The door opened and Sonia came in. She walked to the desk and picked up the files while Mazzo wandered away across the room.
She looked at me and I looked at her.
‘Will that be all, Mr. Ferguson?’ she asked, holding the files against her.
Then slowly, still looking at me, she shook her head, giving me the negative sign.
If it wasn’t for the mask, she would have seen my stark fear.
‘That’s it, baby,’ Mazzo said and came between us.
She turned and left.
‘That’s a nice piece,’ Mazzo said. ‘I wouldn’t mind giving her a ride.’
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.
On the way back to the Ferguson residence, Mazzo, who was sitting beside me in the Rolls, said suddenly, ‘Something biting you, Mr. Ferguson?’
That was, of course, the understatement of the year.
I was in a major panic. I had this thought hammering in my mind: How much longer would. I stay alive? Was this Ape of a man, sitting by my side, going to be my executioner? I remembered his jeering voice when he had said I was piling up money in the bank. I was sure he knew Durant was gypping me.
I made an effort and got control of my panic.
‘Put yourself in my place, Mazzo,’ I said. ‘I’m getting bored with this business.’
He gave a little snigger.
‘Think of all the loot you’re collecting, Mr. Ferguson. I’d go along with anything if I got paid the way you’re getting paid.’
‘How long is this to go on?’ I asked.
‘Not long now. Mr. D. is finalizing the deal. He leaves for Washington tomorrow. Then there’ll be more papers for you to sign, and that’s it.’
‘A couple of weeks?’ I was desperately probing.
‘Maybe: could be less. It depends how Mr. D. gets on with the big shots in Washington.’
‘My Agent is fixing a TV job for me at the end of the month,’ I lied. ‘Think I’ll make it?’
Mazzo stared at me, his eyes savage and hungry.
‘Why should you sweat? You’ll have lots of loot. Who wants a pissy TV job when you are rolling in the stuff?’
Then I knew for sure, they planned to murder me.
I had my panic under control.
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ I said.
The Rolls drew up outside the entrance to the residence.
The Jap chauffeur got out and opened the rear door, taking off his cap and bowing.
Mazzo and I climbed the steps.
‘How about some tennis this afternoon?’ Mazzo asked.
I now realized if I was going to survive, Mazzo must have no idea that I knew what was going to happen to me. I must give the appearance of a man doing a job and at ease.
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘What’s for lunch?’
‘I’ll go talk to the Chef. You know your way up.’
‘I wouldn’t mind a couple of lean lamb chops and a salad. Nothing heavy if I’m playing tennis.’ I walked up the broad stairs, paused at the head, but Mazzo had disappeared. I hesitated for a brief moment. I was tempted to bolt down the stairs and out into the garden, and down to the gates. Then I heard a faint sound and looking around, saw one of the bodyguards sitting in a dark corner, watching me. As I looked at him, he tipped his hat. Ignoring him, I walked down the corridor to the study, entered, closed the door and went over to the cocktail cabinet. I poured myself a stiff martini, then carrying the drink to the desk, I sat down. I looked at the three telephones on the desk. I lifted the receiver of one of them: the instrument was dead. I tried the other two: also dead.
I lit a cigarette and considered my future. At first glance, it looked horrifyingly bleak. I felt sure that as soon as this deal had been completed, I would go the way Larry Edwards and Charles Duvine had gone. I sipped the drink while I thought. Panic had now receded. I began to think clearly. It occurred to me that if they had me in a trap, I also, had them in a trap.
Without my signature, the big, vital deal would fall flat on its face!
Let’s look at this, Jerry, I said to myself. Let’s take a close look at this situation.
They had gone so far down the road, they now couldn’t do without me!
Suppose they were stupid enough to get rid of me as they had got rid of Larry Edwards? So what? They would have to begin again. To find some actor to impersonate Ferguson, to get him to learn to forge Ferguson’s signature, to get him to imitate Ferguson’s voice would be a real problem. Durant had already tried one impersonator who had failed him. He had found me. This time, his luck had held. He not only had found a man who could pass for Ferguson, but had the talent to forge his signature and imitate his voice. It could take months, even with all the money in the world, to replace me.
My mind shifted to Loretta. Durant was leaving for Washington tomorrow. Loretta had told me as soon as he had gone, a retired priest would arrive with a marriage certificate.
In return for signing the register and also the will, she would eventually pay me two million dollars. That stupid, lying bribe hadn’t even been believable to me. I had agreed because I remembered Larry Edwards and Charles Duvine, but both Loretta and Durant were far too committed for either of them to murder me.
Without me they were sunk!
Did this thought give me a lift!
All you have to do, I told myself, is to refuse to forge any more signatures. You have them over a barrel. You . . .
The door opened and Mazzo came in pushing a trolley.
‘Here’s your lunch, Mr. Ferguson, as ordered.’
He laid the table while I watched him. I felt good. I still had a lot of thinking to do, but, for the first time since I had been kidnapped, I could see a bright light at the end of this frightening tunnel.
‘There you are, Mr. Ferguson,’ Mazzo said, setting down the dish. ‘I’ll go feed my face. I’ll be back in an hour and a half, then we’ll play tennis . . . right?’
I ate with appetite. My panic was now forgotten.
Tonight, Loretta would come to my room. This would be the first showdown. She would be in for a surprise and there was nothing she could do about it.
I felt so good, I took eight games off Mazzo in three sets. I hit the ball with all my weight and strength and I could see, by his startled expression, as my passing shots zipped by him, how surprised he was. He had to pull out all his expertise to keep ahead.
When the game was over, we were both sweating and coming to the net, he grinned at me.
‘You could become quite a player, Mr. Ferguson. I haven’t had such a good game in years.’
‘I’ll beat you yet,’ I said, and walked to where I had left my sweater. I remembered Loretta had said that John Merrill Ferguson lived with a nurse in a suite in the left wing of the house.
As I began pulling on the sweater, I looked to the left of the big house. On the top floor there were three big windows, and each window was protected by iron bars.
Iron bars? A prison? Was John Merrill Ferguson a prisoner? I remembered Mazzo had said: She likes to think he’s bad, but . . . Had I discovered something?
‘Let’s have a shower, Mr. Ferguson,’ Mazzo said and he picked up the racquets.
As we walked off the court, my mind was busy. Suppose John Merrill Ferguson wasn’t mentally ill? Suppose he had been locked away to give Durant and Mrs. Harriet free rein to control the Ferguson empire?
Was this story Loretta had told me that Ferguson was suffering from a strange mental illness a lie to explain to me why I had been hired to impersonate him? Why keep a man behind iron bars if he was a mental vegetable?
We reached the bottom of the steps leading to the entrance to the residence. Then abruptly I came to a stop.
