Sophie ran to Craig's arms and stood there, shivering uncontrollably until the strength of his touch made her safe enough for the luxury of tears, and she could bear to look at Duclos slumped on the floor, and Pucelli shivering in a chair.
Larry picked up Duclos's gun. 'Where's the other guy?' he asked.
'He's dead,' Craig said, and told them what had happened. Nono was outraged.
'But this was banditry,' he said. 'This was assassination.'
'Of course it was,' said Craig.
'But the code,' Nono screamed. 'He dishonored the code.'
'If he hadn't,' Craig said, 'I mightn't have killed him.'
Larry swung around on Turner. 'He should give you lessons, Dan.'
'Yeah.' Turner came forward, looked at Duclos, turned him over with his foot.
'You saw how he hit him, Larry? He could give you lessons too, but not now, son. Now we got problems.'
Nono said, 'I would have thought our problems were over, thanks to Mr. Reynolds here.' He poured out brandy, and Craig drank.
'We've had the parade,' Turner said. 'Now we got to clean up after it. There's a dead man in my garden.
There's these two mugs here. I hate to say it, John, but I've got to call the cops.'
'Two dead men,' said Craig. 'There's Ashford. I told you-they killed him too. He loved La Valere, right to the end. He tried to stop him from cheating-because he loved him, and he knew that cheating was the worst crime in his code. And La Valere killed him.'
'John, I'm sorry,' Turner said again, 'but I've got to call the law.'
Craig shrugged. 'Go ahead,' he said. 'Only I'd like to get away first.'
'Sure,' said Turner. 'Anywhere you say.' He looked hard at Craig. 'I'm not asking questions, son, because I don't want to embarrass you by making you tell lies, but if you're nuts and bolts, I'm Annie Oakley.'
Craig said, 'I'd like to borrow a car too.'
'You can't drive. Not with your ringer like that,' Turner said. 'Take the Caddy. Larry'll drive you.'
'Thanks,' said Craig. 'About the police. If I were you, I'd call a bloke named Segur. He was here earlier. A very considerate sort of chap.'
'O.K. What do I tell him?'
'Tell him what happened. Some nut broke in and murdered Ashford and made me fight a duel. Say you met me in Nice and invited me here. Ashford too. I don't want Sophie mixed up in this.'
'Nor do I, son. I'll do what you say. You want to go now?'
Craig nodded.
'Where do I reach you?' Turner asked.
'You don't,' Craig said. 'Til call you-if I can.'
He picked up the Woodsman from the table and went back to Sophie. She saw the farewell in his eyes, and wept. He whispered to her softly as she clung to him, and soothed her as best he could. But there wasn't much time. For all their sakes, and for hers most of all, he had to go.
Sophie said, 'All the time I was teasing you, I told you the truth. Always it was because I made jokes that I could be so honest. Some time I'll see you again, won't I?' He hesitated, and she said, 'That isn't a question,
John. I will see you again. I mean it.' He smiled and kissed her, and went to the waiting Cadillac. Behind him, Turner and the others were already discussing their story. He had an hour, no more, before Turner called the police, and left it to them to decide who told the truth: a couple of assassins or a millionaire in good standing, oozing dollars like sweat. It would be a hell of a battle. Craig was sorry to miss it.
'Where to?' asked Larry, and Craig told him and lay back on the powder-blue seats as the big car whispered its way back to Villefranche, through the town, and off to St. Briac's villa, and Larry talked about baseball and karate and the poetry of Edna St. Vincent Millay.
CHAPTER 18
The villa was quiet, still, deserted, and in the dead hour before dawn there was no sound but the soft wash of the sea. Craig sat in the car and looked at the high wall, the electrified wire. There was no sound of dogs, no fight in the garden.
'Do you want me to come with you?' asked Larry.
Craig said, 'I don't want you to do anything except help me over that wall-then disappear.'
Larry shrugged. 'You're the boss,' he said.
Craig said, 'Don't be like that. It has to be done this way. There may be police in there-and I've brought you people enough trouble as it is.'
'You've been beaten up,' Larry said. 'You've been nearly murdered, chased, threatened, tortured. You must have a damn good reason for going back in there.'
'I have,' Craig said. 'The same reason that says I can't take you.'
The wire was dead, so it was easy for Larry to heave him over the wall, and this time he landed well, his finger unhurt. He stood there swaying in the garden, dizzy with fatigue and overstrain, then slowly felt his way toward the house, telling himself as he willed his body forward that it is always possible to take just one more step, do just one more job. A guard with a carbine lay dead on the path. Nearby, in the kennels, an Alsatian howled once and he stiffened, then moved on again to the house. Suddenly a policeman came out of the shelter of the house, and Craig froze. Carefully he worked around to the back of the house. Pucelli had said there would only be one, and he hadn't bed. St. Briac's death was too important for men like Segur. Big men, sympathetic men had been sent for from Paris, and until they arrived, nothing was to be touched. La Valere and the rest were to have guarded the villa, until the big men, the sympathetic men arrived.
No lights showed anywhere in the empty house. Craig took out Pucelli's key ring. The third key fitted, and he went in, back to the office where St. Briac had questioned him so carefully. The wall cabinets were locked, but Pucelli's keys worked them too. There were new francs inside,?. 10,000 worth, and a briefcase full of documents. Craig put them both to one side and examined the other drawers and desks. Lists of names, fists of places, of funds, of soldiers, of enemies, all visible in the moonlight. He sorted out what he thought was needed, and left the rest-all except one. That was a list with his name on it, and Baumer's, and Rutter's, and Lange's, each one carefully ticked off. He burned that one; there were other names on it too.
In one of the bedrooms he found a suitcase and stuffed it full of the paper and documents he had found, then went out into the hall, carrying the suitcase. A dog howled again, and Craig moved into the shadow of the staircase, put down the bag and took out the Woodsman, as the dog barked once more.
There were a series of clicks at the door, and at last it opened. The gun in Craig's hand was rock-steady as he waited in the shadowed darkness, watching the newcomer outlined in the moonlight. Suddenly a dog yelped and a second man dashed forward, cannoned into the first, and brought him down. The first man squirmed like a cat and the two men rolled over and over, and suddenly Craig laughed aloud, laughed till he wept, till his stomach ached, till he was so weak he could do nothing but sit on the stairs and groan his laughter, and the two fighting men stopped in bewilderment and came to stand before him, hurt and indignant that Craig should laugh when he might have helped.
'Oh, Grierson,' Craig moaned, 'why didn't you stay in Bordighera. And you, Larry. Why didn't you go home?'
Larry said, 'I was covering for you. I saw this guy break in. I thought maybe he was after you. You mean he's a friend of yours?'
Craig stopped laughing.
'We're on the same side,' he said, and turned to Grierson. 'Where do you want to go now?'
'Baie des Anges,' Grierson said. 'The boat's waiting there.'
'Am I supposed to be coming too?' Grierson nodded.
'Maybe Larry would take us,' Craig said. 'Sure,' said Larry. 'I'm sorry I went for you. I thought you were after Mr. Reynolds.' 'That's all right,' Grierson said.
