1977 - I Hold the Four Aces Read online

  Hinkle appeared on the terrace, and touched Archer on his shoulder.

  Almost crying, Archer staggered to his feet.

  “Helga! I swear I am telling you the truth!” he cried. “These people…“

  With surprising strength, Hinkle caught hold of Archer’s arm, turned him and pushed him off the terrace and to the front door.

  Archer stumbled down the drive and slumped into his car. Hinkle watched him drive away, then returned to the terrace.

  Her fists clenched, her lips trembling, Helga said shakily, “Pack, Hinkle. I will leave tomorrow.”

  “That would be wise, madame.”

  He gave her a brief glance, his expression sad, then he went into her bedroom and took her suitcases from the closet.

  Helga put her hand across her eyes. Timothy Wilson! Not only a cheat, but a bigamist! And how she had loved him! A man, according to the police, who preyed on old women! She didn’t believe a word Archer had said about the Mafia. He had tried to bluff her in the past, and she had called his bluff. He and Grenville had hoped this stupid Mafia threat would have frightened her to pay. To hell with both of them!

  She drew in a long deep breath. Men seemed fatal to her. Somehow, she must rid herself of this nagging sexual urge that continually got her into trouble. She closed her eyes, and her mind re-created those marvellous moments when she had been lying in Chris” arms. Had he been a thief, or even a murderer, she could have forgiven him, but being a despicable calculating bigamist. no!

  She got to her feet, and went to her bedroom where Hinkle was carefully packing her clothes.

  “It’s a mess, isn’t it, Hinkle? she said, forcing a smile. “I’ll be glad to leave.” She touched his arm.

  “Thank you for being such a good and loyal friend to me.”

  Hinkle looked sadly at her.

  “You have courage, madame, and with courage, there can be no defeat.”

  * * *

  As Archer drove back to Paradiso, he felt like a panic-trapped mouse. As Helga had refused to speak to Grenville, Bernie would have guessed she wouldn’t pay the ransom. What would Bernie do? He would either turn Grenville free or become vicious.

  Whatever he did, Archer wanted no part of it. He decided he would pick up his suitcase and drive fast to Geneva. He would tell the U.S. Consulate that he had lost his passport.

  He would tell them he had urgent business in England. He would show them his old business card.

  They would have to help him!

  He wished he had put his suitcase in the boot of the Mercedes, instead of leaving it in the rented villa.

  The suitcase contained all his few belongings, and he had to have it! If he hurried, he would still have time to collect it and be on his way before Bernie began to look for him.

  The heavy lakeside traffic forced him to drive at a crawl, and by the time he reached the rented villa, he was soggy with sweat. Leaving his car, he hurried up the path and entered the villa. His suitcase was in the lobby where he had left it. As he reached for it, Bernie came from the living-room. This wasn’t the smiling, oily-looking Bernie he had dealt with before: this was an alarming-looking thug whose little eyes glittered with rage.

  “Come in here!” Bernie snarled. “What happened? Why didn’t she speak to him?”

  His heart thumping, his face white, Archer walked unsteadily into the living-room.

  “She won’t pay.”

  Bernie spat on the carpet.

  “She will!” He turned on Archer, and shouted in a voice congested with fury, “You fat, useless fink! I’ll show you how to handle her! Come with me!”

  His vicious fury horrified Archer, who took a hasty step back.

  “Come with me!” Bernie snarled, and leaving the villa, he walked down the path and got into Archer’s car. Archer hesitated, then defeated, knowing there was nothing he could do but obey, he picked up his suitcase and joined Bernie in the car.

  Saying nothing, his bearded face contorted with vicious rage, Bernie drove to Lucky’s store.

  “Open the gates!”

  With some trouble, because he was shaking, Archer opened the gates, and Bernie drove the car into the yard.

  “Come!”

  He led the way up into the barn, up the stairs, and into the big room. Archer followed.

  Grenville, in need of a shave, looking utterly demoralized, was sitting in one of the armchairs. Seeing Archer, he jumped to his feet.

  “What went wrong?” he demanded wildly. “Why wouldn’t she speak to me?”

  “I wish I had never set eyes on you,” Archer said, and feeling his legs becoming unsteady, he dropped into a chair. “You ask why she didn’t speak to you? Because you are a bigamist! If I had known you were wanted by the police for bigamy, I wouldn’t have touched you! Why didn’t you tell me - damn you!”

  Grenville’s face turned the colour of tallow.

  “Does she know?”

  “She knows! She has a copy of your German police dossier! God knows how she got it, but she now has proof you are Timothy Wilson and an utter fake! She knows you married three old women for gain, and these three old women are still living!”

  “God!” Grenville looked frantically around the room. “I’ve got to get away! She will tell the police!”

  Listening to all this, Bernie suddenly broke in.

  “You two goddamn amateurs! If you imagine I am going to pass up ten million dollars, you have another think coming! I’m going to see just how tough this bitch is!”

  He went to the door and whistled.

  Segetti and Belmont, who had been in the barn, came quickly up the stairs and entered the room.

  “She won’t pay,” Bernie said to them. “Now we must soften her.” He pointed to Grenville. “Cut his ear off!” Then swinging around and glaring at Archer, he went on, “You will take his ear, bleeding, to her, and if she doesn’t pay, you will take his other ear, and if she doesn’t pay, you will take, every day, one of his fingers, until she does pay!”

  Almost sick with horror, Archer said, “You must listen to me! If he had been a thief, a forger, anything but a bigamist, she would have forgiven him and paid. Don’t you understand? He promised to marry her, and now, she finds he is a bigamist! She will never pay!”

  Bernie spat on the floor.

  “We can try. Cut his ear off, Jacques!”

  Belmont’s hand went behind him. He produced a long, razor sharp knife. He looked at Segetti, who nodded and took from his hip-pocket a leather-covered cosh.

  “Just a tap on your head, Mr. Grenville,” Bernie said, smiling evilly. “You won’t feel much. Jacques is an expert. Maybe a little sore later, but it is worth a try.”

  Grenville backed away, while Archer, shocked, hid his face in his hands.

  Then Grenville said hoarsely, “Wait! Listen to me! I can tell you how you can get fifteen million dollars from her! I know her - you don’t! Fifteen million, and it is certain money!”

  Bernie lifted his hand, stopping Segetti as he moved towards Grenville.

  “She hates violence,” Grenville said, sweat running down his face. “Our mistake was sending Archer to talk to her. You should have gone. You would have convinced her, but it is now too late to use me as a lever, but I have thought of another lever, but you will have to talk to her.”

  Bernie nodded.

  “Okay. I will talk to her…about what?”

  Archer was staring at Grenville. Belmont, fingering his knife, and Segetti, tapping the palm of his hand with his cosh, were also staring at Grenville.

  “We should have thought of this before,” Grenville said. “We wouldn’t have had all this trouble. It’s so easy…so simple.”

  Bernie walked up to him and dug his forefinger into Grenville’s chest.

  “What is so easy…so simple?” he demanded, a snarl in his voice.

  Grenville told him.

  * * *

  Just after 08.15, Helga came awake from a drugged sleep. She stretched, and then looked aro
und the luxurious bedroom. She had no regrets, leaving this room for good. The villa now held too many unhappy memories. She thought of Chris, and was thankful she could think of him without heartache. In a few weeks, she assured herself, she would have forgotten him. He would become yet another shadowy man in her past.

  How careful, she thought, one had to be when one thinks one is in love. What is love? She had to admit that she had never known the real meaning of love. It was something, she now suspected, she would never know. Love was illusive. So many men and women believed they were in love, and then found, one day, that love meant nothing, and that they had become strangers. And yet, she knew, there were as many men and women who had discovered that love meant a solid background to their lives. To her, love meant sexual excitement. Sex! This was the curse that influenced her life. She had really believed she had been in love with Chris, but when Hinkle had told her that this handsome, suave man was not only a bigamist, but a calculating cheat, her love for him had abruptly ceased, like the switching off of a light.

  In a few hours, she would be at the Geneva airport, leaving Hinkle to supervise the sale of the villa and the furniture. She would fly to Paradise City and take up her dreary, lonely life, commuting to New York for equally dreary board meetings, working with Loman and Winborn. This seemed now to be the pattern of her future life. Next June, she would be forty-five!

  She looked at the bedside clock. The time was 08.40. Hinkle was late! Well, never mind, she wasn’t desperate for coffee. He had had a hard day packing and clearing her personal things from her closets.

  He had probably overslept.

  She closed her eyes and let herself drift into a doze, then came awake later with a little start, to see it was 09.10.

  No Hinkle?

  She got out of bed, went into the bathroom and took a shower. Putting on a wrap, she went into the living-room. The french windows were closed. Puzzled, she threw them open, and then went to the front door which she found unlocked. She opened the door and looked down the short drive to the main road.

  It occurred to her that Hinkle had gone down to Castagnola village for fresh milk, and she shrugged.

  This had never happened before, but then for all she knew, the milk had never turned sour before, but she had an uneasy feeling, so she went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. She saw there were three cartons of milk on the shelf.

  She experienced a sudden clutch of fear. Was Hinkle ill? Had he had a heart attack after his exertions the previous day? She went quickly to her bedroom and dressed, putting on a red trouser suit. She was dressed in less than three minutes, then she ran down the long corridor that led to Hinkle’s room. She rapped loudly on the door, waited, her heart thudding, then rapped again. Silence greeted her. Bracing herself, she turned the door handle and opened the door.

  Peering into the room, she saw the bed had been made, the room was in immaculate order, but no Hinkle.

  Panic now nibbling at her, she ran back along the corridor and opening the front door, she went to the garage. Hinkle’s VW stood beside the Carmague Rolls. So he hadn’t gone down to the village! Then where was he?

  Had he gone into the garden, and there had a heart attack? She ran down the steep steps, looking to right and left, until she reached the gate, leading to the main road. The gate was locked. Satisfied that Hinkle was not in the garden, she took the chair lift back to the villa.

  Where was Hinkle?

  It was during the short run up to villa in the chair lift that Helga realized what this loyal servant really meant to her. She knew him to be her only true friend. Now, his absence frightened her. Had he decided to leave her? No! He would never do such a thing without telling her first! Then what had happened?

  Where was he?

  The little cabin of the chair lift came to rest, and she got out and walked across the terrace into the living-room, wondering if she should call the police, then she came to an abrupt stop.

  Sitting in a lounging chair, a cigarette hanging from his lips was a short, squat man with a heavy black beard, flat features and small glittering black eyes. He was wearing a dirty blue polo neck sweater and grey trousers on which were several oil stains. He held in his lap an electric hand drill which he had plugged into a nearby socket.

  The sight of this evil-looking man sent shock through Helga, turning her cold. She realized that she was alone with him. There was no Hinkle to protect her, but the steel in her made an effort to assert itself, and she said, her voice steady, “What are you doing here?”

  Bernie grinned at her. He switched on the drill and leaning forward, bored a hole in the antique coffee table by him. Having made the hole, he levered out the drill and then bored another hole. Then he switched off the drill.

  “Handy tool, isn’t it, lady?” he said.

  Helga drew in a shuddering breath.

  “What do you want?” she asked, not moving.

  “I thought it was time, lady, to talk to you,” Bernie said. “That fink Archer didn’t seem able to convince you that we mean business. From what he tells me, your lover boy now doesn’t mean a thing to you. I was going to cut off his ears, but he sold me another idea.” He leaned forward and bored another hole in the table.

  So Archer hadn’t been bluffing! This terrifying creature must be a Mafioso, Helga thought. Looking at him, she realized he was far too vicious and ruthless for her to attempt to handle.

  “What do you want?” This time her voice was unsteady.

  He levered the drill bit free.

  “Fifteen million dollars, lady, in bearer bonds.” Then he leaned forward, and with a snarl in his voice, he went on, “I have your servant, Hinkle. Grenville said Hinkle was important to you. Is he?”

  Helga felt faint. Moving unsteadily, she dropped into a chair.

  “Where is he?”

  “You’ll see. You and I are going to him now.” Bernie bored yet another hole in the table. “You will see how useful this tool is, lady. Unless you pay up, I’ll give you a little exhibition that will make you change your mind.” He got to his feet. “Let’s go.”

  “I’m not going with you!”

  Bernie regarded her evilly.

  “I said let’s go, and listen, lady, have you ever thought what happens when a fink gets a drill bit like this through both his kneecaps? You play along with me, lady, or your fink servant won’t walk again.”

  Helga felt the blood drain from her face. She had always had a horror of violence, and this obscene threat nearly turned her sick…and to Hinkle!

  “I’ll pay.” She got unsteadily to her feet. “I’ll call my bank now.”

  Bernie studied her, nodded and grinned.

  “That’s being sensible, but no tricks. Go ahead and fix it. I want the bonds here by tomorrow morning or else this drill goes into action.”

  Shaking, Helga went to the telephone and picked up the receiver.

  “That will be quite unnecessary, madame,” Hinkle said in his fruity, bishop’s voice.

  Helga spun around.

  Standing in the french windows, flanked on either side by two tall, heavily-built men, both with automatic pistols in their hands, was Hinkle: admittedly an unshaven, crumpled-looking Hinkle, but still, Hinkle.

  Bernie started to his feet, dropping the drill, as one of the big men moved over to him.

  “Hello, Bernie,” the man said. “You have had a long run, now it’s our turn. Come on.”

  Bernie eyed the gun, then shrugged.

  “You can’t pin anything on me, Bazzi,” he snarled, “and you know it.”

  The big man smiled.

  “We can always try, Bernie. Let’s go.”

  Bernie glared at Hinkle, then moved across the living-room. The two police officers followed. The front door slammed. A car started up and drove away.

  Hinkle said, “I must ask you to excuse me, madame. I am looking dishevelled. If you would be kind enough to give me a few moments, I will get you some coffee.”

  Tears
began to run down Helga’s face. She went to him, and putting her arms around him, she hugged him.

  “Oh, Hinkle! I was so frightened! If they had done anything dreadful to you…”

  “Madame!” Hinkle’s voice was sharp. “You must excuse me for a few minutes,” and giving her a fatherly pat on her shoulder, he disengaged himself and walked fast to his quarters.

  Helga dropped into a chair and continued to cry.

  She had stopped crying, and was in control of herself, when Hinkle, immaculate, pushed in the coffee trolley.

  “I suggest a little cognac mixed with the coffee, madame,” he said. “It is good for the nerves.”

  Her lips trembling, she forced a smile.

  “You think of everything, Hinkle, but I don’t drink a thing unless you join me, and please sit down.”

  Hinkle raised his eyebrows.

  “I mean it!” Helga said sharply.

  “Very well, madame. I will get a second cup.”

  There was a pause, then Hinkle returned, carrying a cup and saucer. He poured coffee into the two cups, added the cognac, then sat down, opposite Helga.

  “Madame, I have to apologize,” he said. “I have exposed you to a terrible experience, but I assure you, the police insisted it was the only way to trap these ruffians.”

  Helga sipped her coffee. Hinkle’s quiet presence had a soothing effect on her.

  “Tell me, Hinkle. I want to know what happened.”

  “Of course, madame. As you are aware, I telephoned my nephew-in-law, Jean Faucon, about Mr. Grenville. What you didn’t know is that I told Faucon about the whole situation, and that Mr. Grenville had been supposedly kidnapped and that Mr. Archer was demanding a two million dollar ransom. Faucon alerted the Swiss police. Inspector Bazzi had had this villa watched now for the past two days. He wanted to find out where Mr. Grenville and Mr. Archer were hiding. When I got rid of Mr. Archer, a police officer followed him to a rented villa in Paradiso, and this man Bernie appeared. Apparently, Bernie is well-known to the police, but he has been astute enough not to give them any evidence to arrest him. The police followed Mr. Archer and Bernie to a small shop in Lugano and a watch was kept. The Swiss police are patient. They waited. Apparently, Bernie decided, as you appeared to have lost interest in Mr. Grenville, to kidnap me. This move was unforeseen by the police, but as our villa was under guard, there was no reason for alarm.