An Ace up my Sleeve Read online

  Archer, she thought, panic seizing her, must have heard the front door bell ring and with new courage, was attacking the door again.

  When she regained the hall, she found the Engineer was examining the chest. The thudding sound from below created such a din that it set Helga’s teeth on edge. Somehow she kept her face expressionless.

  Please take this. Thank you for coming. I’m telephoning my husband. There is no need for you to go to the expense of sending him a telex. I’ll explain everything… it is entirely my mistake.”

  His eyes opened wide when he saw the fifty franc note.

  “Thank you, madame… thank you very much.” His eyes went to the cellar door. The thudding sound was now alarmingly loud.

  “A friend of mine… he’s making something,” Helga said huskily and opened the front door.

  “Well, madame, if you’re sure…”

  “Yes. It’s working perfectly!”

  He moved out into the cold.

  “Good night, madame, and thank you.”

  As she closed the front door, she heard a sudden sound of splintering wood and then a crash as the cellar door slammed open and banged against the wall.

  She clenched her fists.

  He was out!

  Her breath rasping in her throat, she looked at the heavy chest against the door. Would that be enough to stop him forcing the door open? Then as she heard Archer come pounding up the stairs she also heard the engine of the Volkswagen whirr into life and the car drive away.

  She leaned against the wall, staring at the door. She could hear Archer’s laboured breathing, then she saw the door handle turn.

  “Jack! Get away from that door!” she cried. “This is your last chance! Get away from that door or I’ll call Larry!”

  “He’s not here,” Archer panted. “I know! You can’t bluff me! I heard the car and I know where he’s gone… he’s gone to Basle! Open up or I’ll break the door down! Do you hear? Open the door!”

  She stared at the door. How could she make it safe? Then she remembered a scaffolding pole the builder had forgotten that was in the garage.

  She ran to the front door, opened it and stumbled down the steps to the garage. The cold bit into her, but she ignored it. She opened the garage doors, found the pole and caught hold if it. It was heavy and clumsy to handle but she carried it back up the steps and into the hall.

  She paused to stare at the door. The lock was now broken and the door was open an inch, but the chest was holding it. She could hear Archer’s heavy breathing as he paused for his final effort. Would the pole be too long? Her own breathing was laboured. She wedged one end of the pole against the skirting of the opposite wall, then lowered the other end against the door. She gave a little sob of relief as she saw it was a fit. She jammed the pole down, forcing the door shut.

  Archer made his effort and she heard his body thud against the door. The pole held the door solid and she heard his gasp of pain as his shoulder crashed against the door which didn’t yield.

  She heard him curse. The step at the door wasn’t wide enough to give him much purchase. He wouldn’t be able to use his foot, she thought. He would soon get tired of bruising his shoulder.

  “You bitch!” Archer snarled. “Open the door!”

  She went into the kitchen to where the tool chest was kept. Herman was a great believer in having tools in all his homes. He never used them himself but expected Hinkle to cope with any small emergency. She found a heavy, wooden mallet and with that, standing on a chair, she hammered the pole more securely into place.

  While she was working, Archer called her every obscene name that came to his mind.

  Dropping the mallet, now sure the door was safe, she went unsteadily into the sitting-room. Again she looked at her watch. She had still three - possibly four - hours before Larry returned.

  Now she had to persuade Herman to cancel his flight. It wouldn’t do to telephone him. He would only argue. If she couldn’t persuade him to cancel his flight he would be arriving at Geneva the following evening and at Agno airport the morning of the next day. This was too dangerous. She had to keep him away from the villa for at least another three days.

  She listened, but heard no sound from the cellars, then she went to her desk and sat down. After thinking, she decided to ask the Eden to send a telex. Herman had a secretary at his New York apartment who would accept the message if Herman was out.

  She wrote the message out on a sheet of paper. 135

  Central heating now working, but villa still like ice box. Will take at least a day to warm up. Cleaners have been unable to work, due to cold. They arrive Thursday morning. Suggest you fly to Geneva Friday. I will meet you at Agno Saturday usual time. Think all will be ready by then. Snowing heavily here, Helga.

  She re-read the message, decided Hinkle would be consulted and would veto flying tomorrow, then she rang the Eden and dictated the message to the clerk in charge of the telex. He promised to send the message immediately.

  As she replaced the receiver, she suddenly felt utterly drained and exhausted. She realized she hadn’t had any food since lunch time, but the thought of preparing something was too much of an effort. She hesitated about having more brandy and decided against it. Getting to her feet, she walked slowly into the kitchen and put on the coffee percolator. She sat on a kitchen chair, her head in her hands, her eyes closed and remained like that until the coffee was ready. She sipped the strong black coffee which revived her a little, then as she was putting down the empty cup, she heard a sound that brought her alert.

  She sprang to her feet and went to the kitchen door and looked across the hall to the cellar door. As she stood listening, her heart beginning to thump, the sound came again: a low moaning sigh. It was such an uncanny sound that it turned her cold.

  Shakily, she crossed the hall and stood close to the cellar door, holding her breath, so tense, her muscles began to ache. The sound came again.

  Was Archer having an attack? He had been behaving like an infuriated bull and if he did have a bad heart as he said he had he might have brought on an attack. She cringed at the thought. Suppose he died?

  Then very faintly through the door panel as if he were crouched against the other side of the door, she heard him murmur, “Helga? Helga?”

  “What is it?” Her voice quavering and husky.

  “It’s my heart’ He made a low whimpering sound. “There are tablets in my overcoat pocket. Get them… quickly.”

  She looked at the black overcoat lying on the hall chair. With shaking hands she searched the pocket and her fingers closed around a glass phial. She took it out and stared at it. It contained about eight oval shaped tablets. There was no label attached to the phial.

  The moan came again.

  Without thinking, now in a blind panic, she caught hold of the pole to jerk it free, but it was jammed so tight, she couldn’t move it.

  “For God’s sake, Helga… I’m dying,” Archer called. “Give me those tablets!”

  The harsh note in his voice tinged with angry impatience her pause. Was he bluffing? She looked at the phial. These could be anything: digestive tablets, sleeping pills… anything.

  “Helga? Are you there?” His voice was stronger as if he was afraid she might have moved away and wouldn’t hear him.

  If he was bluffing and she opened the door, she would be at his mercy, she thought. But suppose he wasn’t? Suppose he really was having a heart attack?

  She moved to the door.

  “They’re not there. Would they be in the car?”

  “They’re there!” There was now a snarl in his voice. “You haven’t looked! A phial with white tablets in it. Look again! Open the door… I can’t breathe! For God’s sake, Helga, don’t let me die!”

  The snarl in his voice stiffened her resolve not to open the door. Moving unsteadily, she went into the sitting-room and closed the door. She crossed to the bar and poured brandy into a glass and swallowed it in one shuddering gulp. Then she dropped o
n to the settee.

  If he died… he died! She dare not risk opening the cellar door. He had shown no mercy to her. Why should she show mercy to him? A blackmailer is the dirtiest thing on earth. Let him die! She would be free of him then forever! But she knew she was desperately trying to justify her action. She knew that it was only because she was exerting tremendous control over herself she wasn’t rushing to his aid.

  He’s bluffing, she tried to assure herself. He’s unscrupulous, ruthless and an expert bluffer. She held her head in her hands. But was he bluffing?

  Suppose, when Larry returned, they found Archer dead? The thought sickened her. What would they do? How would Larry react? She touched her dry lips with her tongue. If he died she would have to call a doctor. Would the news of his death travel fast? Would the Bank hear of it before they posted the letter? In the event of my death! They certainly wouldn’t post the letter to a dead man. They would act on his instructions and get a messenger to hand the envelope to Herman when he arrived at Geneva.

  She struck her clenched fists together in an agony of indecision and despair. Getting to her feet, she opened the sitting-room door to listen.

  Faintly, she could hear a sound on the lower panel of the cellar door. Irregular sounds, as if feeble fingernails were tapping on the panel.

  “Helga… the tablets…” Archer’s voice was now so faint she could scarcely hear it. “The tablets.”

  With her hands pressed to her ears, Helga blundered into her bedroom and threw herself face down on the bed.

  The sound of the garage doors slamming shut startled her out of a sleep of exhaustion. Dazed, she scrambled off the bed. She was so unsteady she had to sit down abruptly on the bed or she would have fallen. She looked at her watch. The time was 03.10.

  Had Larry returned?

  She forced herself to her feet and stumbled out of the bedroom and into the hall. She looked fearfully at the cellar door, and then she went to the front door and opened it

  By the porch light, she saw it was snowing heavily and the cold struck at her. She saw Larry coming towards her, holding the envelope she had given him.

  It was only the steel in her that prevented her from bursting into tears of relief.

  He came up the steps, chewing hard and smiling his warm smile.

  “I got it, ma’am! Get inside and… you’ll catch cold.”

  She stepped back, her knees trembling and she had to clutch hold of the door to prevent herself falling. He gave her a searching stare and then caught hold of her, pushing the front door shut.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?”

  “I’m so glad you’re back.” Her voice broke and then the tears came and she leaned against him, shaking and sobbing.

  “Hey, ma’am! What’s the matter? Did you…” He stopped as he saw the pole jamming the cellar door. “Did you have trouble?”

  “Oh, God… yes!”

  He lifted her off her feet and carried her into the sitting-room. Gently, he put her on the settee.

  “What happened, ma’am? He didn’t get away?”

  She fought to control herself and succeeded. As she dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief, she said, “No… but, Larry… I - I think he’s dead.”

  Larry took a step back. His look of concern changed to wide-eyed fright.

  “Dead?”

  She nodded.

  “I nearly went out of my mind!” She beat her fists together. “He said he was having a heart attack.” She had to stop speaking to fight back her tears, then after a moment, she went on, “It was awful! He was moaning and calling to me! He wanted some tablets. I was too frightened to open the door to give them to him. Then he started knocking… and now… there’s no sound… nothing.” She shuddered, her face working. “I’m so frightened. I didn’t know if he was bluffing. I couldn’t let him out… could I?”

  Larry stared at her. His face had turned chalk white and his eyes turned remote. After a long silence, he said huskily. “But you don’t know he is really dead?”

  “No. Please go and see.”

  He flinched and retreated further away from her.

  “What will you do if he is dead?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t thought. For God’s sake, Larry, go and see!”

  He retreated further away from her.

  “I - I don’t like anything to do with dead people. No… I don’t want to do that.”

  She understood and didn’t blame him. After all, she told herself was only an immature boy.

  “We must know! I’ll go, but come with me, Larry. He may be bluffing and he might attack me. Will you come with me?”

  Larry hesitated, then nodded.

  “Sure, ma’am. I’ll come with you.”

  Shaking, Helga went into the hall.

  “I can’t move that.” She indicated the pole. “Will you try?”

  Larry took hold of the pole in his huge hands, twisted and gave it a jerk. It came free. He laid it down along the wall, then catching hold of the chest, he dragged it away from the door which swung open.

  Helga saw the lights were on in the corridor below. She moved to the head of the stairs and stood listening. She could only hear the steady roar of the motor, driving the central heating. Gathering her courage, she began to descend the stairs. Halfway down, she paused and looked back. Larry was standing at the top of the stairs, his face shiny with sweat. They looked at each other.

  “Come with me,” she whispered.

  He nodded and came down the stairs, then stopped. She went on and paused when she was in the corridor.

  “Jack?” Her voice was so husky it was almost soundless. “Jack! Are you there?”

  The silence that greeted her gripped her with a paralysing terror. She couldn’t bring herself to move forward. She remained motionless, staring down the long corridor at the shattered cellar door at the far end of the corridor and opposite, the games room: the door stood ajar. The other doors leading to the boiler room and to two more cellars were closed.

  He must be dead, she thought hopelessly. He must be lying in the cellar. He must have crawled there. She fought off the terror that gripped her and the steel in her that never failed her stiffened her courage.

  “Come with me!” she said, her voice hardening. “Larry! You’re in this as much as I am!”

  Hesitating, Larry came down three more of the stairs and then stopped.

  She went along the corridor, paused, then forced herself to look into the cellar. Except for the splinters of wood on the concrete floor, the cellar was empty. She turned and looked at the door, standing ajar, leading to the games room. She could see the room was in darkness. She saw Larry hadn’t moved. He was standing halfway down the stairs, sweat trickling down his face. She felt a sudden contempt for him. His fear increased her courage. She walked to the games room, threw the door open, groped for the light switch and turned it on.

  With her heart hammering, she looked around the big room. There was no sign of Archer.

  He couldn’t have escaped! 141

  To convince herself she looked at the steel door at the far end of the corridor, leading to the garage. She could see from where she stood that the bolt of the lock was home.

  There was another cellar and the boiler room in which Archer could be hiding or lying dead. She went to the boiler room and threw the door open. The door was near the bottom of the stairs, and as she turned on the light, Larry retreated up two stairs. She looked around. Again there was no sign of Archer. She was shaking again, and she turned to look at Larry.

  Pointing to the second cellar door, she mouthed without speaking, “He’s in there… the other is locked.”

  Looking scared, Larry stared blankly at her. Her silent mouthing conveyed nothing to him. She motioned him to come down into the corridor and reluctantly he did so. The unlocked cellar door opened outwards. She put a shaking hand on the door handle, turned it and flung the door open.

  Archer came out like a charging bull. Helga was standing b
ack, but Larry was directly in his path. Archer’s fist, thrust forward like a battering ram, thudded into Larry’s chest, with all Archer’s heavy weight behind it, sending him reeling. Larry tried to regain his balance as Archer rushed by him, but he went sprawling.

  “Larry!” Helga screamed.

  Archer stumbled on the stairs and fell on his knees. He was so heavy and cumbersome he took a long moment to get to his feet. By then Larry was up and he grabbed hold of Archer’s left ankle. Archer kicked back wildly with his right foot which whistled by Larry’s face. Larry hauled him back down the stairs.

  Cursing, Archer broke free and rolled over. Lying on his back, panting, he glared helplessly up at Larry.

  As Larry got set to kick him, Helga screamed, “Don’t touch him!”

  Scowling, Larry stepped back and wiped his sweating face with the back of his hand.

  Lying still, Archer looked up at Helga, his face a blotchy white.

  “So you’ve got your pimp back,” he said huskily. “All right… you win. Just leave me alone.”

  She felt a moment of pity. The bruise on the side of face had extended and was now blue and yellow. His lips swollen and dried blood caked on his chin. He looked old, frightened and defeated.

  I warned you, Jack,” she said shakily. “I’m sorry.”

  “I imagine.” His voice was bitter. Slowly he crawled to his feet and leaned against the wall. “Sorry? You wouldn’t know the meaning of the word.”

  She pointed to the panics room.

  “You’ll be comfortable in there. I’ll get you a drink.”

  He lurched by Larry who was tense, his huge hands on his hips, his jaw moving as he chewed. Then Archer passed Helga and went into the games room.

  Helga went unsteadily up the stairs to the sitting-room. She mixed a double whisky and soda, added ice and carried the drink down to the games room.

  Archer was sitting in one of the lounging chairs, his head in his hands. She put the drink on the covered billiard table.