Vulture is a Patient Bird

The fact that Shalik had had an unsatisfactory week-end with a call girl somewhere in the country, and he had no intention of advertising this fact to Sherborn, increased his rage.

"Well, he's gone. He said nothing about what he thought of the Kahlenberg set-up?"

"No, sir. He was in and out like a rocket."

Shalik had a feeling this was going to be a black Monday. Had he known that the three tapes, recording the details of his plan to steal the Borgia ring had already arrived on Max Kahlenberg's desk, he would have considered this Monday to be a disaster, but he didn't know.

Irritated and short tempered, he presided over the 09.30 hr. meeting, explaining to Gaye, Garry and Ken Jones that Fennel had had to leave and was now in Paris.

"There is no need to go into details," he said. "Mr. Fennel left so hurriedly he was unable to tell me his opinion about Kahlenberg's security measures. I trust he will be able to tell you when you all meet at the Rand International hotel. As I have a busy morning, there is no useful purpose served in prolonging this meeting." He looked at Garry. "You have studied the maps I gave you?"

"Yes . . . no trouble," Garry said. "I'll get there."

"Well, then the operation is now in your hands. I have done my best to make it easy for you. It is now up to you. You will be leaving tonight, and you will arrive at Johannesburg tomorrow morning." He paused, hesitated, then went on, "It is only fair to warn you that Fennel is a dangerous criminal, but absolutely necessary if this operation is to succeed." He looked directly at Garry. "You appear able to take care of yourself, so I will ask you also to take care of Miss Desmond."

"That will be my pleasure," Garry said quietly.

"Oh, Armo!" Gaye said impatiently. "You know I can well look after myself. What are you fussing about?"

"Men fuss over beautiful women. I am no exception," Shalik said, lifting his fat shoulders. Again he looked directly at Garry who nodded. "Well, bon voyage and success, Sherborn will give you your tickets and all the necessary details."

When the three had gone, Shalik looked for his list of appointments which Natalie always left on his desk. He couldn't find it. Again, he had a feeling that this Monday was going to be more than tiresome. Angrily, he went into her room. That she was not sitting at her desk as she had always sat for the past three years startled him. He looked at his watch. The time was 10.00 hrs. Returning to his office, he rang for Sherborn.

"Where is Miss Norman?"

"I have no idea, sir," Sherborn returned indifferently. Shalik glared at him.

"Then find out! She may be ill. Call her flat!"

The buzzer of the telephone sounded. Impatiently, Shalik waved to Sherborn to take the call.

Sherborn picked up the receiver and said in his pompous voice, "Mr. Shalik's residence." There was a pause, then in a voice suddenly off-key, he said, "Who? What did you say?"

Shalik looked angrily at him, then stiffened for Sherborn had lost colour and there was alarm in his eyes.

"Hold on."

"What is it?"

"Sergeant Goodyard of the Special Branch is asking to speak to you, sir."

The two men looked at each other. Shalik's mind flew to those three dangerous currency transactions he had recently made when he had moved some nine hundred thousand pounds out of England. Could Scotland Yard have possibly got on to that? He felt his hands turn moist.

Steadying his voice and not looking at Sherborn, he said, "Tell him to come up."

Three minutes later, Sherborn opened the door of the suite to be confronted by a large, heavily-built man with probing eyes, a mouth like a fly trap and a jaw like the prow of a ship.

"Come in, sir," Sherborn said, stepping aside. "Mr. Shalik will see you immediately."

Sergeant Goodyard moved into the room. He stared at Sherborn, then lifted heavy eyebrows.

"Why, hello George . . . I thought you were dead."

"No, sir," Sherborn said, sweat on his face.

"A pity. You keeping out of trouble?"

"Yes, sir."

Sergeant Goodyard surveyed the outer room with a critical eye.

"You've found a nice little nest here, haven't you, George? Better than Pentonville I dare say."

"Yes, sir."

Sherborn opened the door to Shalik's office.

After staring at him for a long moment, Goodyard walked into the impressively luxurious room.

Shalik glanced up. He regarded the police officer as he came slowly to the desk.

"Sergeant Goodyard?"

"Yes, sir."

Shalik waved him to a chair.

"Sit down, sergeant. What is it?"

Goodyard settled himself in the chair and looked stonily at Shalik who felt the unease that all guilty people feel when under police scrutiny, although his face remained expressionless.

"I believe Miss Natalie Norman works for you?"

Surprised, Shalik nodded.

"That is right. She hasn't come in this morning. Has something happened to her?"

"She died Saturday night," Goodyard told him in his flat, cop voice. "Suicide."