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car for the job I had on hand. He produced also a .38 automatic and a .22 in case I wanted

  something smaller, and a box of slugs to go with both guns. He made a big profit out of the

  purchases, but I didn’t care. I had all the money in the world, and I was buying secrecy.

  After sixteen days in the bedroom, I decided the heat had cooled off enough for me to

  leave. I drove away from the hotel on a moonless night a little after ten o’clock. On the bench

  seat beside me was the .38. I had the .22 in my hip pocket. I was ready for trouble. If anyone

  shot at me, I was going to shoot at them. I was in that kind of mood.

  I drove along Bay Shore Drive, up the long, crowded Biscayne Boulevard towards the State

  Highway. I drove carefully, stopping at every red light, taking care no speed-cop could find

  an excuse to bawl me out. I saw a number of prowl cars and a number of speed-cops, but

  none of them took any notice of me.

  After a six-hour drive I spotted the bright lights of Lincoln Beach. The town was laid out in

  a semicircle, facing the sea and sheltered by rising ground. It seemed to be a blaze of lights

  even at three o’clock in the morning. I had no intention of driving through the town. My first

  call was to be the scene of the accident where the Bentley had crashed. I’d be coming back to

  Lincoln Beach later on.

  I remembered where the car had hit us. There was a hill and palmetto thickets on either

  side. Fifty miles past Lincoln Beach I reduced speed. Somewhere here, I told myself. There

  was a hill ahead of me, and I could see the shadowy outlines of the palmetto thickets. I

  slowed to a crawl. By now it was close on five o’clock, and the sun was coming up

  reluctantly above the skyline. In another ten minutes it would be daylight.

  I switched off the headlights and cruised to a standstill, drawing to the side of the road. I lit

  a cigarette, aware of the feeling of rising excitement, but I waited. I wanted plenty of light to

  do what I had come to do.

  After a while I decided it was light enough, and I drove on. A mile farther up the road I

  came to the place. I knew it was the place by the uprooted tree, the torn grass and the skid

  marks that even sixty days hadn’t yet blotted out.

  I kept on driving until I was a quarter of a mile past the scene of the smash, then I ran the

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  car off the road and into the shrubbery. I wasn’t taking any risks. A parked car at the actual

  place of the smash might arouse the curiosity of any passing cop.

  I walked back, my gun shoved down the waistband of my trousers, my eyes and ears alert

  for trouble. I saw no one and heard nothing.

  After examining the ground for half an hour, I gave up. Apart from the skid marks, the

  churned»up grass and the uprooted tree, I found nothing. I knew the police had been here. If

  there had been anything to find they would have found it. I didn’t expect to find anything. I

  hoped if I returned to the scene of the smash something there might jog my memory to life,

  but it didn’t.

  During those sixteen days at the hotel I had groped into the past, trying to push aside the

  blanket of fog that hid the happenings of those forty-five days. Every now and then I felt I

  was getting somewhere. I remembered a few things, but they were so disjointed they didn’t

  make sense.

  An enormous fat woman with blonde hair floated into my mind, and then before I could

  concentrate on her she turned into a sleek, ferocious lion that came rushing towards me with a

  coughing, snarling roar. That mind picture brought me out of an uneasy doze, sweating and

  scared. Had I been dreaming or had this fat woman and the lion actually played a part in those

  missing days?

  Then later I had a very clear mind picture of myself on the verandah of a beach cabin. I was

  sitting in an armchair listening to the radio. I could hear the music distinctly, and although I

  never listened to classical music, I somehow knew this was a symphony concert, and it was

  by Beethoven. There was a blonde girl in a yellow swimsuit in the room. She kept coming

  on to the verandah, wanting me to turn off the radio, but I wouldn’t let her. She said if the

  music stopped she would take off her swimsuit. Wouldn’t I like that better than the music,

  and I said no. She got angry and slapped my face. This picture appeared again and again in

  my mind, but it didn’t mean anything to me.

  I sat down on the uprooted tree and lit a cigarette. I tried to concentrate while I absorbed the

  atmosphere of the thicket-I remembered the other car coming at us like a bat out of hell. I

  remembered Della’s scream and the smash. I remembered grabbing hold of the dashboard as

  the Bentley began to turn over. I closed my eyes. There had been a blinding white light, and

  then darkness.

  After a while I remembered a small wooden cabin, facing the sea. I could see it clearly in

  my mind. It had a tin roof, and the front window was cracked. There was a split panel in the

  front door.

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  This was new. This had happened after the smash II was sure of that. Excited by this

  discovery, I jumped to my feet and looked around. There was a path through the palmettos,

  leading to the beach. I set off, walking quickly, aware that the path seemed vaguely familiar. I

  was pretty sure I had been this way before.

  I came out of the thicket on to the sand dunes. The sea was in front of me. I stood looking

  to right and left. There was no sign of any cabin. I was turning to walk to the right when I

  changed my mind and walked instead to the left. I was like a blind man in a familiar room.

  All I had to do was to obey my instincts, and I knew I should arrive at the cabin.

  I walked for ten minutes along the beach before I saw it. It was exactly as I had pictured it

  in my mind, with its tin roof and cracked window-pane.

  There was an elderly man in the doorway, smoking. He had on a pair of dirty dungarees and

  he was looking in my direction. There was a stiff alertness about him that told me I had

  startled him.

  “Morning,” I said as I drew near. “A lonely spot you’ve got here.”

  He stared at me, his lined, weather-beaten face uneasy.

  “Where did you spring from, mister?”

  “I’ve been driving all night. I wanted to stretch my legs. Could I buy a cup of coffee off

  you?”

  “You can have a cup of coffee. I’ve just made some. I’ll bring it to you.” I sat down on a

  wooden box and waited, I had an idea I had seen him before. He came out with two pint mugs

  of steaming coffee. He kept staring at me while I drank.

  “It’s a funny thing,” he said slowly, “but I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

  “You’ve seen my brother,” I said, deciding this might be the best way to get the information

  out of him. “He had a car smash not far from here on July 29th. Remember?”

  He hurriedly shifted his eyes.

  “I don’t know anything about a car smash.”

  I knew at once he was lying.

  “My brother was hurt,” I said, watching him. “He lost his memory. We don’t know what

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  happened. I’m trying to find out.”

  “I tell you I don’t know anything about it,” he said curtly. “If you’ve finished your coffee, I

  gotta get on.”

  I took out a roll of bills; peeled off a hundred in twen
ties and spread them out on my knee.

  “I don’t want to waste your time. I pay for information,” I said.

  “She said I wasn’t to talk about it,” he said, his eyes lighting up, “but as you’re his brother .

  . .”

  I gave him the money. My heart was beginning to pound, and my hand was unsteady.

  “What happened?”

  “She and your brother came here. She said he had been hit on the head and the car stolen,

  but I found out later she was lying. There had been a smash and the car caught fire. They

  found a body in it.”

  “That’s right. What was this woman like?”

  “Dark and pretty, but as hard as nails. She wore a green dress. From the look of her she had

  plenty of money.”

  Della!

  “Go on,” I said.

  “Your brother made out he was pretty bad, but he wasn’t. He was trying to fool me. She

  wanted me to call some fella, and she gave me a phone number. The phone’s about half a mile

  down the road. I called this guy. He said he’d come over. When I got back to the cabin I

  looked through the window. Your brother was talking to the girl, but when I went in he made

  out he was still unconscious.”

  I didn’t know what to make of all this.

  “Do you remember the phone number?”

  “Lincoln Beach 4444. It’s an easy one to remember.”

  “Who was this fella you called?”

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  “Nick Reisner. That’s what she said his name was.”

  I felt spider’s legs run up my spine.

  “What exactly did she say?”

  He thought for a long moment, scratching his head, his eyebrows drawn down in a frown.

  “She said Ricca had met with an accident, and this Reisner fella was to come and pick them

  up.”

  “Did he?”

  “Yeah,”

  “Did you see him?”

  He shook his head.

  “No. I was asleep when he arrived.”

  I went on asking him questions, but there was nothing else of importance he could tell me.

  But I hadn’t wasted my time. I bad established that after the car crash Della and I had gone to

  the cabin. That meant her husband, Paul, and not me, as Riskin had thought, had been left in

  the burning car. Who Reisner was was something I had to find out. At least I had his telephone

  number. Why had Della called me Ricca? Had she been the girl who had died in the second car

  smash or was it someone else?

  Before I could make sense of any of this, I had to get a bit more information. I thanked the

  old man for his help, and went back to where I had parked the car.

  Around eight o’clock I drove into Lincoln Beach. At that hour in the morning the streets

  were almost deserted. I could tell at a glance this town was a millionaire’s playground. The

  shops, buildings, the flowers growing along the sidewalks and the neat-ness all pointed to

  money. I found an hotel in one of the side streets.

  Two bell-hops and the head porter who looked like an Admiral of the Fleet helped me out

  of the car and carried the black pigskin case and two other cases into the reception lobby.

  They gave me a room big enough to garage three four-ton trucks, and a bathroom that was so

  luxurious I was scared to use it.

  I lay on the bed and slept for three hours. After that all-night run I was dead beat. Around

  eleven-thirty I took the black pigskin suitcase down to the car. I wasn’t going to be parted

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  from that for a moment. I locked it in the boot, then drove to Roosevelt Boulevard, the main

  shopping centre.

  There were a lot of cars drifting up and down the broad street and quite a crowd of people

  on the sidewalks. Most of them were in beach dress; some of the girls were practically naked,

  but no one paid them any attention. I parked behind a big Packard and went into a drug store.

  There was one thing I had to find out. I shut myself in a phone booth and dialled Lincoln

  Beach 4444.I listened to the burr-burr-burr of the ringing tone, and my heart skipped a beat

  when a girl’s voice said, “Good morning. This is the Lincoln Beach Casino at your service.”

  “Connect me with Nick Reisner,” I said, and my voice croaked.

  “What was that again, please?”

  “I said connect me with Nick Reisner.”

  “Mr. Reisner is no longer with us. Who is that calling?”

  I ran a dry tongue over dryer lips.

  “I’m a friend of his. I’ve just hit town. Where can I find him?”

  “I’m sorry.” She sounded embarrassed. “Mr. Reisner died.”

  “He did?” I tried to make my voice surprised. “I didn’t know. When was that?”

  “July 30th.”

  The day after he had come to the cabin and had taken Della and me away. I was getting the

  shakes again.

  “What happened to him?”

  “Will you hold it a moment, please?”

  “Hey! Don’t go off the line …”

  There was a long pause. Sweat began to run down my face. Then there was a click, and a

  voice asked, “Who is calling?” A voice that came from a fat throat: Ricca’s voice, I didn’t say

  anything. I held the receiver against my ear, listening to his heavy breathing, aware of a cold

  chill creeping up my spine.

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  “Who is that?” he repeated. “Is it you, Johnny?”

  I still said nothing. I wanted to put down the receiver, but that heavy breathing and that fat,

  oily voice hypnotized me.

  Then suddenly another voice chipped in: a harsh, shouting voice.

  “This is Police Captain Hame talking. Trace this call, miss!”

  I hung up then and walked rapidly out of the store to my car. I had learned little, and I had

  risked much. It had been a bad move to have let them know I was in town.

  I sat in the car, my hat pulled down over my eyes, my fingers on the gun butt, and waited. I

  didn’t have to wait long. Their organization was pretty efficient. I was expecting cops, but it

  wasn’t a police car I saw shooting along the boulevard. It was a big, black Cadillac. It pulled

  up outside the drug store, within fifty feet of me.

  Two short, square-shouldered men got out, crossed the sidewalk and entered the drug store.

  The last two men I expected to see again on this earth: Pepi and Benno.

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  I lit a cigarette with an unsteady hand. Where had these two sprung from ? The obvious

  explanation was they had teamed up with Ricca. I remembered then that Waller, the Negro,

  had said they would keep after me until they had cornered me. I had completely forgotten

  them, but apparently they hadn’t forgotten me.

  I remained in the car, waiting. After a minute or so they came out of the drug store and

  paused on the sidewalk to look to right and left. Then they got into the Cadillac and drove

  away.

  It seemed I was now up against stiff opposition. I had been ready to tackle Ricca on his

  own, but I wasn’t too sure of my chances when it came to a combination of Ricca, Pepi and

  Benno. Those two lengthened the odds against me.

  But no matter what happened to me, they were not going to get their hooks into that money.

  Now they knew I was in town I would be crazy to carry all that money around with me. I had

  to find a safe place to stash it.

  I drove back to my hotel. The head porter sprang forward to open the car door.

  “I’m not getting
out,” I said. “Is there a safe deposit around here?”

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  “First on your left, sir,” he told me. “You can’t miss it. The best there is.” He was right

  about not missing it. It was about twenty storeys high and occupied half the block. There

  were five uniformed guards on the sidewalk, armed to the teeth* and tough enough to scare

  any Chi hood out of his skin.

  I pulled up and got out of the car.

  One of the guards came over. The others watched me.

  “I want to leave a suitcase,” I said. “What do I do?”

  “You have it with you, sir?”

  I unlocked the boot and hauled out the case. He made to take it, but I waved him back.

  “I’m not as weak as I look. Just tell me where to go.”

  “If you’ll follow me, sir.”

  He took me into a vast reception lobby, surrounded by a wall of steel bars as thick as my

  wrist. On a low balcony surrounding the lobby, guards patrolled, automatic rifles cradled in

  their arms. There’d be no smash-and-grab raid in this place.

  He led me to a pale young man who could have been a foreign prince, but obviously

  wasn’t, as he stood up and bowed.

  “Mr. Evesham will look after you, sir,” the guard said, and went away.

  “I want to deposit this suitcase,” I said. “Can you fix it?”

  Mr. Evesham, with another bow, said he would be happy to be of service.

  “Do you wish to rent one of our strong rooms?”

  I said I did.

  “Will you come with me?”

  We took the elevator to the fifth floor, walked along a corridor to a steel-mesh gate. A

  guard opened it and saluted.

  “Let me have the key to room 46,” Evesham said. He sounded like a prince when he was

  giving orders.

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  The guard produced a key, and a door was unlocked and opened. We entered a small room,

  steel lined, about the size of a prison cell, and furnished with two easy chairs, a table and a

  fitted grey carpet. Facing us was a wall safe, “Good enough to sleep in,” I said.

  “Some of our clients like to consult their papers without taking them away,” Evesham

  explained. “We try to make them as comfortable as possible.” He turned to the safe. “The

  letters of the combination make up the word ‘economic’. Will you remember that?”

  I said I would remember it.

  “Perhaps you would care to open the safe yourself? All you have to do …”