“It sounds very simple, doesn’t it?”
“Where is the pearl, Erica?”
“I was wondering when you were going to ask that. It is quite safe.” She leaned back in her chair and gave him an amused smile. “So you see... I admit I have the pearl.”
Girland drew in a long breath of relief. His hunch had paid off, he thought, now for the deal. He and Yew would split the million dollars, and at long last he would be in the money.
“I had an idea you had it. Well, now, when can you show it to Yew?”
“His offer is absurd,” Erica said calmly. “The pearl is utterly unique. There is no other like it in the world. I have already been offered four million and I want six.”
Girland stared at her.
“But there’s not that amount of money in the hands of any collector,” he said. “Now, look, Erica...”
“I have a contact who says there could be. There is a certain oilman who is supposed to be worth two hundred million dollars and he is a collector. He could afford to pay six million for it.”
“Then why don’t you sell it to him?” Girland asked, sure she was lying.
“There are complications.”
“What complications?”
“That is not your affair.”
Girland finished his strawberries, then getting up, he poured coffee from the percolator.
“Let’s sit comfortably and enjoy the view,” he said and carried the two cups of coffee to a side table and dropped into one of the lounging chairs.
Erica joined him. They both looked down at the glittering lights round the harbour and the Palace.
“Tell me about the complications.”
“That is not your affair,” she repeated, lighting a cigarette. “Will your Mr. Yew go to six million?”
“I don’t think so.” Girland sipped his coffee, then said, “You’ve talked yourself into a tough spot, baby. You now can’t do without me. Two heads are better than one. I’m good at complications. Tell me about them.”
“You are mistaken,” she said quietly. “I can do without you, and I don’t understand what you mean when you say I am in a tough spot, and please don’t call me baby. I don’t like it.”
“I’m sorry, it won’t occur again,” Girland said, smiling. “Forgive me. Let me explain why you can’t do without me. You have admitted you have the pearl. In crude language, you have stolen it. Now if you and I can’t cooperate, there is nothing to stop me giving this information to the press. Erica Olsen, mistress of Feng Hoh Kung, has stolen the famous Black Grape and is in hiding. What a story! I could then telephone Dorey and tell him the only information you have about Kung is his behaviour in bed. Dorey will immediately withdraw his support and protection. He is a mean man and hates to spend a dollar if he gets no return. In the meantime, every collector, no matter how much he would like to own the pearl, will shun it. It will have become as hot as a red-hot stove. It is only if there is no publicity and the deal is done in secret that you can hope to sell the pearl. Then the French police will arrest you. You will probably languish in jail for six months or even longer until they are satisfied you can’t or won’t tell them where you have hidden the pearl. You mustn’t overlook the fact that the French Government are trying to get on friendly terms with the Chinese. Maybe the police will persuade you to talk, but if they don’t, then they will eventually get bored with you and turn you loose. You will walk out of prison into the arms of Kung’s hatchet men. They will either slit your pretty throat or else they will persuade you to talk, and make no mistake about it a Chinese thug can make anyone talk. So, being intelligent, you will see by now, you can’t do without me. I think three million dollars for nothing isn’t a bad rake off. If your complications are really so complicated, then I would advise you to take the three million. I might add that I don’t believe anyone would pay six million for the pearl and that you are bluffing. Do you get the picture?”
If he had expected to disconcert her, he was disappointed. She let her head drop back on the padded cushion of the lounging chair and she laughed.
“I am beginning to think you are the man I have been looking for,” she said. “You seem to be as unscrupulous as I am. You could have yourself a deal.”
“Where is the pearl, Erica?”
“I wish I could trust you.” She looked steadily at him. “There is so much involved. I can’t make up my mind about you.”
Girland got to his feet.
“Let us get to know each other better,” he said. “There is no better place for a man and a woman to do that than in a bed.”
Her eyes widened with surprise.
“Do you think going to bed with you will solve my problem?”
Girland reached down, took her hand and pulled her to her feet.
“I don’t know. Frankly, I don’t much care. I know you are beautiful and I want you. I think we have talked enough for tonight. I think now we should make love and forget about business. Then tomorrow, when we know each other better, we can talk again. What do you think?”
She rested her hands on his shoulders and she studied his face.
“You are an extraordinary man.”
“I suppose I am.” He put his arms around her and drew her to him. She yielded. His hands slid down her back, cupped her buttocks and he pulled her hard against him, his mouth searching for hers.
She shook her head.
“No, wait. Let’s go to my room.” She broke free, smiling. “I don’t do this with every man I meet, but I do now want to know you better.”
“It’s the certain way,” Girland said and he walked with her across the big lounge, down the wide passage and to her bedroom door. He pushed open the door and as they moved into the room, she gave him a hard shove that sent him off balance, and slid away from him.
The man standing by the open window, a silenced 7.65 mm Luger automatic in his hand, gave Girland the biggest shock of his life.
Chapter Eight
The man didn’t look particularly dangerous, but any man holding a Luger equipped with a silencer, was unpredictable and Girland was careful to make no sudden move.
“Come right in, Mr. Girland,” the man said. “I have been looking forward to meeting you.”
Girland studied him. He was tall, fattish, balding with a pronounced paunch. He would be around sixty years of age. His blue eyes, his broad features, his wide fixed smile revealing glittering white dentures, his immaculate lightweight suit and his expensive French tie gave him a solid and substantial personality. Girland saw he handled the gun expertly as if the gun was as familiar to him as his aftershave lotion. With his sharp perception, Girland decided this man was a smooth trickster, probably without funds, but dressing the part of a rich man to obtain credit from snob shopkeepers who couldn’t fail to be impressed by his appearance.
“How did you get in here?” Girland asked as he moved into the large airy bedroom.
“Carlota let me in while you were ordering that excellent dinner.”
“Carlota?”
Erica was now sitting on the bed. She looked faintly amused as she watched Girland walk over to the stool before the dressing table and sit on it.
“Mr. Girland,” the fat man said, leaning against the wall, “before we go any further, please don’t try anything heroic. I am an expert shot and I can, at this range, blow your right knee cap to pieces should you decide to be difficult. Since you are a very active man, I am sure you wouldn’t like that to happen.”
“Okay,” Girland said, and lifted his hands in mock surrender. “You have made your point. Is she Carlota? I was under the impression she was Erica Olsen.”
“She is Carlota Olsen... Erica’s sister. These two very handsome girls are my daughters,” the fat man said, beaming at Carlota. “Mr. Girland, I have been eavesdropping. I have been quite carried away by your persuasive sales talk. I have reached the conclusion that you are exactly the man we have been looking for. I think Carlota is of the same mind.” He looked at his daughter. “Aren’t you, my dear?”