Whiff Of Money

'You mean they know about these filthy films?'

'Not yet, but they are investigating. This man Girland has located Gillian at the Alpenhoff Hotel, Garmisch.'

'Garmisch? What is she doing there?'

Sherman shrugged impatiently.

'How do I know? Girland is on his way there now.'

Mary suddenly pounded her clenched fists on the back of the settee.

'What can a man like that do? God! I wish the little bitch was dead!'

Sherman shifted uneasily.

'You'd better know, Mary... I ran into Radnitz in Paris of course, he recognised me.'

Mary stared at him, her steel-blue eyes widening.

'Radnitz? He recognised you?'

'Yes. It was one of those things... I told him what was happening.'

'You mean you told him about Gillian and these filthy films?'

' I had no alternative.'

Mary dropped onto the settee.

'Henry! Radnitz only thinks about this contract! You were mad to have told him. Now he will blackmail you!'

Sherman looked patiently at her.

'You're being stupid. Radnitz can't expect the contract unless I am President. He is ready to help me.' He crossed to the cocktail cabinet, made himself a stiff whisky and soda, then came and sat down again.

'Radnitz help you?' Mary's voice was shrill. 'You can't believe a man like that would help anyone!'

'Mary . . . just a moment ago you said you wished Gillian was dead... do you mean that?' Sherman asked, not looking at her.

She sensed the question was serious. For a long moment, she sat still, her fact expressionless.

Finally, she said, 'If she was dead, you would become the President of the United States. If she remains alive and continues to blackmail us, you won't become the President... so ... yes ... I suppose I do wish she was dead.'

Sherman stared down at his hands.

'Radnitz said the same thing. He said he could arrange it. I -1 told him to go ahead ... I was worked up, but before he takes action, I wanted to talk to you... then if you agree, I have to tell him where to find her.' He stroked the back of his neck, staring out of the window. 'He knows where she is, of course. He knows everything, but if I tell him she is at the Alpenhoff Hotel at Garmisch, he will know this is my okay for him to get rid of her.'

Mary leaned forward, her eyes glittering.

'Well, what are you waiting for?' she demanded. 'We have fought and fought to come this far. Why should our ambitions and our way of life be ruined because we have been unlucky enough to have spawned this hateful, spiteful animal. Call Radnitz and tell him where she is!'

Sherman moved in his chair. His shaking hands went over his sweating face.

'She is our daughter, Mary.'

'Call him!'

They stared at each other for a long moment, then Sherman shook his head.

'No! We can't do this, Mary. We can't!'

'And the Russians? Suppose they find out about this degenerate animal? We can't allow ourselves to be blackmailed by such a creature. She must be silenced!'

Sherman made a helpless gesture.

'Suppose we wait until Girland finds her. He might just possibly talk some sense into her.' He got to his feet. 'I'm going to bed.'

'Yes...' Mary looked strangely at him. Her eyes were remote. 'The Alpenhoff Hotel, Garmisch... you said?'

'Yes.'

'And where is Radnitz?'

Sherman hesitated.

'Georges V, Paris.' He looked away from her. 'Why do you ask?'

'Go to bed, Henry,' Mary said quietly. 'You need your rest'.

Sherman hesitated again, then moved to the door. He paused and looked at her. Her cold, hard eyes fixed his.

'Go to bed, Henry,' she repeated.

Sherman left the lounge. He moved slowly like an old man moving to his bed, directed by his nurse. She listened to him mount the stairs and the slight creak of the floorboards as he moved into his bedroom.

For sometime, she sat staring out of the window, watching the sun rising, heralding a new day. Her face was stony, only the glitter in her eyes hinted at the turmoil that was going on in her mind.

Finally, she reached for the telephone. She asked the operator to connect her with Georges V hotel, Paris.

* * *

A black Thunderbird drew up under the canopy of the Georges V hotel and the doorman stepped forward to open the car door.

Lu Silk slid out.

'Park it... I won't be long,' he said curtly and walked into the lobby. He crossed to the concierge who was standing behind his desk.

'Mr Radnitz,'Silk said.

The concierge had seen Silk several times. He knew him to be a man who didn't tip and was disagreeable to the staff.

The concierge inclined his head coldly, picked up a telephone receiver, spoke briefly, then said to Silk, 'Fourth floor, monsieur, suite 457.'

Silk sneered at him.

'As if I didn't know.' He turned and walked towards the elevators.

Lu Silk (see 'Believed Violent') was Herman Radnitz's professional killer: a tall, lean man in his early forties with a hatchet-shaped face, a glass left eye and a white scar running down the side of his left cheek. His crewcut hair was white. He wore a dark flannel suit that fitted him well, and he carried a black slouch hat in his hand. He had worked for Radnitz now for some years. When Radnitz wished to get rid of anyone