over. No one will everknow who gave me the information. After all, five hundred dollars is a useful sum. There could be more . . .'
He had got to his feet, smiled at her and walked away, swinging his panama hat, stepping around the large, overfed carcasses of the rich, laid out to broil in the sun with their knotted veins, their hammer toes and their glistening fat.
That evening, when she had had time to think over his suggestion, he had called her on the telephone.
'I have spoken to the Editor. He is quite willing to pay a thousand. I am so pleased. I thought he might be difficult. Now, my pretty, can you help me for one thousand dollars?'
So, with a sick feeling of guilt and of fear of being discovered, she had helped him. He had given her five hundred dollars. The other five hundred would come, he explained with his fatherly smile, when she had given him all the necessary information. And as he probed, his questions becoming more and more disturbing, she had come to realise that he might not be after all a journalist. He might be a man planning to rob the Casino. Why so much interest in the number of guards, the amount of money that went into the vault each night and the security system . . . surely this was the kind of information that a man planning to rob the Casino, would need? Then this final request: the need for the blueprints of the Casino's electrical system. He had asked her for this three afternoons ago while they sat in his shabby Buick coupe on a lonely beach on the outskirts of Paradise City. At this request, she had rebelled.
'Oh, no! I can't give you that! You couldn't possibly want that for an article! I don't understand. I'm beginning to think . . .'
He had smiled a little crookedly, and his dry, clawlike hand had dropped gently on hers, making her draw away and shiver.
'Don't think, my pretty,' he said. 'I need the blueprints. Don't let us argue about it. My magazine is willing to pay. Shall we say another one thousand dollars?' He drew an envelope from his pocket,'And here is the second five hundred I owe you . . . you see? And now you will have yet another one thousand dollars.'
As she took the envelope, crushing it into her bag, she knew this man was really dangerous, that, in spite of his appearance, he was planning a robbery and he was using her to make an impossible robbery possible. If she had another one thousand dollars she wouldn't have to bother to get to the Casino every evening at seven and remain in the vault until three in the morning ever again. She would be free to marry Terry. Her whole drab life would be completely changed.
She abruptly decided if this little man was really planning to rob the Casino, she didn't want to know about it. But she did want another one thousand dollars. She hesitated for perhaps seventy seconds, then she nodded.
But it wasn't easy. Finally, she did manage to get the blueprint he needed. This was only because she had access to the general office files when she happened to work there during the day for the extra money. This smiling little man had shown his brilliance when he had chosen her to help him. But this man, whose real name was Serge Maisky, was as cunning and as dangerous as a snake. He had come to Paradise City ten months ago. He had watched and inquired discreetly about the four girls who worked in the Casino's vault. He had finally decided to concentrate on this attractive little blonde whose name was Lana Evans. His selection proved that his instinct and judgement were faultless. Lana Evans was to give him the key to the biggest and most spectacular Casino robbery in the history of all Casino robberies.
So now, here they were, face to face, surrounded by a milling crowd of tourists in the dim-lighted Aquarium that housed, among many fish, performing dolphins. He smiled at her, taking her hand in his dry claw and leading her away from the mob to the comparative quietness of a tank that contained a bored, sad- looking octopus.
'Were you successful?'
His smile was as immaculate as his clothes, but Lana Evans could sense his desperate anxiety, and this anxiety made her frightened.
She nodded.
'Splendid.' His anxiety turned off like the change from red to green of a traffic light. 'I have the money . . . all of it. One thousand beautiful dollars.' The grey eyes swept past her, examining the faces of the tourists near them. 'Give it to me.'
'The money first,' Lana Evans said breathlessly. She was very frightened and the dank atmosphere of the cave made her feel faint.
'Of course.' He took a fat envelope from his hip pocket. 'It is all here. Don't count it now, my pretty. People will see you. Where are the blueprints?'
Her fingers closed over the envelope, feeling the crinkling of the bills, out of sight, but now in her grasp. For a brief moment she wondered if he were cheating her, but decided to take the risk. There seemed a lot of money in the envelope. She wanted to get this dangerous transaction finished quickly. She gave him the blueprint, several pages of complicated electrical wiring that covered all the fuse boxes of the Casino's lighting circuit, the air- conditioning system and the many burglar alarms. He took a very quick look at the pages, half turning, sharing his inspection with the octopus that moved away, taking shelter behind a rock.
'There . . .' He put her betrayal into his hip pocket. 'Now we have completed a very happy transaction.' He smiled, his slate-grey eyes suddenly remote as buttons of dirty snow. 'Oh . . . one more thing . . .'
'No!' Her voice sharpened. 'Nothing more! I don't care . . .'
'Please.' He raised his hand, placating, soothing. 'I'm not asking for anything more. I am very satisfied. You have been so co-operative, so pleasant to work with, so reliable . . . may I make my own personal contribution . . . a modest, trifling gift?' From his pocket, he took a small square packet, neatly tied with red and gold ribbon with a gold label bearing the magic name Diana. 'Please accept this . . . a pretty girl like you should take care of her hands.'
She took the packet, startled by this unexpected kindness. Diana hand cream was created and manufactured only for the very rich. Holding the packet in her hand, she felt even richer than he had made her feel when he had given her the envelope.
'Why . . . oh, thanks . . .'
'Thank you, my pretty . . . goodbye.'
He melted into the crowd like a small, kindly ghost: one moment he was smiling at her, the next he was gone. He disappeared so quickly, it was hard to believe he had ever been standing before her.A large, red-faced man wearing a yellow and blue flowered shirt appeared before her, grinning.
'I'm Thompson from Minneapolis,' he said in a loud, booming voice. 'Have you seen those goddam dolphins?
