The steep roof towered above him. Far below, the bright floodlights, the blue water of the swimming-pool and the continual arrival of cars, looked like a child’s toy laid out on a green carpet.
Ferrari began to lean forward very slowly, and at the same time he drew up his other leg and got that along the gutter. He was now balanced only on his hands, and the slightest error of judgment would pitch him backwards into the black gulf below.
He was quite calm, but he knew his danger.
When he had told Maurer he believed he was the only man in the world who could do this job he had been sincere. This moment of balancing was the hardest task he had ever attempted. He wasn’t frightened, but he did wonder if he hadn’t overestimated his skill.
He leaned forward a trifle, then began to draw his legs along the gutter towards him. As he began to bend his knees he suddenly felt his balance go, and for a split second the weight of his body swayed outwards.
His fingers dug into the cold hard guttering, and he dropped his head down on to his chest. The shifting weight of his head corrected his balance, bringing him slightly forward again.
He remained motionless for over a minute while sweat ran down his face and his breath came from his emaciated chest in great rasping gasps. He had been but a heart-beat away from death, and he was momentarily shaken.
When he had recovered sufficiently he again leaned forward and keeping his head down, he again began to draw up his legs. This time he succeeded in getting his feet under him, his knees bent up to his chin. He looked like a tiny black ball perched precariously on the edge of the gutter. Then still leaning forward, he slowly straightened his legs, thrusting his body forward and upright. He had to let go of the gutter, and his hands reached out and flattened on the tiles of the roof.
He was standing upright now, his toes in the gutter, his body flat against the roof, his head still bent down. He remained in that position until his breathing had returned to normal.
Then he slowly freed the rope which he had hung around his neck and tossed the hook upwards towards the apex of the roof.
He had to make four casts before the hook caught, and once in his anxiety to make a better cast he again nearly over-balanced.
But as soon as he was satisfied the hook had a hold, he was once more his confident self. Taking hold of the rope in both hands and leaning well out, he walked up the perpendicular roof and got astride the apex.
He could now look down at the sea, calmly washing over the rocks some two hundred feet below him. Somewhere just below the edge of the roof was Frances’s room.
He could see the reflected lights from the windows just below, and could hear music from a radio. He fixed the ring at the end of the rope around his ankle, then holding on to the rope he lowered himself down until his heels wedged into the gutter. On this side, the roof was much less steep and he had no difficulty in sitting against the tiles.
Silently he lowered himself over the edge of the roof, turning upside down as he did so. He released the rope and swung head downwards, held only by his ankle. His head and shoulders came just level with the open window and he looked into a big, airy bedroom.
For a moment he couldn’t believe his good luck. He had hit on Frances’s room at his first attempt!
There were three people in the room. Two police women and Frances.
The two police women were sitting away from the window; one was reading, the other was knitting.
Frances sat before a dressing-table. She was brushing her hair.
He hung upside down in the darkness and watched her. After a minute or so, she laid down the hair-brush and stood up. She was wearing a pale-blue silk wrap that accentuated her paleness. She wandered over to an armchair near the window and sat down.
Ferrari swung himself upwards, catching hold of the rope and hauling himself back on to the gutter. He looked at his watch. The time was now half-past nine. He had half an hour to wait.
He waited.
V
Conrad looked up as Forest came into his room.
Forest had had dinner and had taken a stroll around the grounds before coming up to Conrad’s room. He sank into a deep armchair with the air of a man both relaxed and satisfied.
“That wasn’t a bad dinner,” he said. “They do you well here, don’t they?”
“Oh, sure,” Conrad said indifferently. He hadn’t even noticed what he had had for dinner. “Well, sir, what do you think of her?”
“A nice girl; a damned pretty girl, too,” Forest said, stretching out his legs. “I had a long talk with her and I think I’ve persuaded her to sign the statement. Of course she’s scared of Maurer. Weiner did a good job, putting the fear of Maurer into her, but she promises to let me know one way or the other tomorrow morning.” He looked up. “I put in a word for you, Paul.”
“You did? How did she react?” Conrad asked, sitting forward.
“She seems a little stunned that you should want to marry her. She’s got a lot of complexes, and that’s not to be wondered at. You’ll have to be patient, Paul. It may take a long time. I told her if she will sign the statement, we’ll finance a trip to Europe for her and you and Miss Fielding for a couple of months immediately after the trial. She seemed to like the idea.”
“Did she? That’s pretty good of you, sir. How about the financial angle? The Treasury won’t finance her, will it?”
“Not a hope,” Forest said, and laughed. “That’s up to you, Paul. I’ll give you leave for a couple of months, but you’ll have to stand the racket.”
“I’ll stand it. Did she say where she would like to go?”
“I made a suggestion,” Forest returned, rubbing the side of his nose and looking artful. “I told her she should see Venice. If you can’t cook up a little romance in a gondola, then you’re not the man I think you are. Ever been to Venice? I took my wife there on our honeymoon. No place like it in the world.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Conrad said, smiling. “Well, that’s something to think about for the future, but right now we’ve got to think of getting her safely over the trial. What do you think of my precautions?”
“Excellent,” Forest returned. “I’m as satisfied as you are they can’t get at her here now I’ve seen for myself. This is a good spot, Paul. What are your plans for taking her to the courthouse?” He glanced up sharply. “That plane sounds damned low.”
The sudden whoosh of air and the roar of an aircraft engine had startled them both.
“There’s a night trip from Pacific City to Los Angeles that passes about this time,” Conrad said, glancing at his watch. It was just ten o’clock. “I think the best thing we can do is to take her from here in an armoured car with an escort of cycle cops. We’ll keep her in the court-house. There’re some rooms in the basement she can have. They’re not particularly pleasant, but it’ll only be for a week or so. There’re no windows and only one entrance.”
“Yes,” Forest said, “but we’ve got to catch Maurer first.”
“Still no news?”
“Bardin was on the phone about ten minutes ago. He says there’s a rumour going around that Maurer’s back. They’re checking now.”
Conrad sat up.
“Back? Who started the rumour?”
“There’s that plane again,” Forest said, as the aircraft, flying very low, roared past the window. He got up and went to the window. “Goddamn it! Look at this, Paul.”
Conrad joined him at the window.
Flying out to sea was a small, single-winged aircraft, lit up by red neon lights. It looked like some strange bird of paradise as it swept around in a tight circle and came back towards the hotel.