Craig said nothing, and Grierson thought: Schiebel will die, all right. And Craig will kill him. Loomis had it set out that way from the beginning—victim and executioner; and I've known it all along, because Craig is useful in any sort of situation, to drive a car, guard a millionaire, steal a secret, seduce a girl. But his speciality is death, and that's what Loomis wanted him for. At death he's a genius.
Aloud he said: "Don't worry. Schiebel will be taken care of."
Craig grinned at him.
"You're talking like a politician," he said.
That night and the next day they waited for Loomis, taught Selina to play poker, and used her gold coins for chips. Sir Matthew called, and went at once to Fhp. The day dragged slowly on, and Sehna yawned and fought to stay awake. An angry fat man wanted to speak to her. She would not sleep until he came.
A vehicle purred to a halt outside the room at last, and Grierson raised the ante, two sovereigns, a napoleon, and an American double eagle.
"Our leader's back," he said.
Craig passed, and Grierson waited for Selina. He had dealt her four aces. It would be amusing to see how greedy-she was. The vehicle purred into life again, and Sehna looked hard at Grierson. His eyes were bland, innocent, boyish. Selina said something in Arabic, and Craig rocked with laughter. Then she passed too.
Grierson groaned, and scooped in the heavy shining metal. It wasn't much of a pot for a royal flush.
"She learns very quickly," Craig said, and took up the cards, his hands rapid and precise as he fitted them together and began to deal.
Sir Matthew came in, elegant in gray, a carnation in his buttonhole, in his hands a bowler hat and a pair of doeskin gloves, the kind you buy for driving, if the car you drive is a Bentley. He looked quickly from Craig to Grierson, then on to Selina. These men had a knack of acquiring pretty girls that might almost be a reflex, it functioned so inevitably. He wondered whether one day he might be allowed to chart their behavior patterns—and their girls'? So often one read of the superior sexual attraction of the French male and the Italian, and Spaniard. It was reassuring to sep two Britons holding their own. Sir Matthew permitted himself a small glow of patriotism.
Grierson said: "Sir Matthew, I'd like you to meet the Princess Selina."
Sir Matthew strode napoleonically across to her, and shook the strong, beautiful hand. When he turned, Craig had somehow moved from his chair. The door was closed, and he was leaning against it.
"Were you thinking of going out, Sir Matthew?" Grierson asked.
"I'm going home," Sir Matthew said. "No point in hanging about here now."
"I'm afraid I don't understand," Grierson said.
"Surely it's obvious?" said Sir Matthew. "Now that Mrs. Naxos has gone—"
Grierson came out of his chair and towered over the little man in one frantic leap. For a moment Sir Matthew thought he was about to be assaulted, then Grierson made a tremendous effort, and resumed his habitual sleepiness. An extremely well-integrated personality, Sir Matthew noted gratefully.
"Tell me," he said. "And make it quick."
"We spent a very profitable evening," said Sir Matthew. "She's making excellent progress. Then just before lunch her husband telephoned her. They conversed for a while, and then he spoke to me. He wished his wife to go aboard their yacht, and Mrs. Naxos confirmed this. I saw no reason to prevent her leaving.
"In any case Loomis telephoned me at my consulting room today and said I could let her go, if her husband insisted on it. He passed on his instructions to you men here, too, I believe."
"When was this?" Grierson asked.
Sir Matthew looked at his watch.
'Two hours ago, just before I returned here," he said.
"Did he telephone from London?"
"Naturally."
"Loomis has been at Chequers since ten o'clock this morning," Grierson said.
"When did Mrs. Naxos go?" asked Grierson.
'Ten minutes ago. He sent an ambulance for her. His own crew members were driving it. He seemed obsessively anxious for her safety, I thought."
"What sort of ambulance?"
Sir Matthew shrugged. 'The kind one hires, I assume," he said.
"It didn't occur to you to tell us, I suppose?" Grierson
asked.
Sir Matthew shrugged again. "I had no idea you had returned. I merely instructed the guard at the gate." He stared back at Grierson. "I am a doctor," he said, "not a cloak-and-dagger man. My responsibility is to my patient. I felt that she would benefit from being with her husband, and agreed that she should do so. In fact I had no alternative. She insisted on going back to Naxos, and I had no legal right to stop her, and she had every legal right to go. After all, she'll be safe enough on the yacht."
"If she ever gets there," said Grierson.
Sir Matthew turned to look at Craig, but he had moved once again. He was no longer there.
"You'd better sit down," said Grierson.
"You're sure my presence isn't distasteful to you?" Sir Matthew asked.
"That's irrelevant," said Grierson. "There's a man
DIB HAPPY ffl
185
outside who may kill you—if he hasn't got Mrs. Naxos. Do you play poker?"
Sir Matthew sat down.
"Stud," he said. "One joker. No wild cards, if you please."
* » *
Craig found the ambulance. It was parked in a layby. The Greek at the wheel was unconscious, the one beside him dead. Craig put on a pair of thin leather gloves and went to the back of the ambulance, opened the broken door and went inside. He switched on the interior light and found another dead Greek on the stretcher. Beside him was Theseus, a knife in his side, sitting in his own blood, his torso propped up by the side of the ambulance. Across his knees lay an Arab, his neck broken. Theseus's massive right hand still clutched his hair. Craig crouched down beside him, and Theseus's eyes focused wearily.
"Brandy," he said. "Pocket." His great voice was muted to a rumbling moan.
Craig found the flask and held it to his hps, and Theseus choked it down. Craig looked at the knife in his side. If he drew it out, Theseus would die at once.
"Last time I did this for you," Theseus said. "Different now. I'm dying."
"You don't die so easy," said Craig. "Ill get you a doctor."
"I'm dying," Theseus said. "It hurts like hell." His breath ratded in his throat. 'Two cars together in front of us. We think it's a crash. We stop. Men come from side of road. Shoot—in front. Use lever. Break open door. Kill Dimitri. I put up hands. This one comes in. I kill. Then— knife. And Mrs. Naxos screaming. They take her—they take her—"
"Where?" Craig asked.
"The knife," Theseus whispered. "Craig it's like fire inside me."
"Where?" said Craig.
"Big cars," said Theseus. "Russian, I think. Little round plaque—CD, Craig—does that help?"
"Yes," said Craig. "I know where she'll be." "Harry—fool. I tell him. Trust you. He won't listen." Theseus gasped aloud as pain pierced him again. "It burns," Theseus said. "All the time I wait for you,
it bums. Now I've told you." He paused, then his voice pleaded: "pull the knife out, Craig. I waited. I told you. You owe me that." Again he gasped at the pain.
Craig looked at him. Already he was very close to
death.
"All right," he said. "You're a man, Theseus. A real
man."
"You also, Craig."
Then his voice yelled out—he could no longer control it—as Craig's hand curled to the knife haft and drew it free. Craig let the knife fall, and waited. Theseus's great body relaxed as his blood flowed again, then his head lolled on his shoulder, and he sighed in the joy of relief from pain.