The long corridor stretched ahead of him, and after he had walked fifty yards or so, he again ducked behind a window curtain. He remained there, listening and watching.
A door opened suddenly a few yards from him, and a girl appeared. She was wearing a low-cut, off-the- shoulder evening gown, and Ferrari looked at her creamy neck and shoulders with an approving eye. She closed the door, but left the key in the lock. He watched her walk slowly to the elevator. She pressed the button and waited, humming under her breath.
The big cop came back along the corridor. He touched his hat to the girl who smiled brightly at him, and he went on, not looking back.
The elevator door opened and the girl entered the cage.
Ferrari waited.
After a few minutes the cop came back. He passed close to where Ferrari was
hiding, and once more disappeared around the bend in the corridor.
Ferrari stepped out from behind the curtains, crossed over to the door of the room the girl had just left, opened it softly and looked in.
The room was in darkness. He took out the key, stepped into the room, closed the door and shot the bolt. Then he snapped on the lights.
The bed had been turned down and the room was tidy, Ferrari decided the floor maid had already visited the room, and with any luck he wouldn't be disturbed for at least an hour. He turned out the light and went over to the window, drawing back the curtains.
The window overlooked the swimming-pool and the lawn. He could see the bright lights, the crowds still swimming or lounging around the pool while waiters in white jackets hurried to and fro carrying trays of drinks.
Frances's room, Ferrari knew, was at the back of the hotel, facing the sea. He knew, too, that all the windows on the tenth floor on that side of the hotel were guarded. To reach her window, he would have to climb up the roof, lower himself over the ridge and then climb down the other side.
It would be a dangerous and difficult climb, one of the most dangerous climbs he had ever undertaken, but it didn't worry him. He had studied the roof for a long time through a pair of powerful field glasses, and had decided on the route to take.
He pulled the curtain and sat on the window ledge and watched the crowd below. It wasn't dark enough to make an attempt just yet. In another half hour the darkness would hide him from anyone who happened to look up towards the roof.
He sat staring down at the lighted bathing-pool, his mind a blank, his muscles relaxed. The hands of his strap-watch crawled on and the sky slowly darkened. At a few minutes past nine o'clock he decided it was dark enough.
From under his coat he produced a long coil of silk rope that he had wound round and round his thin body. At one end of the rope was a rubber-covered hook, and at the other end a heavily padded ring.
He stepped out on to the window sill and looked up. Above him was the balcony of one of the bedrooms on the tenth floor. He tossed up the hook which caught in a stone projection and held.
He climbed up the rope as effortlessly and as quickly as a monkey runs up a tree. He reached the balcony, swung himself over the balustrade and dropped on to hands and knees.
He peered through the window into an empty room, then he looked over the balustrade and stood watching the activity below until he had satisfied himself no one from the ground had seen him.
He climbed up on to the balustrade and looked up at the perpendicular roof some twenty feet or so above him. A stout rain gutter ran the length of the roof, and he tossed up his hook again. The hook caught in the gutter, and he pulled, testing the gutter's strength. It neither bent nor creaked under his persistent pulling, and without more ado he launched himself into space and went swarming up the rope until his claw-like hands got a grip on the gutter.
He pulled himself up as far as his waist above the gutter, shifted his handholds, got one leg up and along the gutter, his foot in the gutter. There he remained while he adjusted his balance.
The steep roof towered above him. Far below, the bright floodlights, the blue water of the swimming-pool and the continual arrival of cars, looked like a child's toy laid out on a green carpet.
Ferrari began to lean forward very slowly, and at the same time he drew up his other leg and got that along the gutter. He was now balanced only on his hands, and the slightest error of judgment would pitch him backwards into the black gulf below.
He was quite calm, but he knew his danger.
When he had told Maurer he believed he was the only man in the world who could do this job he had been sincere. This moment of balancing was the hardest task he had ever attempted. He wasn't frightened, but he did wonder if he hadn't overestimated his skill.
He leaned forward a trifle, then began to draw his legs along the gutter towards him. As he began to bend his knees he suddenly felt his balance go, and for a split second the weight of his body swayed outwards.
His fingers dug into the cold hard guttering, and he dropped his head down on to his chest. The shifting weight of his head corrected his balance, bringing him slightly forward again.
He remained motionless for over a minute while sweat ran down his face and his breath came from his emaciated chest in great rasping gasps. He had been but a heart-beat away from death, and he was momentarily shaken.
When he had recovered sufficiently he again leaned forward and keeping his head down, he again began to draw up his legs. This time he succeeded in getting his feet under him, his knees bent up to his chin. He looked like a tiny black ball perched precariously on the edge of the gutter. Then still leaning forward, he slowly straightened his legs, thrusting his body forward and upright. He had to let go of the gutter, and his hands reached out and flattened on the tiles of the roof.
He was standing upright now, his toes in the gutter, his body flat against the roof, his head still bent down.
