incessant way in which he massaged the back of his neck, appeared to be in very considerable pain. Neubauer watched him with a mixture of sympathy and anger.
Neubauer said: ‘Sure it was that bastard Harlow?’
‘I’m sure. I’ve still got my wallet.’
That was careless of him. I think I’ll lose my room key and borrow the master.’
Tracchia momentarily ceased to massage his aching neck. ‘What the hell for?’
‘You’ll see. Stay here.’
Neubauer returned within two minutes, a key ring whirling round his finger. He said: ‘I’m taking the blonde at reception out on Sunday night. I think I’ll ask for the keys’ of the safe next time.’
Tracchia said in agonized patience: ‘Willi, there is a time and a place for comedy.’
‘Sorry.’ He opened the door and they passed out into the corridor. It was deserted. Less than ten seconds later they were both inside Harlow’s room, the door locked behind them.
Tracchia said: ‘What happens if Harlow comes along?’
‘Who would you rather be? Harlow or us?’
They had spent no more than a minute in searching when Neubauer suddenly said: ‘You were quite right, Nikki. Our dear friend Johnny
He showed Tracchia the cine-camera with the crisscross of scratches round each of the four screws securing the plate at the back, produced a pocket-knife, selected a small screw-driver, removed the plate and extracted the micro camera. Neubauer then extracted the cassette from the micro camera and examined it thoughtfully. He said: ‘We take this?’
Tracchia shook his head and instantly screwed up his face in the agony caused by the thoughtless movement. When he had recovered, he said: ‘No. He would have known we were here.’
Neubauer said: ‘So there’s only one thing for it then?’
Tracchia nodded and again winced in pain. Neubauer lifted off the cover of the cassette, unreeled the film and passed it under a strong desk lamp, then, not without some difficulty, rewound the film, replaced the cover, put the cassette back in the micro camera and the micro camera in the cine.
Tracchia said: this proves nothing. We contact Marseilles?’
Neubauer nodded. Both men left the room.
Harlow had a Coronado pushed back by about a foot. He peered at the section of floor-board revealed, reached for a powerful torch, knelt and examined the floor intently. One of the longitudinal planks appeared to have two transverse lines on it, about fifteen inches apart. Harlow used an oily cloth to rub the front line, whereupon it became evident that the front line was no line at all but a very fine sharp cut. The revealed heads of the two holding nails were bright and clear of any marks. Harlow brought a chisel to bear and the front of the inlet wooden section lifted with surprising ease. He reached down an arm to explore the depth and length of the space beneath. A fractional lifting of the eyebrows expressed some degree of surprise, almost certainly as to the unseen extent of area available. Harlow brought out his arm and touched fingertips to mouth and nose: there was no perceptible change in his expression. He replaced the board section and gently tapped it into place, using the butt of a chisel on the gleaming nail-heads. With a suitably oiled and dirty cloth he smeared the cuts and nails.
Forty-five minutes had elapsed between the time of Harlow’s departure from the Villa-Hotel Cessni and his return there. The vast foyer looked semi-deserted but there must, n fact, have been over a hundred people there, many of them from the official reception party, all of them, probably, waiting to go ‘in for late dinner. The first two people Harlow saw were MacAlpine and Dunnet, sitting alone at a small table with short drinks. Two tables away Mary sat by herself, a soft drink and a magazine in front of her. She didn’t give the impression of reading and there was a certain stiff aloofness in her bearing. Harlow wondered towards whom the hostility was directed.
Towards himself, likely enough, but on the other hand there had grown up an increasing estrangement between Mary on the one hand and MacAlpine on the other. Of Rory there was no sign. Probably out spying somewhere, Harlow thought.
The three of them caught sight of Harlow at almost the same instant as he saw them.
MacAlpine immediately rose to his feet.
‘I’d be grateful, Alexis, if you could take Mary in to dinner. I’m going into the dining-room.
I’m afraid if I were to stay-’
‘It’s all right, James. I understand.’
Harlow watched the calculated snub of the departing back without expression, an absence of outward feeling that quickly changed to a certain apprehension as he saw Mary bearing down on him. No question now as to whom the unspoken.hostility had been directed. She gave the very distinct impression of having been waiting for him. That bewitching smile that had made her the sweetheart of the race-tracks was, Harlow observed, in marked abeyance. He braced himself for what he knew was going to be a low but correspondingly fierce voice.
‘Must you let
He said: that’s right. Go ahead. Wound an innocent man’s feelings. You have my worded bond — I mean my bonded word —’
‘It’s disgusting! Sober men don’t fall flat on their faces in the street. Look at the state of your clothes, your filthy hands. Go on! Just
Harlow looked at himself.
‘Oh! Aha! Well, sweet dreams, sweet Mary.’
He turned towards the stairs, took five steps and halted abruptly when confronted by Dunnet.
For a moment the two men looked at each other, faces immobile, then there was an almost imperceptible lift of Dunnet’s eyebrow. When Harlow spoke, his voice was very quiet.
He said: ‘We go now.’
The Coronado?’
‘Yes.’
‘We go now.’
CHAPTER SIX
Harlow drained his coffee — it was by now his invariable custom to breakfast alone in his bedroom — and crossed to the window. The famed Italian September sun was nowhere to be seen that morning. The overcast was very heavy, but the ground was dry and the visibility excellent, a combination making for ideal race-track conditions. He went into the bathroom, opened the window to its fullest extent, removed the cistern cover, took out the scotch, turned on the hot water tap and systematically poured half the contents of the bottle into the basin. He returned the bottle to its hiding-place, sprayed the room very heavily with an airfresh aerosol and left.
He drove alone to the race-track — the passenger seat in his red Ferrari was rarely occupied now-to find Jacobson, his two mechanics and Dunnet already there. He greeted them briefly and in very short order, over-ailed and helmeted, was sitting in the cockpit of his new Coronado.
Jacobson favoured him with his usual grimly despondent look.
He said: ‘I hope you can give us good practice lap-time today, Johnny.’
Harlow said mildly: ‘I thought I didn’t do too badly yesterday. However, one can but try.’
With his finger on the starter button he glanced at Dunnet. ‘And where is our worthy employer today? Never known him to miss a practice lap before.’
‘In the hotel. He has things to attend to.’
MacAlpine did, indeed, have things to attend to. What he was attending to at that moment had by this time become almost a routine chore — investigating the current level of Harlow’s alcohol supply. As soon as he entered Harlow’s bathroom he realized that checking the level of scotch in the bottle in the cistern was going to be a mere formality: the wide open window and the air heavy with the scent of the aerosol spray made further investigation almost superfluous. However, investigate he did: even though he had been almost certain what to expect, his face still darkened with anger as he held the half empty bottle up for inspection. He replaced the bottle, left Harlow’s room almost at a run, actually ran across the hotel foyer, climbed into his Aston and drove off in a fashion that
