preoccupied. Nine thousand dollars! Wow!
The girl watched him enter the lift and then she returned to her desk. She sat for some moments, listening. Then hearing nothing from the inner room, she softly opened a drawer in her desk and turned off a small tape- recorder whose spools were conveying tape through the recording head.
Precisely at 21.00 hrs. Garry was shown into Shalik's office by the dark-haired girl who he knew now by the name-plate on her desk to be Natalie Norman.
There were two men sitting uneasily in chairs, smoking andwaiting. They both looked closely at Garry as he took a chair. In his turn, he looked closely at them.
The man on his left was short and heavily built. He reminded Garry a little of Rod Steiger, the Oscar-winning movie star. His close cut woolly hair was white, his washed out grey eyes shifty. His thin lips and square chin hinted at viciousness.
The other man was some ten years younger: around Garry's age. He was of middle height, thin, his hair bleached almost white by the sun and his skin burnt to a dark mahogany. He wore a straggly moustache and long sideboards. Garry liked the look of him immediately, but disliked the look of the other man.
As he settled himself in the chair, a door at the far end of the room opened and Shalik entered.
'So you have all arrived,' he said, coming to his desk. He sat down and went through the ritual of lighting a cigar while he looked at each man in turn with intent, probing eyes. 'Let me introduce you to each other.' He pointed his cigar at Garry. 'This is Mr. Garry Edwards. He is a helicopter pilot and a car expert. He has spent three years in a French prison on smuggling charges.' The other two men looked sharply at Garry who stared back at them. The cigar then pointed to the younger man. 'This is Mr. Kennedy Jones who has flown from Johannesburg to attend this meeting,' Shalik went on. 'Mr. Jones is a safari expert. There is nothing he can't tell you about wild animals, South Africa in general and the fitting out of an expedition into the African bush. I might add Mr. Jones has had the misfortune to spend a few years in a Pretoria jail.' Jones stared up at the ceiling, a grin hovering around his humorous mouth. There was a pause, then Shalik went on, 'Finally, this is Mr. Lew Fennel who is an expert safe breaker . . . I believe that is the term. He is regarded by the police and the underworld as the top man in his so- called profession. He too has served a number of years in prison.' Shalik paused and looked at the three men. 'So, gentlemen, you have something in common.'
None of them said anything: they waited.
Shalik opened a drawer in his desk and took out a folder.
'The introductions concluded, let us get down to business.' He opened the folder and took from it a large glossy photograph. This he handed to Fennel who stared with puzzled eyes at the medieval diamond ring shown in the photograph. He shrugged and passed the photograph to Garry who in turn passed it to Jones.
'You are looking at a ring,' Shalik said, 'designed by Caesar Borgia.' He looked at the three men. 'I take it you all know of Caesar Borgia?'
'He's the guy who poisoned people, wasn't he?' Fennel said.
'I think that is a fair description. Yes, among many other things, he poisoned or caused to be poisoned a number of people. This ring you see in the photograph was designed by Borgia and made by an unknown goldsmith in 1501. To look at the ring, it would be hard to believe that it is a lethal weapon, but that is what it is . . . a very lethal weapon. It works in this way. There is a tiny reservoir under the cluster of diamonds and this reservoir was filled with a deadly poison. In the cluster of diamonds is a microscopic hollow needle of exceptional sharpness. When Borgia wished to get rid of an enemy, he had only to turn the ring so the diamonds and needle were worn inside and he had only to clasp the hand of his enemy to inflict a small scratch. The enemy would be dead in a few hours.
'The ring was lost for four centuries. It turned up in the effects of a Florentine banker who died with his wife and family in a car crash a couple of years ago. His effects were sold. Fortunately, an expert recognized the ring and bought it for a song. It was offered to me.' Shalik paused to tap ash off his cigar. 'Among my various activities, I buy
There was a long pause, then Fennel, sitting forward, said, 'You mean we steal it?'
Shalik looked at Fennel with distaste.
'Putting it crudely, you could say that,' he said. 'I have already pointed out there is no question of police interference. This collector has stolen the ring from my client. You take it from him. He is in no position to complain to the police.'
Fennel let his cigarette ash drop on the rich Persian carpet as he asked, 'How valuable is this ring?'
'That doesn't concern you. It is, of course, valuable, but it has a specialized market.' Shalik paused, then went on, 'I will tell you a few details about the man who now has the ring. He is enormously rich. He has a compulsive urge to own the finest art treasures he can lay his hands on. He is utterly unscrupulous. He has a network of expert art thieves working for him. They have stolen many
Feeling he should make a contribution to this discussion, Garry asked, 'And where is this museum?'
'On the borders of Basutoland and Natal . . . somewhere in the Drakensberg mountains.'
Kennedy Jones leaned forward.
'Would you be talking about Max Kahlenberg?' he asked sharply.
