After that it was a matter of waiting and taking what precautions I could. The moment my letter arrived in Turin I was sure that Mimi and Tony would open it. Tony would come, as fast as he could, to make sure that Max never got anywhere near grassing on him to any Aristide. If the letter arrived by first post, it meant Tony could be at the chalet by the evening. If by the afternoon post, then he could make it by midnight or early morning. Whenever he came I just couldn't afford to be sleeping and not give him a welcome.
I spent the morning making a reconnaissance of the surroundings of the chalet. At the back, which I had not noticed on my first visit, well up in the pines, was a wooden shack which held a small Volkswagen saloon, Max's. I ran it down to the front of the chalet and put my Mercedes in its place. I didn't want Tony arriving and being confused by the sight of the Mercedes. Then I went down to St Bonnet and bought some supplies, but I had to cuff the poodle out of the car — my car — because someone in the place might recognize it.
When I got back the telephone was ringing. But instead of Wilkins it was some French woman asking for Max. It took me a little while to put over to her that Max was away in Cannes on a property deal and had lent me the chalet for a few days.
We all three had lunch together, sharing everything except a bottle of Clos-du-Layon vin rose. After that we took a long siesta, very long, until it was gin-and-Campari time, strictly one, because there was soon to be business ahead. Then I shut the animals in the kitchen, found a warm hunting coat of Max's, borrowed his twelve-bore and a handful of shells, and went and sat in the Mercedes where I could catch the lights of any car coming up the road to the chalet. I didn't want to be inside when Tony arrived. It wasn't going to give me any points as a host, but I felt that for this visit protocol could be dropped.
By midnight nothing had happened, except that I was colder than I thought I would be and wished I'd brought some brandy out. I sat there, thinking about a quick nip and how it was only a few yards away. The more I thought the colder I became — the chalet was up around the twelve hundred metre mark where the nights are chill at the end of September — and I was tempted to go and serve myself. It was only fifty yards to the chalet. I'm glad I didn't because Tony would have walked in on me as I had my hand on the bottle.
I had to give him full marks for his approach. Either he'd been to the chalet before or Mimi had briefed him. He must have parked his car well down the road and approached on foot. The first sign he gave me was a quick flicker of a torch away in the pines, a hundred yards to my right. I got it out of the corner of my eye, which, in my job, is what corners of eyes are for. Then there was just the darkness, the odd hoot of an owl and the noise of a plane droning overhead. The next flicker was when he hit the drive; brief, but enough to give him his surroundings.
I slipped out of the Mercedes and went cautiously down through the pines on my right. Ahead of me somewhere he had to be crossing left-handed to the chalet, even if he were going to avoid the front in favour of a side or back entrance.
Actually, he opted for the front entrance. When I was down level with the parked Volkswagen, I saw the torchlight come on and stay steady as he cowled it with one hand and examined the door. I'd locked the door and the key was in my pocket. That wasn't giving him any trouble. The torchlight went off and I could make out his bulk against the night sky as he worked on the door. He jemmied it, and well. There was just one quick scrunch of wood and steel going and then silence, and Tony standing there, waiting and listening. Nobody could tell me that this number was an amateur. I kept my fingers crossed and hoped the poodle wouldn't set up a racket inside and scare him off. The poodle was silent, stuffed with food still, and sleeping secure on that phoney reputation which dogs have conned mankind with since the first cave. Ask any TBN man.
Happy in his work, Tony pushed the door open and went in. I gave him a few moments and then I went after him. I slipped through the front door and at once saw his torch doing a low sweep round in the main room, the door of which was wide open.
I went gently to the door, flicked on the lights and raised the twelve-bore, holding the sights on his head as he turned quickly.
'Just keep your hands where they are. It's not my house and I don't mind blood on the carpets.'
He blinked at me through his steel-rimmed glasses and then gave me that babyish grin of his and a fat chuckle. It didn't fool me. He had only one way of expressing any emotion.
I went up and around him carefully. He was wearing rubber-soled canvas shoes, black trousers, a thick black sweater and for relief, a pair of white cotton gloves. From the corner of his left-hand pocket the handle of the jemmy stuck out. From behind him I reached out and retrieved it, slipping it into my coat pocket. Standing back I tapped his trouser pockets with my left hand, holding the gun in the right, barrel end pressed hard against his back. There was nothing bigger than a packet of cigarettes and a lighter in his pockets by the feel of it.
He said, 'I've got nothing but the jemmy, but I can see you're the thorough type, like my old man. Nothing on chance.'
I said, 'You can tell me about your father some other time. Turn around.'
He turned, beaming a Pickwick smile at me.
'Pull your sweater right up, but keep your hands in sight.'
He pulled his sweater up. He wore a singlet underneath and a leather belt round his trousers.
'Anyway, I've got nothing against you.'
I nodded to him to drop the sweater and said, 'Now, sit on the floor, keep your legs crossed and your hands at the back of your head. It's a tiring position but if you talk fast you won't have to hold it long.' I had memories of this room with its polished floor and sliding chairs.
He sat on the floor and I went three yards away from him and sat on the edge of the table, the shotgun cradled in my lap, covering him. Just then the poodle began to bark its head off. They time it well — the moment real trouble is over.
Tony, hands behind his head, said, 'That's a dog.'
'Don't be fooled. It's only the impression it likes to create. Now, give me the story from the moment you held up that payroll and then went away like bats out of hell in the Mercedes. I don't want any colourful matter about your emotions of the moment or unnecessary details. Just a plain unvarnished tale. I want to know what happened to the car, and what happened to Otto. Not that I care about him — the car's my concern. But it would be nice to hear that he's dead. And don't worry about my saying anything to the police. I'm in private business and I just want that car.'
'Wow! You had me fooled. That letter from Max, so-say.' He rolled his eyes in his horrible laughing manner. 'Yes, you're a number.' His face went serious. 'But you know, you got Mimi really upset with that letter. I had a terrible time with her, 'cos I didn't really want to do it. But she says if it's true bliss and a bright future we want, which it is, then there's nothing but come here and knock this Max off. I had to give in.'
I said, 'Why be squeamish about Max? You'd already got your hand in with Otto. Come on, now. Start talking.'
'But I didn't do anything to Otto. He did it to himself.' He started to chuckle. 'Yes, he did it to himself. I never laughed so much in all my life. It was real funny. Mind you, it was convenient, too. I mean, seeing that Mimi and me had decided anyway to give Otto his cards — on account of we loved one another. He was wanting out anyway, chiefly because of the baby. Even so, he'd have made trouble. But we were prepared to face that. Course of true love. Two hearts beating as one. My old man was pretty cynical about all that, of course. You'd think I'd be, too, wouldn't you? You know, just four legs in a bed, any bed, any four so long as two of 'em are yours and the others are a nice shape. But in our family sons must go by opposites. I'm a faithful man, you know. One woman's all I want.'