lire, and I'll take you to Florence. The rest is up to you.'
'If the police caught me with you, you'd get into trouble.'
'That's my funeral',' Don said shortly. 'Are you ready to leave now?'
'Yes, I'm ready.'
'Wait here for a moment.' He went out on to the veranda. 'I want the car,' he said to Harry. 'Okay for gas?'
'She's full up, sir,' Harry said and went off down the steps to the garage.
Don drew Marian aside.
'I'm taking her to Florence right away,' he said. 'If Rossi calls back, tell him I've gone to bed and I'm not to be disturbed. I'll be back around midday.'
'You're going to help her get away?' Marian asked. 'Is it wise, Don? The police want her.'
'I know. It's one of those things. If it hadn't been for her, that negro would have fixed me. I owe her something. I can't just wash my hands of her.'
'You'll take Hairy?'
'No. There's no point in getting him in a jam3 if we're stopped.'
Harry drove the Bentley to the bottom of the veranda steps. He got out and looked inquiringly up at Don.
'Ready when you are, sir.'
'I wish you would take him,' Marian said.
Don shook his head, walked back into the lounge and beckoned to Lorelli.
'Let's go,' he said.
She followed him down the steps, not looking at the group on the veranda who watched her silently.
Harry said, 'Will you drive or shall I, sir?'
'You're not coming,' Don said as he opened the off-side door for Lorelli. He came around and slid under the driving wheel. 'And don't argue, Harry,' he went on as he saw the obstinate look cross Harry's face. 'I'll be back around midday tomorrow. Keep an eye on Jacopo.'
He let in the clutch before Harry had time to remonstrate which obviously he was about to do, and sent the car down the drive.
'Have you told the police about Alsconi?' Lorelli asked as they headed along the road towards Poggibonsi.
'Yes,' Don returned. 'There'll be a reception committee waiting for him at Palermo. He won't get away this time.'
'I think he must be meeting someone. I can't understand why he killed Menotto. He hasn't driven a car for years.
Menotto always drove him. I am sure he would never plan to drive to Palermo himself. He must be relying on someone to take him.'
'Don't worry your brains about him,' Don said. 'The police will take care of him. Jacopo didn't know about the Bazzoni villa, did he?' 'No: only Felix and I.'
'That's the point. He's sure you are dead. He'll think the Bazzoni villa is still safe. He'll walk right into the trap.'
'I'll believe that when he is caught,' Lorelli said. 'He is very clever. If he does escape, you will have to be careful. I'm warning you. It is through you he is in trouble now. He won't forget. If he escapes, he won't rest until he has levelled scores.'
'He won't escape,' Don said, then abruptly, 'Who killed Shapiro?' She looked at him.
'That's for the London police to find out if they can,' she said indifferently. 'Why should you care who killed him?'
Before Don could reply he saw the reflection of powerful headlights coming towards him. The road they were climbing was sinuous. He couldn't see the car, but the approaching headlights told him it was coming fast.
'This fella's in a hurry,' he said and pulled well in to hil right, dipping his headlights.
Then the car was upon them; well on the wrong side of the road and travelling at over fifty miles an hour, which was much too fast for such a road, it came at them with its headlights full on.
Don was completely blinded by the glare of the other car's lights. He rammed his foot down hard on the brake. He heard the squealing of tortured tyres as the other car also braked, then he felt a violent blow against the side of his car which skidded sideways, then under the pressure of the brakes, came to a stop.
Swearing under his breath, for he loved his car, Don fling open the car door and jumped out.
The other car had slewed around right across the road, its rear wheels inches from the overhang that went down into the valley of olive trees.
A man in a trench coat and slouch hat had got out of the car, leaving another man sitting in the off-side seat. He went to the front of the car to examine the damage. He took no notice of Don as he came up.
'What the hell do you think you're playing at?' Don said in Italian. 'You were over on the wrong side of the road.'
The man in the trench coat threw the beam of a small flashlight on to the front wheel. The fender had been crushed down on the tyre, bursting it and ripping a large hole in the cover.
