Whiff Of Money

'Isn't it marvellous?' she said, joining him at the open window. 'Look at that bed... it's made for love!'

Girland laughed.

'The one-track mind. Any bed is made for love ... it depends on who occupies it.'

I'm right next door.' She lowered her voice as she continued, Til visit you tonight.'

Girland lifted his eyebrows.

'I don't remember inviting you.'

She laughed.

'You don't fool me, Casanova. You know you want me. You want me now... anyway, I'm coming tonight.'

'You have something there.' Girland studied her. She was very desirable. 'Where's Rosnold?'

'In his room. Let's go down. I'm starving.'

They moved across the room together. At the door, Gilly paused, looked steadily at Girland, then said, 'Kiss me.'

As Girland took her in his arms, there came a tap on the door. They moved quickly apart, then Girland opened the door.

Rosnold was standing in the corridor. He regarded Girland with a long, probing stare.

I was wondering where you had got to,' he said, shifting his stare to Gilly.

'Well, here we are. I was investigating his room... look at it! It's marvellous, isn't it?' Gilly said innocently.

Rosnold glanced into the room and nodded.

'The whole place is fantastic. What it must cost to run*!'

There was a gentle cough behind them and turning, they saw Fritz standing behind them.

'Lunch is served if you please,' he said. 'Will you come this way?'

The lunch was impeccable, served in an enormous high-ceilinged room that could cater for two hundred people. There were footmen in green and gold livery standing behind each chair. The meal began with white caviar, served with chilled vodka, followed by breasts of wild duck in a wine sauce with a 1949 Ausone claret. The dessert, served, with a golden sauterne, was hot-house strawberries in a champagne sorbet.

During the meal, von Goltz chatted pleasantly, concentrating his attention on Gilly, but also including Girland and Rosnold.

Girland noticed the table silver all carried the initials H.R. and this again puzzled him.

As they moved from the big dining-hall into the lounge for coffee, Girland asked, 'Who is H.R.?'

Von Goltz looked sharply at him, then smiled.

'You noticed the initials? This place doesn't actually belong to me but to my uncle.'

'A perfect meal, Count,' Rosnold said as he sank into an armchair. 'I congratulate you. Your chef reaches the standards of my country and that is praise indeed.'

'He is French,' von Goltz said.

He sat on a satin-covered settee by Gilly's side. There was a pause while a footman served coffee and cognac.

When the footman had gone, von Goltz looked directly at Girland.

'You were curious about my uncle. I believe you have met him.'

Girland lit a cigarette. There was now an expression on von Goltz's face that he didn't like. Although he remained relaxed, he became mentally very alert.

'Havel?'

'Yes. He is Herman Radnitz.'

Girland's smile remained polite and easy. So they had walked into a trap, he thought as he said, Of course. Once we did some business together. How is he?'

'Very well.'

'Will he be visiting you while we are here?'

'No.' Von Goltz crossed one leg over the other. He sipped his coffee, staring thoughtfully at Girland. 'I don't think we need waste any further time, Mr Girland. You realise now that you have walked into a trap?'

Girland put down his coffee cup and picked up his brandy glass.

'If Radnitz is behind your invitation, anything could happen,' he said lightly.

Gilly was listening to this, her expression bewildered.

'Can we share the joke, please?' she asked. 'I don't understand.'

'Of course,' Girland said, stretching out his long legs. 'The count's uncle is one of the richest and most evil men in the world. Had he not been so rich, he would be safely locked up in jail. His real name is Heinrich Kunzli. He made his fortune by supplying the Nazis and the Japs with soap, fertilisers and gunpowder. That seems harmless enough, doesn't it? But the Nazis and the Japs agreed to supply the raw materials for these products. The raw materials were the bones, fat and teeth of the murdered millions from concentration camps. The

count's nice uncle laid the foundation of his enormous fortune by turning into money the end-products of the dead bodies of Jews and other victims of the last war.' Girland smiled at von Goltz. 'That is correct, isn't it, Count?

Von Goltz showed his teeth in a mirthless grin.

'Yes . . . near enough, but it is old history now.' He regarded Girland, his eyes glittering. 'You are an interfering, useless man, Girland. This time you will cease to interfere.'

Girland sipped his brandy and nodded his approval.

'I've heard all that before... I can't say it ages me.'

Gilly exclaimed, 'For God's sake... just what is this?'

'Let me explane,' von Goltz said quietly. 'You are blackmailing your father. You have three films which you are threatening to send to his opposition party unless he withdraws from the election. I want these films.' He stared at her, his eyes suddenly cold. 'I intend to have them.'