“So the Falcon is lying on his back with the life running out of him and he—and only he—knows where a fortune in diamonds is hidden. Now, we can’t be certain, but people who are dying tend to blurt out secrets that they would otherwise keep to themselves, and we believe the Falcon told Johnny Naples where he could find those diamonds. Look at it this way. A few days later, Naples dumps his job and takes a first-class flight to London. There’s no reason why he should have come here unless you put two and two together and make—”
“Five million,” I said.
“Right.” Snape stood up and walked over to the blackboard. He had produced a piece of chalk from his pocket. “So Johnny Naples flies to the end of the rainbow—in this case, England. But he’s not alone. Because all sorts of people are interested in the diamonds now that the Falcon is dead.” He turned around and scrawled a name on the blackboard.
The Fat Man
“He’s number one. The Fat Man had often done business with the Falcon. If anybody knew about the secret stash, it would be him. And he could use the money. Give the Fat Man five million dollars and maybe he could go international himself. He could become the next Falcon. He probably knew where the dwarf was staying before we did. Did he kill Johnny Naples? If so, he’ll be on his way to the diamonds . . . and that’s bad news for all of us.”
Snape wrote a second name beneath it.
Beatrice von Falkenberg
“She’s the dark horse,” Snape continued. “The Falcon’s wife—his widow—once Holland’s greatest actress. He fell in love with her when he saw her in Othello. She played the title role. From all accounts it wasn’t a happy marriage. She spent six months of the year in London and six months in La Paz. Did he ever tell her where the diamonds were hidden? If he didn’t, she’ll want to know . . .”
Two more names followed.
William Gott and Eric Himmell
“They were the Falcon’s right-hand men, his two lieutenants. If they could get their hands on the diamonds, they’d have enough money and enough power to take over the Falcon’s empire. Gott and Himmell are killers. Although they were born in Germany, they were both educated in England, at Eton. During that time, the vicar and the PE instructor went missing and the assistant headmaster was found hanged with his own old school tie. They arrived in London the day after Johnny Naples. They’re here now, and they’re deadly.”
The Professor
“He’s another mystery. But if anybody knows where the diamonds are, it’s likely to be him. He was the Falcon’s technical adviser, his tame egghead. He was brilliant but crooked. For example, he invented computer fraud five years before someone invented the computer. If the diamonds are in some sort of safe, he’ll probably have built it. But about a year ago he went missing. He could be dead. Nobody’s heard of him since then.”
Snape turned to the blackboard and wrote a final name.
Herbert Simp
That was as far as he got. The chalk broke in his hand.
“And at last we come to you,” he said. “Hopeless, horrible Herbert Simple. You say Johnny Naples was your client. I want to know why. I want to know what he wanted. I want to know what he said. I want to know what you two are doing mixed up in all this and I want to know now!”
He paused.
Things were beginning to make some sort of sense. Not a lot of sense, mind you, but at least we knew what stakes we were playing for. Johnny Naples had come to London in search of five million dollars and he had left us a box of Maltesers. It wasn’t a lot to go on, but it was all we had. The trouble was, if we told Snape what Naples had given us, we’d lose that, too. The way I saw it was like this. A lot of people were interested in what had taken place in our office that Thursday morning. The Fat Man was one of them. And perhaps it had been Gott and Himmell who had ransacked the place that same night. Sooner or later they’d come gunning for us, and if worse came to worst, we’d have to give them the Maltesers. Which meant we had to keep them from Snape.
And—okay—I’ll be honest. If we were really sitting on the key to a fortune, I wanted to be the one to turn it. There were plenty of things I could do with five million dollars. I figured I’d let Herbert keep the other half.
“Come on,” Snape growled. “It’s your turn. What did Naples want?”
There was another long silence. Boyle shuffled forward and I noticed that this time Snape made no move to stop him.
“Naples came here looking for the money,” I said. “You were right there. But he was followed. He was afraid. That’s why he came to see us. He thought we’d be able to give him some sort of protection.”
“Nick!” Herbert muttered.
“He didn’t tell us anything more than that . . .”
Boyle’s hand clamped down on the back of my neck. He half dragged me to my feet. Now I knew how a piece of scrap iron feels when it’s picked up by a mechanical grabber. I waited for him to crush me. “You’re lying,” he rasped.
“Scout’s honor!” I pleaded.
“You knew about the key,” Snape reminded me.
“Only because Naples mentioned it. But we haven’t got it. You can search the office if you like.”
“We already have,” Boyle said.
“Then you’ll know that somebody tore it apart. Look—if we knew anything, why do you think we went to the Hotel Splendide? The place was searched and we got scared. We went to see Naples to ask him what was going on, but by the time we got there, he was dead. Honest!”
For a moment the only sound in the room was a vague creaking as my neck splintered in Boyle’s grip. But then he must have gotten some sort of signal from Snape. He released me and I collapsed in my chair. My legs had turned to jelly. I could hardly move my head.
“Okay, we’ll play it your way, son,” Snape said humor lessly. “We’ll let you go. But I don’t believe you and neither will the Fat Man or any of the other nasties waiting for you out there. It’ll be interesting to see which one of them gets to you first.”
“And I suppose you’ll stand by and watch,” I muttered, rubbing my neck.
“Don’t worry,” Snape said. “We’ll be around to pick up the pieces.”
GRANNIES
It’s funny how the smell of police stations sticks on you long after you’ve gone. Snape was decent enough to get a police car to take us home and we carried the smell with us, down past the Albert Hall and through Earl’s Court. They say that good detectives have a “nose” for crime. They “sniff” out clues, and when things are going well, they’re on the right “scent.” After a couple of hours in the Ladbroke Grove interrogation room, I could see what they mean. The strong arm of the law could do with a strong underarm deodorant.
We had a bath when we got in and changed into fresh clothes. Then Herbert suggested we should go out and get something to eat. I didn’t argue. He’d been very quiet since we’d walked in on the dead dwarf and I could tell something was brewing. Perhaps he was finally going to pack in the private-detective business and send me packing, too. All the same, I dug up the Maltesers from beneath the floorboard and took them with me. That was funny, too. Before, when I hadn’t known what they were worth, I’d slung them about like you would any box of candy. Now that I knew they carried a five-million-dollar price tag, I could feel them burning a hole in my pocket.
We walked down the Fulham Road toward Kensington Station. Herbert was still quiet. And he was jumpy. When a guy stopped us to ask us the time, Herbert jumped, disappearing behind a parked car. I found him there a minute later, crouching down, pretending to tie his shoelaces. It would have been a bit more convincing if his shoes had had laces. The truth was, Herbert was afraid, certain we were being watched. The taxi driver on the other side of the road, the old man walking his dog, the couple kissing at the bus stop . . . as far as Herbert was concerned, any one of them could have been working for the Fat Man, for Beatrice von Falkenberg, for the police . . . whoever.