God! Helga thought, couldn’t this woman stop being so damned efficient?
“Not the Grand,” she said. “He phoned… they’re full. He is taking pot luck. Don’t send the passport, Betty. He would be furious if it got lost. I’d forget it… I know he will manage.”
“Well… if you think so. Anyway he will be telephoning me. He always does when he’s away and I can ask him what to do.”
Helga closed her eyes, then opened them. She should have thought of that too.
“I don’t think you will hear from him, Betty. He’s going to be very busy. In fact he told me to tell you not to worry if you don’t hear from him.”
“Not hear from him?” Betty’s voice became alarmed. “But I have a mass of queries I have to ask him about!”
Helga had had enough of this.
“That’s what he said, darling. You’ll manage… I always did. ‘bye now,” and she hung up.
Her hands were moist and she sat for some moments trying to convince herself that she had convinced Betty. She decided there was nothing Betty could do. At least she wouldn’t be alarmed and start making inquiries.
What else had she to do? Then she remembered that the cleaning woman would be arriving the following morning. Still another telephone call. She found the number, called the cleaning agency and told them to stop the woman from coming. She said she would telephone again when she wanted the woman.
She lit a cigarette and looked at her watch. The time was now 15.50. She thought of the long hours ahead of her. She thought of Larry speeding towards Basle. She hoped he wouldn’t have an accident. The road to the Bernadino tunnel was narrow, twisting and dangerous. She told herself firmly she mustn’t worry about him. He was an expert driver and he knew the risks.
Then she thought of Archer locked in the small cellar. At least there was a light and a radiator. He wouldn’t freeze. She wondered what he was thinking. Had he guessed she would try to forge his signature? It had been his own suggestion. Was he in pain? She thought of the brutal kick Larry had given him and she flinched. Had he really a bad heart? So many fat men had bad hearts these days, but it could have been a clever bluff just to stop Larry hitting him again. Archer had always been quick thinking and an expert bluffer. It was probably bluff. She hoped it was.
She looked around the big room rather helplessly, wondering how she could occupy herself for the next twelve hours. There was some intricate tapestry work she had brought with her, but she knew she couldn’t settle to that. She switched on the television set. A long-haired youth, howling into a microphone, swam into view and she hurriedly turned the knob to catch the German station. A fat man was talking about future plans for education and impatiently, she tried the Italian station: only the test chart greeted her and she turned the set off.
She wandered around the room. The light was fading and the sun, setting behind the mountain, made an impressive splash of red in the sky. It had stopped snowing. For something to do, she lowered the shutters and pulled the drapes. She then went into her bedroom and did the same thing there.
She looked around the elegant room, then remembered that Larry would be hungry when he returned. She must get something out of the freezer for him.
She went into the kitchen, opened the freezer and looked at the neatly packaged assortment of food it contained. She finally decided on a fillet of pork. That, with a packet of peas and a packet of chip potatoes should satisfy his hunger. She put the food on the kitchen table to defrost.
Then as she was leaving the kitchen, she paused, her heart suddenly racing.
A heavy pounding sound was coming from the cellars!
For a moment she stood rooted, her heart hammering so violently she had trouble in breathing.
Archer!
God! If he breaks out! she thought.
In panic, she ran to the head of the stairs leading to the cellar. The noise he was making now terrified her. He was kicking steadily against the door. He could break out!
She paused, then steeling herself, clutching hold of the banister rail, she went down, stopping at the foot of the stairs to look along the passage.
She remembered the cellar door opened outwards. From where she stood, she could see the door shaking under the steady, pounding thuds. She sped along the passage, past the quivering door and locked the steel door, leading to the garage. She took out the key. She stood staring at the cellar door and her panic increased as she saw there was a split in one of the panels.
“Jack!” she screamed. 129
The thudding ceased.
“Let me out of here!” Archer’s voice sounded breathless and vicious. “Do you hear? Let me out!”
She forced down her panic.
“Stop it! You’re not getting out!” Her voice sounded to her unnaturally shrill. “If you wake Larry, he’ll come down and I won’t be responsible!”
“Is he in your bed, you bitch?”
“I warn you! If you go on making that noise, he’ll come down!”
Through the cracked panel she could hear his heavy breathing.
“Let him! He daren’t touch me and you know it! You wouldn’t dare let him touch me!”
“I would! I know you’re lying about your heart! If you don’t stop this, he’ll come down!”
“By God! I’ll make you pay for this!”
“Shut up! If you make any more noise, I’ll wake Larry and send him down to you!”
“Damn you to hell!”
Shaking, she walked along the passage and up the stairs. She locked the door leading to the cellars and took the key. She went into the living-room and put the two keys on the overmantel.
She waited, listening, but now she could hear only the muffled roar of the central heating motor. She drew in a deep breath of relief. Her threat… her bluff… had worked! Then she thought of that split panel. If she hadn’t gone down and stopped him, he would have broken out. Well, now, if he did get out of the cellar he would have to batter down the door to the hall. He would never hope to open the steel door leading to the garage. While there was time, should she do something about the door leading to the hall?
She went into the hall and looked at the door. It didn’t seem to her to appear very strong: one powerful kick might easily smashed it open.
There was a heavy iron bound Medici chest standing under the window: yet another of her husband’s collector’s pieces. She dragged this across the door. It would be better than nothing, she told herself. She now felt so shaky, she went into the sitting-room and poured herself a large brandy.
She sat down. She was sipping the brandy when the telephone bell rang. The sound so startled her she slopped some of her drink. Hastily putting down the glass, she crossed to the telephone and picked up the receiver.
It was the Reception Manager of the Eden hotel.
“Madame Rolfe… a telex has just come in for you. Would you like me to send someone up to you with it?”
Now what? she wondered, flinching.
“No… no… please read it to me.”
“It’s from Mr. Rolfe. It says: “Have instructed expert to fix central heating. He promises action this night. No wish to cancel my flight. Telephone me when fixed”.”
Helga turned cold.
“Would you like me to repeat that, madame?”
“No, thank you. I have it. Thank you for calling,” and she hung up.
The grandfather clock that had cost Herman Rolfe more than six thousand dollars began to chime.
Helga glanced at her watch. The time was 21.25. The Grandfather clock was a collector’s piece and wasn’t expected to keep faithful time.
Since Herman’s telex, Helga had sat with a blank mind, waiting for the central heating engineer. She was now beginning to think he wasn’t coming. Inhere had been no sound from Archer. Her threat seemed to have cowed him. She had smoked innumerable cigarettes and she had drunk another brandy. She was feeling slightly light-headed, but in spite of the heat from the radiators, she felt cold.
