Shalik paused to touch off his cigar ash.
'You know of him?
'Who doesn't, who has lived in South Africa?'
'Then suppose you tell these two gentlemen what you know about him.'
'He's the man who has the ring?'
Shalik nodded.
Jones drew in a long, slow breath. He rubbed his jaw, frowning, then lit a cigarette. As he exhaled smoke, he said, 'I only know what is common knowledge. Kahlenberg is a bit of a mythical figure on which all kinds of weird rumours stick. I do know his father, a German refugee from the First World War, struck it rich, finding one of the biggest gold mines just outside Jo'burg. Old Karl Kahlenberg was shrewd and no fool. He invested well and milked his mine dry. From what I hear, he ended up with millions. He married a local girl when he was over sixty years old. He married because he wanted a son to carry on his name. He got his son: Max Kahlenberg. There was a real mystery about the birth. No one except the doctor and the nurse saw the baby. There was a rumour it was a freak . . . some even said it was a monster. Anyway, no one ever set eyes on the baby. The old man died in a hunting accident. Mrs. Kahlenberg moved from Jo'burg and built a house in the heart of the Drakensberg range. She continued to keep her son hidden, cutting herself off from all social contacts. She died some twenty years ago. Max Kahlenberg remains a recluse. He is supposed to be as clever as his father. He has enlarged the house his mother built. He has around one hundred square miles of jungle surrounding the house and he employs a number of trained Zulus to keep hikers, tourists and gapers away from the house.' Jones paused, then leaning forward, stabbing his finger into the palm of his hand, he went on, 'From what I've heard, getting near Kahlenberg's place would be like trying to open an oyster with your fingers.'
Again there was a long pause, then Fennel crushed out his cigarette and looked at Shalik, his eyes narrowed.
'Is what he says right?'
Shalik lifted his fat shoulders.
'A fairly accurate statement,' he said. 'I have never said that this is an easy assignment. After all, I am paying very well. The approach to Khalenberg's house is not easy, but not impossible. I have a considerable amount of information which will help you.'
'That's fine,' Fennel said with a little sneer, 'but suppose we get to the house . . . how do we get in?'
'Although Mr. Jones has a fair knowledge of Kahlenberg's background,' Shalik said. 'He has omitted — or perhaps he doesn't know — the fact that although Kahlenberg is a cripple, he is fond of beautiful women.' He leaned back in his chair. 'Every fortress has its soft underbelly if you know where to look for it. I have a woman who will act as your Trojan Horse. If she can't get you into Kahlenberg's house, no one can.'
He pressed a button his desk.
There was a long pause, then the door behind Shalik opened and the most sensational, beautiful woman any of the three men, gaping at her, had ever seen, came slowly into the room and paused by Shalik's desk.
Chapter Two
Some ten years ago, Armo Shalik, sick of his small way of life, let it be known by a discreet advertisement in an Egyptian newspaper that he was prepared to undertake for a reasonable fee any assignment that presented difficulties. He received only one answer to his advertisement, but it was enough, since his client was an Arabian Prince who wished to have inside information concerning a future oil deal between a rival of his and an American oil company. By using the Prince's money and his own brains, Shalik obtained the information. The deal netted him $10,000, a modest enough fee, but the Prince was grateful, and he passed the word around that if you were in difficulties, if you wished for inside information, Shalik was the man to consult.
The following year with the capital he had saved, Shalik moved to London. He acquired a small list of extremely wealthy clients who continually consulted him. Money, of course, was no object. Shalik's fees rose sharply, but he always delivered. Among his clients were three Texas oil millionaires, four Arabian princes, two enormously wealthy American women, a Greek shipping tycoon and a number of British, French and German industrialists.
He was often to say, 'Nothing is impossible with unlimited money and brains.' He would pause to stare at his client. 'You will supply the money . . . I the brains.'
Armo Shalik prospered. In the early days, he considered whether to have a permanent staff to work under him, but he decided this was economically unsound. Shalik never wasted a dime. To keep a staff of experts on his payroll would mean half of them most of the time would be drawing on his money and doing nothing. He decided to fit men and women to the job when the job arrived. He discovered a not too scrupulous Detective Agency who were prepared not only to recommend likely applicants without asking awkward questions, but also to screen them, giving him intimate details of their background. It was in this way that he had found Lew Fennel, Kennedy Jones and Garry Edwards.
His permanent staff was small: consisting of Natalie Norman who acted as his receptionist and personal
