on, the villa is going to look after itself and we’re going to take our meals out.”

  Harry’s face lit up.

  “That’s the best bit of news I’ve heard since we came here, sir,” he said. “What do we do?”

  “This negro apparently goes every night to the cafe. There’s no reason why he shouldn’t be there tomorrow night. I want you two to find out where he goes. That’s the first move. I don’t have to tell you that it’s essential he shouldn’t know you are following him. You two get together and work out a plan. I suggest Cherry parks himself at the cafe, and you, Harry, at the other cafe across the Campo. When the negro leaves, you go on ahead of him and follow him from the front. Cherry will follow him from behind. Get a street map and study it. He’s no fool, and if he gets an idea he’s being watched, he’ll try to shake you off; knowing all the alleys and side streets will be a help. Make sure he doesn’t give you the slip and make doubly sure he doesn’t spot you.”

  “We’ll handle him,” Harry said.

  “Watch out. He could be a nasty customer ,” Don said, then turning to Marian, he went on, “We’ll continue our research tomorrow. Both of us and also Harry and Cherry will be on the look out for Lorelli. She’s also easy to spot. If any of us sees her, drop everything and go after her. She’s much more important than the negro. If you do have to follow her, you’ll find she’s up to every trick. When I was shadowing her in London, I was certain she hadn’t spotted me, but she had.”

  “This should be a most interesting experience,” Cherry said, beaming.

  “I hope it’s no more than interesting,” Don said and got to his feet. “Well, let’s break itup and go to bed. Tomorrow we’ll really start work.”

  In spite of spending practically the whole of the next day in the Records office at Siena, neither Don nor Marian found any further information about the Vaga family. All trace of the family ceased at Florence.

  Straightening his aching back, Don looked with exasperation at Marian.

  “It certainly looks as if no member of the family ever came back to Siena,” he said. “I think the next step is to check the records in Florence. Do you feel like having a crack at it? ” Marian nodded.

  “Of course. There’s a train to Florence in an hour. If I hurry I can catch it.”

  Soon after six o’clock Don drove back to the empty villa after seeing Marian on to the train. Cherry and Harry had already gone separately into the city and were ostentatiously sight-seeing while keeping their eyes open for any sign of Lorelli or the negro.

  Don booked a call through to Chief Superintendent Dicks, and then settled himself down with a highball and a cigarette to wait for Dicks to come on the line. After a twenty minute wait, the telephone bell rang.

  “We’re getting somewhere,” Don said when he heard Dicks’ voice. He went on to tell him about the Vaga family. “Can you get into touch with the It
alian police without saying why and find out if there is any male member of the family still alive? It’s my bet if there is, he’s the Tortoise.”

  I’l see what I can do,” Dicks said. “I like the idea. It hooks up with the facts.”

  “Although I’m making progress I’m not moving as fast as I had hoped. I want you to hold off that report for another week. If the police move in at this stage, our bird might vanish. If I locate him, I let you know at once and they can collar him.”

  Не purposely didn’t tell Dicks that he had seen Lorelli nor did. he mention the negro. He knew if Dicks learned just how far he had progressed, he would be certain to call in the Italian police, and Don was equally certain this wasn’t the way to play the hand.

  “All right,” Dicks said. “It’s not as if you have any evidence I can act on yet.”

  “Fine,” Don said. “I’ll let you know how it goes. Find out about the Vaga family for me as fast as you can and call me here before ten o’clock in the morning. So long for now,” and he hung up.

  He sat for some minutes, thinking. He felt he could safely leave Harry and Cherry to take care of the negro. He decided it would be safer to keep clear of the Campo himself in case the negro became suspicious of him. A cautious talk with Pedoni, the bookseller, might be worth while.

  Leaving the villa, he went down to the car. It took him twenty-five minutes of slow driving to reach Via Pantaneto, and then nearly as long again to find a place where he could leave the car.

  It was getting on for half-past seven by the time he pushed open the bookshop door and stepped into the brightly lit, well-stocked bookshop.

  The shop was empty, and Don wandered over to the history section and began to examine the titles.

  “Good evening,” Pedoni said, coming from behind a partition that screened the office from the shop. He spoke Italian.

  “Is there something I can show you?”

  Pedoni was a small fat man, swarthy and on the wrong side of sixty. His small eyes, half-hidden behind thick-lensed spectacles, reminded Don of two glistening black olives.

  “I’m looking for a detailed history of.this city from 1400 to 1600,” Don said. “There doesn’t seem anything here.”

  “There’s Cozarelli’s history,” Pedoni said. “That deals with the period or there’s Mariano’s history which also covers the period, although not in such detail.” He fetched a short ladder, set it against one of the shelves and clambered up it. He found the volumes and brought them down. “Cozarelli is the better of the two.”

  “I’m interested in the history of the wards,” Don said, taking the book. He examined the index. There was no mention of either Genga nor Vaga. “I want to find out how the wards acquired their names, who their leaders were and so on.”

  Pedoni pushed his glasses more firmly up his fat nose.

  “Mariano has a chapter covering that, I believe.”

  Don began to examine the second volume.

  “I was in the Cathedral library yesterday,” he said casually, “and I was surprised to see a picture there depicting Piccolomini at the court of James I. How was it that Piccolomini got over to Scotland?”

  Pedoni beamed. Don had already discovered, the little bookseller liked nothing better than to air his knowledge’ of the great men of Siena, and for the next twenty minutes, he gave Don a detailed history of the life of Piccolomini.

  “It was when he was elected pope in 1458 that the Sienese noblemen were re-admitted to a share in the government,”

  Pedoni was saying when Don, seeing his opportunity, interrupted him.

  “That would be in Jacopo Genga’s time, wouldn’t it?” he asked. “I was reading in one of the books I got from you that he grabbed power from a rival.”

  Pedoni’s little black eyes turned cloudy.

  “I don’t recall Jacopo Genga,” he said.

  “He and this other fellow were candidates for the leadership of the Tortoise ward. He wasn’t elected and he plotted against this other fellow — Vaga I believe his name was.”

  Pedoni shook his head.

  “An obscure piece of history, signore. I know nothing about it”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Don said, concealing his disappointment. He picked up Mariano’s history. “I’ll take this. It may give me what I’m looking for.”

  “I may be able to find exactly what you want,” Pedoni said as he gave Don change from a five-thousand lira note. “If you will let me have your name and address, signore, I will send you a card if I am successful.”

  “Don’t bother to do that,” Don said, moving to the door. “I’ll be in again.”

  “It is no bother, signore,” Pedoni said, opening the door. “Besides I would like to send you my monthly lists. You are staying at the Continental Hotel perhaps?”

  Don looked at the little man. There was a scarcely concealed tenseness about him that put Don on his guard.

  “I’ll be in again,” he said. “Good night.”

  Pedoni stood for a long moment watching Don edge his way through the slow-moving crowd that packed the narrow street, then he shut the door, pulled down the blind and turned the key in the lock. He went quickly down the aisle to his office.

  The office was small and lined with books from floor to ceiling. A desk, littered with papers and books and lit by a green-shaded lamp, stood in the middle of the room.

  Pedoni paused in the doorway and looked at the girl with the Venetian red hair who sat behind bis desk, her face white and tense.

  “That could have been the man who followed me last night,” she said.

  Pedoni flinched.

  “Do you think he is from the police?” he asked, coming over to the desk.

  “Don’t talk like a fool. Does he look like a policeman?” She got to her feet and began to move slowly about the crowded room. “He may be the man who followed me in London. He has the same build.” She paused, then picked up the telephone receiver. She called a number, waited a moment, then said, “Willie, there’s a job I want you to do. Look out for a tall, heavily-built American, about thirty-five, dark, small moustache and a Z-shaped scar on his right cheek. He’s wearing a bottle-green linen suit: no hat. I want to know who he is and where he is staying. Keep with him. Find out if he is alone or with others. If you are quick you might pick him up right away. He’s only just left the shop.”

  She replaced the receiver, snatched up her coat that was lying on a chair and slipped it on.

  “I must get back,” she said. “This could be dangerous.” The alarm in her eyes sent a twinge of fear through Pedoni that quickened the beat of his heart.

  Chapter VII

  CORNERED

  Felix — no one except the French police knew him by any other name — was indulging in his favourite pastime. He was standing before the big mirror above the fireplace, admiring his reflection. He was as handsome as any movie star could hope to be. He had dark, glossy hair, wide-set, dark-blue eyes, clean-cut features, a deeply tanned complexion and magnificent teeth that he took trouble to show when he laughed; a difficult feat as his upper lip was a shade too long, and unless he made the effort to curl it back, the effect of his gleaming white teeth was lost. His mouth was thin and cruel and this, combined with his better features, gave him a reckless, dashing appearance that most women found irresistible.

  He was thirty-two years of age. Six of these years had been spent in prison. Before he was caught, he had roamed the French Riviera, plundering the villas of the rich. His success had been phenomenal. In sixteen months he had cleaned up fifty million francs, most of which he had lost at the Monte Carlo Sporting Club in two feverish and spell-binding sessions at the roulette table. To recoup his losses, he had gone after a diamond necklace reputed to be worth twenty-five million francs. He succeeded in stealing it although he had been forced into a hand-to-hand fight with a night watchman whom he was fortunate enough not to kill. The fence to whom he had taken the necklace refused to pay more than seven million francs for it, explain
ing at length the risk involved and the fact that when the necklace was broken up1, its value was negligible. Knowing the police would have a description of him from the night watchman and that he would have to get out of France, Felix endeavoured to persuade the fence to raise his offer. His method of persuasion consisted of beating up the fence with fists carefully protected by leather gloves, the knuckles of which were ornamented with brass studs.

  This was an error of judgment, for while the beating was in progress, the fence’s wife alarmed by the uproar, called in the police, and for the first time in his life, Felix found himself inside a French prison.

  Identified by the night watchman and betrayed by the fence, Felix was sentenced to fifteen years on Devil’s Island. He spent six of these years in the steamy hell of the island before managing to escape. Taking refuge in Rome and knowing that a single false move would send him back to the island, he lived cautiously, getting himself a job as a tout for a shady nightclub. It was at this club that he met Lorelli.

  Before meeting her, Felix regarded all women as amusing toys to be brutally used, discarded and forgotten. Lorelli, he quickly discovered, had other ideas in her beautiful head besides satisfying his physical needs. It was she who had suggested he should offer his services to Simon Alsconi, and it was she who had arranged the first meeting.

  He was adjusting his tie in the mirror when the door opened and Lorelli came in. He turned to smile at her, but his smile froze when he saw her expression and how white she was. “What is it?” he asked sharply.

  Lorelli shut the door, slipped off her coat and came over to the fire.

  “You remember I told you about the man who followed me in London and put the police on to me?” she said a little breathlessly. “And I told you I was followed last night? The same man was in Pedoni’s shop just now. He asked Pedoni for a book on the history of Siena that would explain how the wards acquired their names. He mentioned the Tortoise ward.”

  Felix stiffened.

  “Sure it’s the same man?”