There was a patch of dark shadow, made by an orange tree, opposite the lighted window. I kept in the shadow, sure that no one could see me, and looked into a large luxuriously furnished lounge.
There were four men around a table in the centre of the room. They were playing poker. Beyond them, lying on a settee, was Myra Setti. She was reading a magazine and smoking; by her was a radiogram from which came the soft sound of dance music.
I looked at the men at the table. Three of them were the rough types you can see any day in a Warner Bros, movie. Their clothes were flashy, their neckties dazzling, their faces, burned brown by the sun, were hard, thin and vicious. It was the fourth man who held my attention. He was a man of about fifty; big, grossly fat and dark-skinned. I had seen too many pictures of him in the papers in the past not to recognize him. I felt a little surge of triumph run through me. I had succeeded where the whole of the Italian police force had failed! I should have guessed before now that this inaccessible villa could be Frank Setti's hide-out but, somehow, I hadn't thought of him being here.
The four men were intent on their game of poker. It was easy to see who was winning. Six tall stacks of counters stood before Setti. The other three had scarcely a counter between them. As I watched them, a tall thin rat of a man threw down his cards with a gesture of disgust. He said something to Setti, who grinned wolfishly at him, shoved back his chair and stood up. The other two also threw in their hands and relaxed back in their chairs, scowling.
Setti looked over at Myra and said something to her. She glanced up, her face heavy with boredom, nodded, then returned her attention to her magazine.
The tall man came over to the window and threw it open. I crouched down against the low wall. The sound of dance music came out through the open window loudly now.
"Jerry's late," the tail man said, speaking over his shoulder to Setti.
Setti got up from the table, stretched his massive limbs and came to the window.
"He'll be here," he said. "Jerry's a good boy. He has a long way to come." He looked over at Myra. "Turn that damn thing off. I can't hear myself speak."
Without looking up from her magazine, Myra reached out and turned off the radiogram.
Setti and the tall man stood by the window, listening. I listened too. I thought I could hear the faint throb of a motor boat engine somewhere out to sea.
"Here he comes now," the tail man said. "Harry's down there, isn't he?"
"He damn well better be," Setti growled. He moved away from the window and walked out of the room. A moment later, he came out on to the terrace.
I began to sweat. I knew if I was found here my life wouldn't be worth a dime. They'd cut my throat and bury me at sea. My hiding-place wasn't any too safe. If any one of them came over to the orange tree they couldn't fail to see me. It was too late to move now. I lay flat, holding my breath and squeezing myself against the terrace wall.
Setti sat down at one of the tables, about fifty feet from me. The tall man came out and stood looking out to sea.
"Here he comes," he said.
Myra came out and joined him. He pointed out into the darkness.
"Do you see him?"
"I see him," she said. She put her hands on top of the wall and leaned forward. She was so close to me I could smell her perfume.
The red harbour light flicked off and then came on again.
There was a long pause. Setti lit a cigar. Myra and the tall man continued to stare down at the harbour. I lay so still that a lizard, mistaking me for part of the scenery, ran lightly across my bare back.
Then I heard the sounds of someone running up the steps. A man appeared, wearing a red singlet, black trousers and rope-soled shoes. He was youngish, good-looking in a flashy tough way, and he grinned widely at Myra as he came on to the terrace.
"Hi, there," he said.
Myra's boredom vanished. She gave him a dazzling smile.
"Hi, Jerry!"
He crossed over to where Setti was sitting and dumped on the table an oilskin-wrapped parcel.
"Hi, boss. Here it is."
Setti leaned back and smiled at him.
"Fine. Sit down, kid. Here, Jake, get him a drink."
Jake went into the lounge. Myra came over and Jerry took her hand.
,
"May I kiss your daughter, boss?" he asked, grinning at Setti.
"Go ahead," Setti said, shrugging his sholders. "If she wants it, why should I worry? Have any trouble coming over?'
"Not a thing."
Myra and he kissed, then he pulled her on to his lap and put his arms around her.
"This is a good place for a run," he went on, "but how are you going to get the stuff into Nice, boss?"
"Carlo's fixed that," Setti said. "Now, there's a smart boy."
Jerry's face hardened.
"He could be too smart," He looked at Myra. "Have you been seeing anything of him lately, babe?"
Myra's eyes opened wide, innocently.
"Carlo? Don't be crazy! Why should I want an ape like him around when I've got you?"
"I guess that's right," Jerry said, frowning. He didn't seem convinced. "Well, watch out, baby. You keep clear of him."
Setti sat back, smiling and listening.
"You're jealous," Myra said, and touched Jerry's face. "You don't have to be."
Jerry patted her flank, then looked over at Setti.
"What's Carlo fixed then?"
"He's got a newspaper man to run the stuff into Nice: Ed Dawson of the Western Telegram," Setti said, grinning from ear to ear.
"Dawson!" Jerry sat forward. "I know that punk! I've seen him around in Rome. Is he doing it?"
"That's the idea. Carlo's got him where he wants him. We can't go wrong with a guy like Dawson acting as carrier. Smartest thing Carlo's ever done."
"Well, for the love of mike! Yeah, that sure is smart."
Jake came out with a whisky and soda and gave it to Jerry.
"Come on in, kid. I've got the dough for you," Setti said, getting to his feet. "Are you going to stay for a while?"
"I don't have to get back until to-morrow night."
Myra got off Jerry's lap and slid her arm though his.
"Never mind about the money now, honey," she said. "Let's go to my room. I want to talk to you."
Jerry looked over at Setti.
"Is that okay with you, boss?"
Setti smiled.
"Sure. Myra's a big girl now. She does what she likes. The dough's all ready for you when you want it. When's the next run?"
"Three weeks from to-night. It's all fixed."
Carrying his drink, Jerry followed Myra into the villa. Jake stared after them, frowning.
"Carlo's going to stick a knife into that guy one of these days," he said.
Setti laughed.
"Forget it! Let Myra have her fun. If she wants two boy friends, let her have them." He tossed what remained of his cigar over the terrace. "Put the stuff in the safe, Jake. Carlo doesn't want it until Thursday. You take it to Rome on Wednesday night ... understand?"