Die Rich Die Happy

take off your mask?'

'Yes, of course,' said Grierson, and did so.

'And your sword,' said Angelina. He obeyed once

more.

'It was a costume ball, you see,' said Grierson. 'I know,' said Angelina. 'He promised to take me.' 'And me,' said the countess.

'I think he went alone,' said Grierson, and hoped, for Nono's sake, that this was so.

'Would you mind taking him into the bedroom?' Angelina said. 'I don't terribly want to look at him.'

'We have to talk,' said the countess.

'Nono won't be able to talk for days,' Angelina said. 'You shouldn't let him drink.'

'I shouldn't—'

'After all you are his wife.' She turned to glance at Grierson, who felt suddenly chilly. 'Well!' she said.

I'll put him to bed with pleasure,' Grierson said, and the countess giggled, then scowled. This was serious business, after all.

'Then do so,' said the countess.

'The only thing is—how do I get back to the mainland?'

'In the boat of course,' the countess said. 'Nono stole it. It's mine.'

'It goes very nicely,' Grierson said.

'Who bought it for you, darling?' asked Angelina.

Grierson picked up Nono again, and hauled him into the bedroom.

Nono lay where Grierson dropped him, but incredibly his eyes opened.

'Old chap,' he whispered. Grierson bent over him. 'Was my wife there too?' Grierson nodded. 'Oh dear God,' said Nono.

'I said you'd passed out,' Grierson whispered. 'You'd better do that until I take your wife away.'

'That's awfully decent of you,' said Nono. 'Anything I can do—'

T would rather like a change of clothes,' said Grierson.

'Help yourself,' said Nono, and gestured to a wardrobe.

The clothes in it fitted Grierson admirably and the coat he chose was just loose enough to hide the bulge of his Smith and Wesson. There were cigarettes too, in the bedroom, and Scotch. Grierson helped himself and went back to Nono. He looked down at the death-pale face, cunning with pretended sleep.

'What you told me about Swyven and Dyton-Blease, is it true?' he asked.

'Gospel old chap, every word,' said Nono. 'For God's sake keep your voice down.'

'But they kept it all secret, didn't they?' Grierson whispered.

Nono, very weakly, nodded. 'Then why did they tell

you?'

'They wanted me to join them. I was supposed to be going into the Diplomatic Service, but all I was any good at was women. I can't drink.'

'Just as a matter of interest, whom did you go to the ball with?'

'A Swede, old chap. Name of Helga. Trouble was her husband turned up.' Nono's hand reached for Grierson's glass, sipped at his Scotch. 'She's nearly as tall as I am. So fair her hair looks white.'

'You seem to like tall blondes,' said Grierson.

Nono drained the glass. 'Who doesn't?' he said loudly, and passed out cold. Grierson poured himself another drink and went back to the blondes.

'I heard Nono speak,' said Angelina.

'He came to just for a moment. Said I might borrow these clothes,' said Grierson.

'No doubt,' Angelina said. 'They are my husband's.' She hesitated. 'I suppose you really did me a favor— bringing Nono back to me. You keep them.'

'Thanks,' said Grierson.

'He brought Nono back to us,' said the countess.

'Poor Nono,' said Angelina. 'I'll bring him over to visit you when he is stronger, darling.'

'Oh, very well,' said the countess. 'I suppose we have to be seen together sometimes.' She rose. 'We really must go now, Philip dear.'

Grierson, who had risen too, moved to the door, watched the two women kiss, and went outside, then pulled the plug from Nono's powerboat. It was a crime, he thought, a lovely job like that, but he couldn't afford to be followed, and maybe Nono had it insured. He got into the other one, revved it up, and waited until the countess came.

'I'm awfully sorry,' he said. 'Yours is out of petrol.'

The countess grinned. 'Never mind,' she said. 'This one is much better. Can you get to Lido di Jesolo?'

'I think so,' said Grierson, and helped her aboard, then let in the power. The thrust of the engines was tremendous.

The countess fussed with charts, and Grierson looked at the stars, found northeast and kept going.

'Angelina's husband bought this boat,' said the countess. 'He bought mine too.' The powerboat swerved, and went back on course. 'I like you, Grierson,' the countess said. 'I find you simpatico.' She switched to Italian then, and Grierson told her how beautiful she was, because what else can you say in Italian?

Then the countess went below, and Grierson still steered by the stars. Half an hour later, her head appeared and she said: 'You'd better come down. There's an anchor thing around somewhere.' Grierson hove to, and went below.

Next morning, looking at once sick, seedy, and Italian, Grierson anchored in Lido di Jesolo and left the countess asleep. He put a call through to Rome from a cafe on the waterfront, and the man who answered it was not happy at all. Even so, he said he'd try. Seven hours later, Grierson was in London.

* Chapter 14

When Craig came round, his neck and right shoulder were a mass of pain, intense, throbbing, apparently unending. He was aware of it as completely as if it were the act of love; so long as it existed there was room in his mind for nothing else. He lay face downward, and perhaps a minute passed before he heard the groans, and another minute at least before he realized that they were his own. When he knew that, he began to fight, first to stop the noises he was making, and then, at the cost of appalling effort, to find out where he was, what was happening.

He began with his fingers. He lay face down, and his eyes refused to focus. Best to find out what his fingers could tell him. They touched something soft and smooth and yielding. When he pressed down, what his fingers touched gave way. He pressed harder, and groaned again as his shoulder muscles worked. Deliberately he shut oS the noise, went on pressing until he could sit up. He was lying on a bed. It was familiar to him. Wearily his brain told him it was the bed in his cabin on Naxos's yacht. He looked round, slowly, carefully, wary of the great ache in his neck that throbbed and shuddered like a gong. Pia Busoni sat in the chair by the dressing table. She still wore the costume of the night before, and fear crawled slyly, obscenely across her face.

Craig said; 'I'd better have a drink. Is there a drink?' She made no move. 'Scotch,' Craig said. 'You'll have to fetch it. I can't . . .' His hands slipped, and he almost fell, then pushed himself up again. The girl moved cautiously across the room, poured him a drink, put it in his hand. Craig sipped once, then again. The whiskey burned into his consciousness.

'Naxos's party,' he said. 'I was on the roof. And you were going to scream.'

Pia shook her head.

'Yes you were,' said Craig. 'I remember. I saw you. Did they kill him?' She made no answer. 'Pia, for God's sake. It's important.'

'No,' said Pia. 'He's alive. They brought you back

here.'

'Hey,' said Craig. 'I'm having some luck for once.'

His body somehow managed to stand, and he lurched over to the door. As he reached for the handle, he said, 'Who hit me? How did Naxos get me away?'

'He didn't,' said Pia. The door was locked. 'You're a prisoner, Craig.'