Turning, I moved swiftly back down the path.
By now the light was fading. The sun, a great fiery ball, drenched the sky and sea in a red glow. In another half-hour it would be dark.
I kept on, barely glancing at the lone white villa I had seen on my way up, but noticing that lights were showing at three or four of the windows.
My panic subsided a little as I continued to hurry along the path. I felt bad about leaving Helen, but I was certain she was dead, and I told myself I had to think of myself.
By the time I reached the garden gate, I had got over the first shock of her death and my mind was functioning again.
I knew the right thing to do was to call the police. I told myself that if I made a clean breast of it, admitted I was going to live with the girl for a month, and explained how I had come upon her body, there was no reason why they shouldn’t believe me. At least, they couldn’t catch me out in a lie. But if I kept quiet, and by some unlucky chance they got on to me, they would be justified in suspecting that I was responsible for her death.
This reasoning would have convinced me if it were not for the new job: I wanted to run the foreign desk more than I wanted anything else in this world. I knew I wouldn’t get the job if Chalmers learned the truth. I would be mad to throw away my future by telling the police the truth: that way I had everything to lose. If I kept quiet, and had some luck, there was a good chance I would get away with it.
It wasn’t as if there had been anything between us, I told myself. I wasn’t even in love with the girl. It had been a stupid, irresponsible impulse. She had been more to blame than I. She had encouraged me. She had arranged everything. According to Maxwell, she was a practised siren. She had a reputation for making trouble for men. I’d be a fool not to try and save myself. Having got all that off my chest, I calmed down-Okay, I thought, I’ve got to make certain no
one ever knows I’ve been here. I’ve got to establish an alibi for myself.
By now I had reached the gate that led through the garden to the villa. I paused there to look at my watch. The time was half-past eight. Maxwell and Gina believed right now that I was in Venice. There wasn’t a hope of getting from here to Venice to-night. My only chance to establish an alibi was to get back to Rome. With any luck, I could get there by about three in the morning. I would go to the office early the following morning, and make out I had changed my mind about going to Venice and, instead, had stayed in Rome to finish a chapter of a novel I was writing.
It wasn’t much of an alibi, but it was the best I could think of at the moment. The point was that it would be easy for the police to prove that I hadn’t been to Venice, but impossible for them to prove that I hadn’t spent all day in my pent house apartment. I had a private stairway to the apartment and no one ever saw me enter or leave.
If only I had brought my car! It would have been simple to get to Rome if I had the car. I didn’t dare take the Lincoln convertible which I could see as I rounded the bend in the garden path.
The village woman whom Helen had hired to run the villa was certain to know Helen had brought the car. If it were missing, the police might jump to the conclusion that Helen’s death hadn’t been accidental.
I would have to walk to Sorrento, and then try for a train to Naples. I had no idea what time the last train left Sorrento for Naples, but I thought it more than likely that by the time I had covered the five long miles on foot, the last train would have gone. I knew there was an elevenfifteen from Naples to Rome, but I had still to get to Naples. Once again I looked at the Lincoln convertible. I fought down the temptation to take it. Whatever I did, I must not complicate this set-up more than it was already.
As I moved around the car and towards the drive, I looked back at the dark, silent villa and I got a shock.
Had I imagined the flash of light that had appeared from within the lounge?
Moving quickly and silently, my heart hammering, I crouched down behind the car.
I stared at the lounge windows for a long moment, then I saw again the gleam of white light which immediately disappeared.
I waited, breathing hard, as I peered over the hood of the car.
Again the light appeared. This time it remained on longer.
Someone was in the lounge with a flashlight!
Who could it be?
Not the woman from the village. She wouldn’t need to creep around like this in the dark. She would have turned on the lights.
I was now really rattled. Keeping low, I moved away from the car, across the tarmac, away from the villa until I reached the comforting cover of a huge hydrangea shrub. I got behind this, then peered back at the villa.
The light was moving around the lounge as if the intruder in there was searching for something.
I wanted to find out who it was. I was tempted to creep in there and surprise whoever it was: probably some sneak thief, but I knew I had to keep out of sight. No one must know I had been to the villas. It galled me to watch the light moving around the room and to know I couldn’t do anything about it.
After five minutes or so, the light went out. There was a long pause, then I became aware of a tall figure of a man who came through the front door. He paused for a moment at the head of the steps. It was now far too dark to see more than his shadowy outline.
He moved softly down the steps, went over to the car and peered inside. He turned on his flashlight. His back was turned to me. I could see he was wearing a black slouch hat and the width of his shoulders was impressive. I was glad now that I hadn’t gone in there and surprised him. He looked big enough to more than take care of himself.
The light went out and he moved away from the car. I crouched down, expecting him to come towards me and make for the exit at the bottom of the drive. Instead, he went swiftly and silently across the lawn, and I just managed to see that he was heading for the path that led to the distant garden gate before he was swallowed up in the darkness.
Puzzled and uneasy, I stared after him, then realizing that time was going, and that I had to get back to Rome, I left my hiding-place and hurried down the drive, through the wrought-iron gates and on to the road.
All the way to Sorrento I puzzled about this intruder. Had he been a sneak thief? Or was he connected in some way with Helen? The question remained unanswered. The only comfort that
I could get from this mysterious situation was that I hadn’t been seen.
I reached Sorrento at ten minutes past ten. I had run, walked and run again, and I was pretty near bushed as I walked into the station. The last train to Naples had left ten minutes ago.
I had five minutes over the hour to get somehow to Naples. I got my suitcase from the leftluggage office, taking care to keep my head bent so the clerk couldn’t get a good look at me, then I went out into the dark station yard where a lone taxi waited. The driver was dozing, and I got into the cab before he woke.
“I’ll give you double fare and a five thousand lire tip if you get me to Naples station before eleven fifteen,” I told him.
There is no wilder, madder or more dangerous driver in the world than an Italian. When one gives him a challenge like this, the only thing to do is to sit right, close your eyes and pray.
The taxi driver didn’t even turn around to look at me. He stiffened to attention, sank his thumb into the starter button, threw in his clutch and tore out of the station yard on two wheels.
The road out of Sorrento for twelve miles or so is shaped like a coiled snake. There are hairpin bends, tight corners and only enough room for two buses to pass if they stop, and the drivers lean out of their windows and then take it dead slow.
My driver went along this road as if it were as flat and as straight as a foot rule. He kept hi3 hand on his horn and his headlights gave warning of his coming, but there were moments when I thought my last hour had arrived. It was pure luck that we didn’t meet the hourly local bus, otherwise we couldn’t have avoided a smash.
Once on the autostrada to Naples it was plain sailing, and I could relax a little. At this hour there wasn’t much traffic, and the taxi kept up a roaring, snarling eighty-five miles an hour for a little more than half an hour.
We got into the outskirts of Naples at five minutes to eleven. This was the crucial moment of the drive, for
