You Find Him – I'll Fix Him

  Against the wall were two suitcases. One of them lay on its side, open. In it were three of my best suits, three bottles of my favourite brand of whisky and my silver cigarette box. For a long moment I stood staring down at the suitcase, the beam of my flashlight unsteady. Then I knelt down and opened the second case. That too was full of the things that had been stolen from my apartment: everything was there except Helen's camera.

  Before I had time to consider the significance of this discovery, I heard a sound downstairs that made me practically jump out of my skin.

  It was the kind of sound a hunter in the wilds of an African jungle who has been stalking some comparatively harmless animal hears that warns him a rogue elephant has arrived on the

scene.

The disturbance in this still, dark villa was of the violence of an earthquake.

  There was a crash: someone had unlocked the front door and flung it open so that the door smashed against the wall.

  Then a man's voice bawled, "MYRA!"

  When I was a kid, and back home, I had once been taken to a hog-calling contest. I had been tremendously impressed by the colossal volume of sound that had come from the leathery lungs of the hog callers. This sound that came up the stairs and reverberated around the dark, still room was as violent. It froze me, making the hairs on the nape of my neck stand up and making my heart skip a beat.

  There was another crash that shook the house as the man below slammed the front door shut. Then the horrible, undisciplined voice yelled again: "MYRA!"

  I recognized that voice. I had heard it on the telephone. Carlo had arrived!

  Moving silently, I slid out of the bedroom. The lights were on in the hall. I went to the banister head and cautiously looked over. I couldn't see anyone, but there were lights now on in the lounge.

  Then the raucous voice began to sing.

  It was the voice of a hooligan: a tuneless, obscenely loud, ruthlessly vulgar sound. You couldn't call it a song: it was something out of the jungle: a sound that made me sweat.

  I waited there because there was no way out of this villa except by way of the downstairs exits. So long as Carlo was there, I wasn't taking any chances of showing myself.

  I remained in the shadows, a foot away from the banisters where I couldn't be seen. It was as well, for I suddenly saw the figure of a man standing in the lighted doorway of the lounge.

  I edged back into the deeper shadows. It was the same broad-shouldered figure I had seen creeping around in the villa at Sorrento. I was sure of it.

  There was a long, nerve-racking pause while Carlo remained motionless, his head cocked on one side as if he were listening.

I held my breath, my heart slamming against my ribs and I waited.

  He moved slowly into the middle of the hall. Then he stopped, his hands on his hips, his long legs apart, facing the stairs.

  The light from the overhead lamp fell fully on him. He was as Frenzi had described him: a bull-necked, blunt-featured, handsome animal He was wearing a black turtle neck sweater, black trousers, the ends of which were tucked into a pair of highly polished Mexican boots. He had a small gold ring in the lobe of his right ear, and he looked as big and as strong as a fighting bull.

  For a long moment he stared up at the exact spot where I was standing. I was sure he couldn't see me. I didn't dare move in case the movement drew his attention to me.

  Then suddenly he bawled, "Come on down or I'll come up and fetch yah down!"

PART NINE

I

I came down.

  There was nothing else I could do. There was no room up on the landing if it came to a fight and, besides, the only way out of the villa was down the stairs and out through the front door or one of the ground-floor windows.

  I came down slowly.

  I'm not exactly a pigmy, but I didn't kid myself that I had much chance against this bull of a man. By the way he had moved from the lounge to the centre of the hall I knew he could be as fast as a streak of lightning once he got going.

  When I reached half-way down the stairs I came into the full glare of the hall light, and I stopped so he could take a look at me.

  He grinned, showing big, white even teeth.

  "Hello, Mac," he said. "Don't think this is a surprise. I was right behind you all the way from your joint to this. Come on down. I've been waiting to have a talk with you."

  He took four paces back so he wouldn't be too close to me when I reached the hall. I came down. If he went for me, I'd try to handle him, but I wasn't starting anything – anyway, not just yet.

  "Go in there and sit down," he went on, jerking his thumb towards the lounge.

  I went in there, chose a comfortable chair that faced the door and sat down. By now I had control of my nerves. I wondered what he was going to do. I doubted if he would call the police. I had only to show them my things upstairs for him to be in a worse jam than I.