Siegfried stood back from him. The other man moved forward and, with a certain amount of awkwardness, undid the bonds on the bald man’s hands. Then he moved back to the edge of the open space. As he did so, Siegfried bent down, whipped the cloth away from the bundle on the ground, and then straightened up. Something flew through the air, glittering briefly. The bald man caught it and the moment he had it in his hand the whole of his body tautened as though a spring had suddenly been tightened in him.
And then there they were, the two of them, a few yards apart, each crouching a little, each moving a little in a slow circular dance, each with his right hand a little advanced and held high, and in each of their hands was a sabre. It was like watching the slow crab-like stalk of a couple of murderous insects, their elongated right arms great shining spikes, ready to slash and kill.
And killing, I knew, was intended. Clear through the nightmare came the shock of understanding ... Baldy, cook ... short-wave transmitter. Fitted back of store-room fridge. The lines came back from Lancing’s notes. And here I was, with a front-stall seat, at the gutting which Siegfried was staging in his own sadistic manner. I guessed now that Katerina was no longer in the villa. She’d gone off in the helicopter. This show would never have been put on with any chance of her seeing it.
There was a clash of sabres and the moonlit square was alive with the sharp movement of men and the sharper glitter of sabres. The two men drew apart, circling warily, watching each other and already I could see a dark line of blood down the right-hand side of Baldy’s face. Beyond them, coolly sitting on a stone pillar at the edge of a flower bed, the dignified number in the panama lit a cigar and watched.
It wasn’t, for my money, anything that was good to watch. Baldy was no fool with the sabre, that was clear, but he was way out of Siegfried’s class. He must have known that it was going to be slow murder. There would be a flurry and clash of blades, the lightning leap in of Siegfried, a whirl of movement, and then the quick withdrawal with Siegfried untouched and another streak of blood on Baldy’s cheek. After his face came the body’s turn ... and whenever Siegfried’s face swung so I could see it he was smiling, calm, eyes bright and perfectly composed.
I don’t have any strong feelings about blood sports generally, and I suppose, if I’d lived then, I’d have paid my drachmae or whatever and sat in the gallery of the Coliseum and backed net against trident with the best of them, but this was too much for me.
I reached out for the Le Chasseur. As I did so Siegfried came in again at Baldy. The man was forced back across the open space towards my end of the garden, and the great blade of his opponent played around him like lightning. Then Baldy staggered, dropped his sabre, and I saw his hand go down to his left side.
Siegfried paused, said something, with a gesture of his blade to the sabre on the floor, and waited. I stepped out then. I made two yards before any of them knew I was there. I raised the gun and covered Siegfried, and I said:
“Baldy – the door behind me is open. Get going!”
He began to turn and I saw Siegfried’s face swing towards me and then the movement as he went for the other man. I fired. A foot ahead of him at the paving stones. He pulled up and I saw the point of his sabre dip towards the ground as he dropped his right hand slowly.
“The door. There’s a motor launch at the end of the waterway.”
Baldy turned fully then, both his hands pressed against his left side. His face was wet with sweat and he nodded and began to move. He went past me and I covered Siegfried, who stood watching me, his body relaxed now, no movement from him. And there was no movement from the man in the panama hat. He sat on his little pillar, the cigar stuck in his mouth, and he watched me, too.
There wasn’t an idle question in either of them. They just watched me, and I stood there, heard the door go and then the dying sounds of Baldy going fast across the ground outside. I gave him a few minutes, not knowing how fast he was able to travel. Then I began to back slowly towards the door. I wasn’t going to go a foot nearer Siegfried than I needed, not even with a gun in my hand. Manston had told me enough about him to make it clear that allowing him up close was asking for trouble.
I reached behind me and got the key out of the lock. As it came free Siegfried spoke. He had a good firm, pleasant voice, and there wasn’t a trace of accent in his speech, or even a note of anger or any other emotion.
He said, “I look forward to the day when I find out who you are.”
I said, “You don’t want to bother with me. I was just passing and heard the sound of
