"Not yet, but these things take time."
"Yeah." I wondered if I should tell him that Chalmers was yelling for an adjournment, but I decided it wouldn't do any good. "How about la Signorina Chalmers's apartment? Are you through there yet?"
"Yes. I was going to tell you. The key is with the porter. I took the police guard off this morning."
"Okay, then I'll get busy and have the place cleared. Did you notice the telephone number scribbled on the wall in her lounge?"
"Oh, yes," Cariotti said. He didn't sound very interested. "We checked it. It is the number of la Signorina Setti, a friend of la Signorina Chalmers."
"Did you know that Myra Setti is the daughter of Frank Setti, whom you boys are supposed to be looking for?"
There was a pause, then he said coldly, "I was aware of that."
"I just thought it might have slipped your mind," I said, and hung up.
III
Carlo was waiting for me in the Pasquale Club. He was drinking wine and smoking a cheroot. He waved to me as I crossed the empty lounge to join him.
"What's biting you?" he said. "Have a drink?"
I shook my head.
"You said if I played with you, you'd play with me," I said. "Okay, here's your chance."
He tilted back his chair, blew smoke towards the ceiling and listened with haLF-closed eyes as I explained about Sarti.
"Old man Chalmers told me to put a private eye to work, digging into his daughter's background," I said. "I didn't imagine Sarti would dig so deep. He's dug me up."
Carlo looked at me, his face expressionless.
"So what?"
"So he's blackmailing me for ten million lire. If I don't pay, he's handing the information he's collected over to the police."
"How bad is the information?" Carlo asked, tilting his chair further back and scratching his jaw with a dirty finger-nail.
"As bad as it can be. If the police get this information from him, I'm cooked. I haven't ten million lire –nothing like it. If you want me to do this run to Nice for you, you've got to do something fast."
"Such as what?"
"That's up to you. I don't suppose you want to spring ten million lire, do you?"
He threw back his head and sounded off with his raucous laugh.
"You kidding?" He let his chair come to earth with a crash that shook the room, stood up and hunched his shoulders. "Come on, pally. Let's go and see this bum. I'll fix him."
"He's probably out." I wasn't anxious to get mixed up in this. "Why don't you call around at his office to-morrow? I'd come with you, but I have to be in Naples to-morrow to attend the inquest."
He put his enormous hand on my arm. His fingers dug into my muscles.
"He'll be in. This is feeding time. Come on, pally. This is your mess. You and me will fix him together."
He led me out of the bar, across the sidewalk to where the Renault was parked. We got in, and he sent the car shooting away from the kerb.
"The office will be shut," I said, flinching as Carlo narrowly missed a man and woman who were crossing the street.
Carlo leaned out of the car window to curse them, then pulled in his head and gave me his wide, animal grin.
"I know where the punk lives," he said. "He and I have done a couple of jobs together. He loves me. There's nothing he wouldn't do for me."
I gave up, and for the rest of the reckless drive I said nothing.
We pulled up outside an apartment block off via Flaminia Nuova. Carlo got out, crossed the sidewalk, pushed open the entrance door and walked up the stairs, three at a time. He paused outside a shabby door on which was tacked one of Sarti's business cards. He dug his thumb into the bell-push and kept it there.
There was a six seconds pause, then the door opened cautiously. I had a glimpse of Sarti's fat, unshaven face before he tried to slam the door shut.
Carlo was ready for this move. His knee came up and smashed into the door panel, slamming the door into Sarti who went over with a little yelp of fear and pain. He sat down on the floor of the hall. Carlo walked in, let me pass, then kicked the door shut.
He reached out and hauled Sarti to his feet by his necktie. The tie tightened around Sarti's fat throat and his face turned purple. He hit Carlo feebly in the face, his small fat hands making as much impression on Carlo as a rubber hammer would make on a lump of rock.
Carlo suddenly let go of the tie and gave Sarti a violent shove. Sarti went reeling back through a door into a small sitting-room. He cannoned into a table set for a meal, and he and the table went over on the floor.
I stood aside and watched.
Carlo wandered into the room, his hands in his trousers pockets, whistling under his breath.
Sarti sat in the wreckage of his lunch, his face the colour of a ripe Camembert cheese, his bloodshot eyes bolting out of his head.
Carlo wandered over to the window and sat on the sill. He smiled at Sarti.
"Listen, fatso, this guy's my pal." He jerked his thumb at me. "If anyone is going to put the bite on him, it'll be me. I won't tell you a second time. Do you get it?"
Sarti nodded. He licked his lips, tried to say something but he couldn't get the words out.
"You've got a lot of written stuff about him, haven't you?" Carlo went on. "Bring it around to my place to-morrow morning: all of it. Get it?"
Again Sarti nodded.
"If any of it gets in the hands of the cops, then someone will tip them off about that little job you did in Florence. Get that?" Carlo went on.
Sard nodded. Sweat began to run down his face.
Carlo looked at me.
"Is that okay, pally? This bum won't worry you again. I guarantee it."
I said it was okay with me.
Carlo grinned.
"Fine. Anything for a pal. You play with me and I'll play with you. You get off and enjoy yourself. Me and fatso are going to have a little session together."
Sarti's eyes bulged until I thought they were going to drop out of his head. He waved his fat, dirty hands at me.
"Don't leave me, signor," he implored in a voice that chilled me. "Don't leave me alone with him."
I had no pity for him.
"So long," I said to Carlo. "I'll be seeing you."
As I went down the stairs I heard a sound like the scream of a frightened rabbit.
I was sweating by the time I reached the street.
PART ELEVEN
I
It was only as I was driving back to my apartment I realized I still didn't know the name of Sarti's client who had hired him to watch Helen. This was something I had to know.
I wondered if I should go back to Sarti's apartment and get Carlo to squeeze the information out of him, but I decided against this. There was no point in giving Carlo any more information than I could help.
I happened to be near the offices of the International Investigation Agency. I wondered if I should risk trying to get the information for myself. It would mean breaking into the place. At least at this hour of three o'clock on a Sunday afternoon it should be fairly safe. I decided to do it.