'I was hoping you'd say that. Now listen carefully: here's what you do. When Werner's ready for his tub, carry out the search in the usual way, but be damned careful how you look in the shower cabinet. That's where I'll be. Understand?'
O'Brien wiped the sweat off his face with his handkerchief.
'You don't know what you're saying. You can't get into the bathroom. I don't believe you've been up there! The road's guarded so tight a cat couldn't get through without being seen.'
'I didn't go by the road,' Ferrari returned. 'I went up the cliff.'
'You're lying! No one could get up that cliff without ropes and tackle!'
Ferrari smiled.
'You're forgetting I have a certain talent for climbing.'
O'Brien remembered then he had heard that Ferrari's parents had been circus acrobats, and Ferrari had been trained for the circus. Years ago he had earned a lot of money as 'The Human Fly', giving exhibitions of fantastically difficult and dangerous climbs. He had once stopped the traffic on Broadway when he had climbed the face of the Empire State Building for a publicity stunt.
'I shall be there, sergeant,' Ferrari went on. 'Make no mistake about it. Can I rely on you?'
O'Brien started to say something, then stopped.
'Some hesitation?' Ferrari said mildly. 'I'm surprised. After all, who is Weiner? A cheap, treacherous little crook. You're not going to risk the fife of your nice little son, are you, for a punk like Weiner?'
'We'll leave my son out of it,' O'Brien said hoarsely.
'I wish we could, but I have to be certain I can rely on you. You know I never bluff, don't you, sergeant? It's his life or Werner's. Please yourself.'
O'Brien stared helplessly at the dreadful little man, watching him. If Ferrari said it was his son's life or Weiner's, he meant exactly that. O'Brien knew there was nothing he could do to prevent Ferrari either killing his son or killing Weiner. He knew that Ferrari wouldn't give him a chance to kill him: he was far too cunning and quick for O'Brien. Ferrari had never failed to make good a threat. There was no reason to suppose he would fail this time.
'And let's get this straight,' Ferrari went on. 'Don't try to set a trap for me. Maybe it'll come off, but I promise you your son won't live five minutes after you've betrayed me. From now on every move he makes will be watched. If anything happens to me, he will be killed. I don't want to sound dramatic, but that's the exact situation. You play straight with me, and I'll play straight with you. Can I rely on you?'
O'Brien knew it was a straightforward, simple situation; he had to make a decision on his son's life or Weiner's.
'Yes,' he said in a voice that had suddenly hardened. 'You can rely on me.'
III
Conrad had not been entirely correct when he had told Forest that Frances and Pete had fallen in love with each other.
Pete had certainly fallen in love with Frances. Love was something he had never before experienced, and it reacted on him with a tremendous impact.
But he realized the experience could be but short-lived, and could never come to fruition. He had no illusions about Maurer's power. He had been safe now for eight days, and this he considered to be a major miracle. He knew there could not be many days left for him to live: the margin, as the hours passed, was whittling away. Before very long Maurer would strike, and the combined vigilance of the police guards, Conrad's careful planning and the supposed inaccessibility of the hunting lodge would then be proved to be as flimsy a protection as a thin veil held up to ward off the scorching flame of a blow lamp.
Pete's discovery of love came to him with an added poignancy because he knew it would be so short-lived, and he realized the experience would only be a kind of waking dream in which his imagination would play the major role.
Whenever he caught sight of Frances when she sat in the walled-in garden and he stood at the window of his room, he conjured up vivid scenes in his mind of what they could have done together, how they might have lived, the house they might have owned, the children they might have shared if there had been no such man as Maurer to make such mind images impossible.
He was quite stunned then when Conrad told him that he could talk to Frances if he wished.
'She seems to think you saved her life,' Conrad said, moving about the big room where Pete slept. 'She wants to talk to you. Well, I have no objection – have you?'
Looking at the thin, narrow-shouldered young fellow with his serious eyes and the livid birth-mark across the right side of his face, Conrad suddenly realized that perhaps a girl like Frances could fall in love with such a man.
During the week Conrad had been staying at the lodge, seeing Frances every day, he had come to love her more each time he saw her. She seemed to him, especially now she was no longer angry with him, to be the exact antithesis of Janey. Her voice, her movements, her eyes, even the way she moved her hands, expressed a kindness and an understanding for which Conrad had unconsciously been groping all his life.
Janey had bitterly disappointed him. She took everything and gave nothing in return, but even then he might have been content to have an outlet for his affection had she not demanded more and more attention as if she were determined to find out the exact depth of his love.
The depth was deep enough, but it revolted against Janey's unreasonableness and her selfish and constant demands.
Frances wouldn't be like that, Conrad told himself. Experience had opened his eyes. He wished he had his time over again, and he cursed himself for being such a fool to have persuaded Janey to marry him.
