Soon after nine o’clock, I left the Vesuvius hotel and drove the car I had hired out to Sorrento. I arrived at the harbour a little after nine-thirty. Leaving the car parked under the trees, I walked down to the harbour.
There were still three or four boatmen lounging outside the steamer station, and I went over to them. I asked one of them if I could hire a rowing-boat. I said I wanted to have a couple of hours’ exercise, and I wanted to row myself.
The boatman stared at me as if he thought I was crazy, but when he realized I was willing to pay him for his boat, he got down to business. I haggled with him for ten minutes, and finally got it for five thousand lire for three hours. I gave him the money, and he took me down to the boat and shoved me off.
It was a fine, dark, star-lit night, and the sea was as smooth as a pond. I rowed until I was out of sight of land; then I shipped oars and stripped off my clothes. I had put on a pair of bathing trunks before I left the hotel, and thus clad, I again started rowing heading towards Myra Setti’s villa.
It took me about an hour of steady rowing before I saw in the distance a red light on the harbour wall.
I paused, letting the boat drift. Above the harbour I could see the outlines of the villa. There was a light on in one of the ground-floor rooms.
I began to row again, and finally reached the rocks only a few hundred yards from where Helen had been found. Just around the cliff, another three hundred yards further on, would be Myra’s villa.
I beached the boat, pulling it up on the soft sand, making sure that the tide wouldn’t drift it off. Then I waded out into the sea and began to swim towards the villa.
The sea was warm and I made good progress, being careful to make no noise. I swam silently into the harbour, keeping away from the code of red light that reflected down on the still water.
There were two powerful motor-boats moored in the harbour and a small rowing-boat. I headed towards the steps that led up to the villa. I swam cautiously, looking along the wail of the harbour, my ears pricked for any suspicious sound. It was as well that I was on the alert, for I suddenly saw a little red spark make a circle in the air, and then drop into the sea and go out with a hissing splutter. Someone out of sight in the shadows had just tossed away a cigarette butt.
I trod water, making no sound. By now I was close up against the harbour wall. I saw a mooring ring just above my head and, cautiously, I reached up and caught hold of it. I hung on to it, looking in the direction from where the cigarette butt had come. After a minute or so I made out the dim figure of a man, sitting on a bollard. He appeared to be looking out to sea. He was on the other arm of the harbour, a hundred feet or so from where I was and some thirty yards from the steps. I waited. After about five minutes, he got to his feet and walked slowly along the harbour arm to the far end.
He came under the red light and I could see him clearly. He was tall and powerfully built. He was wearing a white singlet, black trousers, and a yachting cap on the back of his head. He lolled over the wall, his back to me, and I saw him light another cigarette.
I lowered myself into the water again and, using a breast stroke, swam silently to the steps. With my hand on the lowest one, I looked over my shoulder. The man was still staring across at the lights of Sorrento, his back turned to me. I pulled myself out of the water and moved silently up the steps, keeping in the shadows of the overhanging trees. I looked back, but the man was still motionless, looking away from me.
I went up the steps until I reached a terrace that overlooked the harbour. There I paused and stared up at the villa, fifty feet above me.
I could see a big, lighted window, uncurtained. There was no sign of life up there, but I could hear the faint sound of dance music coming either from a radio or a record.
Keeping to the shadows, I moved silently and slowly up another flight of steps that brought me on to the second terrace.
There was a patch of dark shadow, made by an orange tree, opposite the lighted window. I kept in the shadow, sure that no one could see me, and looked into a large luxuriously furnished lounge.
There were four men around a table in the centre of the room. They were playing poker. Beyond them, lying on a settee, was Myra Setti. She was reading a magazine and smoking; by her was a radiogram from which came the soft sound of dance music.
I looked at the men at the table. Three of them were the rough types you can see any day in a Warner Bros, movie. Their clothes were flashy, their neckties dazzling, their faces, burned brown by the sun, were hard, thin and vicious. It was the fourth man who held my attention. He was a man of about fifty; big, grossly fat and dark- skinned. I had seen too many pictures of him in the papers in the past not to recognize him. I felt a little surge of triumph run through me. I had succeeded where the whole of the Italian police force had failed! I should have guessed before now that this inaccessible villa could be Frank Setti’s hide-out but, somehow, I hadn’t thought of him being here.
The four men were intent on their game of poker. It was easy to see who was winning. Six tall stacks of counters stood before Setti. The other three had scarcely a counter between them. As I watched them, a tall thin rat of a man threw down his cards with a gesture of disgust. He said something to Setti, who grinned wolfishly at him, shoved back his chair and stood up. The other two also threw in their hands and relaxed back in their chairs, scowling.
Setti looked over at Myra and said something to her. She glanced up, her face heavy with boredom, nodded, then returned her attention to her magazine.
The tall man came over to the window and threw it open. I crouched down against the low wall. The sound of dance music came out through the open window loudly now.
“Jerry’s late,” the tail man said, speaking over his shoulder to Setti.
Setti got up from the table, stretched his massive limbs and came to the window.
“He’ll be here,” he said. “Jerry’s a good boy. He has a long way to come.” He looked over at Myra. “Turn that damn thing off. I can’t hear myself speak.”
Without looking up from her magazine, Myra reached out and turned off the radiogram.
Setti and the tall man stood by the window, listening. I listened too. I thought I could hear the faint throb of a motor boat engine somewhere out to sea.
“Here he comes now,” the tail man said. “Harry’s down there, isn’t he?”
“He damn well better be,” Setti growled. He moved away from the window and walked out of the room. A moment later, he came out on to the terrace.
I began to sweat. I knew if I was found here my life wouldn’t be worth a dime. They’d cut my throat and bury me at sea. My hiding-place wasn’t any too safe. If any one of them came over to the orange tree they couldn’t fail to see me. It was too late to move now. I lay flat, holding my breath and squeezing myself against the terrace wall.
Setti sat down at one of the tables, about fifty feet from me. The tall man came out and stood looking out to sea.
“Here he comes,” he said.
Myra came out and joined him. He pointed out into the darkness.
“Do you see him?”
“I see him,” she said. She put her hands on top of the wall and leaned forward. She was so close to me I could smell her perfume.
The red harbour light flicked off and then came on again.
There was a long pause. Setti lit a cigar. Myra and the tall man continued to stare down at the harbour. I lay so still that a lizard, mistaking me for part of the scenery, ran lightly across my bare back.
Then I heard the sounds of someone running up the steps. A man appeared, wearing a red singlet, black trousers and rope-soled shoes. He was youngish, good-looking in a flashy tough way, and he grinned widely at Myra as he came on to the terrace.
“Hi, there,” he said.
Myra’s boredom vanished. She gave him a dazzling smile.
“Hi, Jerry!”
He crossed over to where Setti was sitting and dumped on the table an oilskin-wrapped parcel.
“Hi, boss. Here it is.”
Setti leaned back and smiled at him.
“Fine. Sit down, kid. Here, Jake, get him a drink.”
