'I was thinking it would be better for her to visit someone while you instruct my son.'
'If you mean she might take my mind off what I'm going to do, you're making a mistake. My wife stays with me.'
Savanto rubbed his jaw and stared for a long moment at the sea, glittering in the moonlight.
'Very well. Now there is another thing, Mr. Benson, you should know. It is absolutely necessary that no one . . . I repeat that. . . no one knows that you are instructing my son to shoot. No one . . . especially the police.'
I felt a sudden prickle of apprehension crawl up my spine. 'What does that mean?'
'We are embarking on a deal that will make you wealthy, Mr. Benson. I am sure you are reasonable enough to expect certain rules which you, I and my son will respect. One of these rules is strict secrecy.'
'I heard you the first time. Why shouldn't the police know your son is getting instruction from me?'
'Because he would go to prison if it was found out.'
I tossed my cigarette butt over the balcony rail not caring if it landed on some dowager's wig.
'Keep talking,' I said. 'I want the whole photo.'
'Yes, Mr. Benson, I have no doubt that you do. My son is unfortunately tall. He is also very shy. He has many good points : he is kind, considerate . . . he's well read . . .'
'I don't give a goddam what your son is. Why shouldn't the cops know he is getting shooting instruction from me? What's this about prison?'
Savanto regarded me, his eyes glittering.
'My son went to Harvard. Because of his appearance and his shyness, he was picked on. From what I hear, he had a pretty bad time. In a moment of desperation he shot one of his tormentors who lost an eye. The Judge was understanding and wise. He realised that Timoteo had acted under the greatest provocation. There was a suspended sentence.' Savanto lifted his heavy shoulders. 'The Judge ruled that Timoteo must never touch a firearm as long as he lived. If he does, he must serve the suspended sentence of three years.'
I stared at him.
'And yet you made a bet that your son could become an expert shot in nine days?'
Again the heavy shoulders lifted.
'I was a little drunk. What is done, is done. I take it what I have told you doesn't alter our arrangement?'
'Not as far as I'm concerned,' I said after a moment's hesitation. 'If it leaks out he is using a gun that's your funeral . . . not mine.'
'It could also be your funeral, Mr. Benson, because then you
wouldn't get your money.'
'As I see it, my job is to teach your son to shoot,' I said. 'I don't want any complications. It's up to you to take care of the security. I'll be busy enough taking care of your son.'
Savanto nodded.
'I have already thought of that and I have made arrangements to take care of it. Two of my men will he arriving tomorrow with Timoteo. Neither you nor Mrs. Benson need bother about them. They will be there and not there, but they will look after security and they will also look after Timoteo if he gets difficult.'
I frowned at him.
'Is he likely to get difficult?'
'No . . . but he is sensitive.' Savanto waved his fat hand vaguely. 'Nothing that can't be controlled.' He paused, then went on, 'You will impress on Mrs. Benson not to talk to anyone about this arrangement? You see, apart from the police, I wouldn't want my friend with whom I have made this unfortunate bet to know what is happening. I know he is curious. Security must he very strict.'
'She won't say anything!
'That is good.' He got abruptly to his feet. 'Well, then, tomorrow at 06.00.' He walked ahead of me into the brightly lit room with its lounging chairs in white and red satin, its cream-coloured carpet and the big silver trout on the wall. 'There is one other thing.' He crossed the room to a Chippendale desk, opened a drawer and took out an envelope. 'This is for you. It is a sign of trust and to give you encouragement, but you will have to earn it.'
* * *
I took the envelope, lifted the flap and looked at a piece of paper worth twenty-five thousand dollars.
As I drove up the sandy road leading to the shooting range, I spotted a red and blue Buick convertible parked outside the bungalow.
The sight of this car gave me a shock.
Who was visiting at this time of night? It was pushing 23.30. I thought of Lucy on her own, and my heart did a somersault. The excitement of having a bond worth twenty-five thousand dollars in my pocket vanished. I shoved my foot down on the gas pedal, roared up the rest of the road, slammed on the brakes and slid out of the car.
The light was on in the sitting-room, the windows were open and as I started for the front door, ready for anything, Lucy appeared before the open window and waved to me.
I drew in a breath and relaxed.
