“What is it?” Pearl said, without moving.
Ruby’s cry of alarm abruptly ceased. There was a moment of silence, more sinister than when she had been screaming. Sadu cursed, kicked away his chair and drew the gun.
“Drop it!” a man’s voice snapped from the open french window.
In a panic, Sadu fired blindly in the direction of the voice. Then he heard the bang of gunfire and felt a violent blow on his chest. He found himself lying on the hot, dry grass. He tried to lift his gun, but he had no strength left and the gun slipped from his grasp. He looked wildly at Pearl who was sitting motionless, her pretty face expressionless, then he became aware of a pair of black, highly-polished jackboots just in range of his darkening vision.
By 17.00 hrs. the activity at the villa had died down. Dorey had gone with Inspector Dulay to the Nice Police Station. Ginny’s body had been taken away in an ambulance. The newspaper men had gone. Sergeant O’Leary had taken his men in three Jeeps to the Airport.
Diallo, wide-eyed and nervous, Erica Olsen and Girland were at last on their own.
From time to time, Girland had gone into Erica’s room where she was lying on the bed, her back turned, her face hidden. Girland didn’t speak to her. He felt it best to wait for her to make her own recovery. At 5.30 p.m. he saw Jacques Yew’s black Cadillac come up the drive and he went out onto the terrace to greet him.
Carrying a paper bag, Yew climbed the steps and the two men went over to lounging chairs, shaded by a sun umbrella. They sat down.
“I don’t know what this is all about, dear boy,” Yew said, putting the bag on the table. “Here is the wig you asked me for. You are being intriguingly mysterious.”
“It’s intriguing all right,” Girland said and went on to tell him the story of Erica Olsen.
“There is just a possible chance she may have the pearl,” he concluded. “If she has, I think I could persuade her to cut us in. You handling the deal, and I getting a cut for putting her in touch with you.”
Yew sat back, his hooded eyes glittering.
“What makes you think she has the pearl?” he asked.
“I’m playing a hunch. The one thing that gets her animated is the pearl. Now a pearl is easy to conceal. If I happened to be the mistress of an old Chinese goat and couldn’t see much future in it, I would look around for something worthwhile to take before I walked out on him. That’s how I would reason and I’m playing a hunch that is the way she has reasoned too.”
“My dear boy! That’s terribly dishonest!” Yew protested for a moment genuinely shocked.
“Yes.” Girland grinned. “But if I’m right, and if she has the pearl, will you sell it for her?”
“Of course I will,” Yew said without hesitation.
“Fine. I’ll bring her to your apartment in about an hour. I have my own car, so you needn’t wait. Did you see any newspaper men on your way up?”
“There was no one.”
“Okay, then you get off. We’ll be joining you in about an hour.”
“You really think she has the pearl? It seems unbelievable.”
“I’m playing a hunch. Anyway, what can we lose?”
Yew looked dubious.
“Well... yes, I suppose that’s right.” He gave Girland a Yale key. “That’s the key of my apartment. You will have it to yourselves. I will stay with my brother. There is a woman who comes in every day. You can get your meals sent in. Is there anything else?”
“No, and thanks, Jacques. We could make some money out of this if we have any luck.” Girland thought for a moment, then repeated, “If we have any luck.”
When Yew had driven away, Girland went up to Erica’s room, taking the paper bag with him. He tapped on the door and entered. Erica was sitting now in a lounging chair. Her face was tense and white and she regarded him with a disconcerting stare.
“Well, darling?” he said as he closed the door. “How are you feeling?”
“You can cut that darling stuff out,” she said in a flat, hard voice. “I don’t know who you are, but I do know you are not my husband.”
Girland smiled.
“That’s a relief,” he said and came over to sit opposite her. “So you are getting your memory back?”
“I’m getting it back. What happened to her?”
“She thought she would look more attractive as a blonde,” Girland said soberly. “They mistook her for you and they killed her.”
Erica flinched.
“And you? Who are you?”
“I guess I had better fill you in,” Girland said. He paused to light a cigarette, then went on. “You were found unconscious in Paris. You were taken to the American hospital. When they put you in bed, they found three tattoo marks on your body... Chinese initials. Some bright boy reported this to the C.I.A. They put two and two together and decided you must be Erica Olsen, the mistress of Feng Hoh Kung, the top missile expert in Pekin. The C.I.A. wants all the information they can get about Kung. They dreamed up an idea. I was to be your husband and you were to tell me all about Kung. But the Chinese and the Russians heard about the tattoo marks and they also decided you must be Erica Olsen. The Chinese decided you were to be liquidated. The Russians decided they wanted to know what you knew about Kung. In the general mix-up, Nurse Roche got shot instead of you. Right now, we have given out you are dead. We have a few days free from pressure before the Chinese and the Russians get to know you are still alive, then they will come after you again.”
She stared down at her long, shapely hands, her face expressionless, then she said, “So that’s it. Well, I know nothing about Kung. Absolutely nothing.”
“Why did you leave him?”
“He bored me.”
“Then why should they want to kill you?”
She hesitated, then still not looking at him, she said, “Kung is possessive. I was his toy. He breaks his toys if they don’t give him pleasure.”
“A young girl died because of you,” Girland said quietly. “You might have died, but she was the unlucky one. Your chances of survival are still pretty thin. You may think you can play this on your own, but I assure you you can’t. I have only to walk out on you for you to be in real trouble. You have no money. You have no passport. You will be in a hell of a jam unless you cooperate.”
She looked steadily at him. “What does, that mean?”
“You must know something about Kung. Every scrap of information we can get about him could be useful.”
“I can tell you about his sex life if that would interest you,” she said, shrugging. “That is all I know about him. I had a house of my own. He visited me twice a week. He never talked about his work. He was generous, a little kinky and very dull.”
“Kinky?”
“He had this tattoo mania.” She leaned back in her chair and stared out of the open window. “I hadn’t much money. I was secretary to a Swedish businessman who was trying to sell lumber to the Chinese. He paid me badly. I met Kung and he offered me three hundred dollars a week to be his mistress.” She shrugged. “A house, servants and a car went with the offer. I accepted. It pleased him to put his stamp on me... so I let him.”
“Did you ever visit his home?”
“I went once. It wasn’t a home, it was a museum.”
“So he bored you and you left him,” Girland said. “He must have been very boring for you to give up three hundred dollars a week.”
“He was.”
“And he was so annoyed, he told his agents to kill you?”
“Yes.”
“How were you planning to live after the luxury of a house, servants and a car, plus three hundred dollars a week?”
She shrugged.
“I can always get a job.”